Day 6 – With one full day remaining before I’m homeward bound, I sit and reflect on the hotel terrace while listening to the Atlantic Ocean surge relentlessly against Fuerteventura’s volcanic coastline… Well, to be more accurate, with it’s burning lava-like redness, augmented by suntan lotion glow, it is my forehead that’s reflecting.

Sadly, today’s application of sun protection cream is very much a case of closing the stable door after the horse has bolted. A damage limitation strategy employed in the hope it stops my charred visage shedding damaged skin like a rattlesnake in the Nevada desert.

Travelling on my own has been strange. That being said, journeying in isolation has in no way impacted the verve levels which ordinarily accompany life on vacation.

One thing I’ve found awkward is leaving your table vacated when visiting restaurant food trays, the bar or toilet. Episodes where you can’t leave your seat without some personal effect indicating the place is already taken. Otherwise, like the three bears, there’d be a chance I’d return to my spot with a tuna salad (other meals are available) to find Goldilocks had claimed my seat.

Ordinarily I leave my mobile phone and sun glasses, but that move is open to jeopardy Goldilocks won’t only pilfer my seat but also my bloody phone. As the sunglasses are prescription lenses she’d probably leave them as she wouldn’t be able to see through them… Well, unless she had exactly the same optical correction required as yours truly; which as she’s a fictional character is unlikely I’d suggest.

Anyhow, put it this way, if I was going to the buffet at Strangeways prison I’d not be as lax at leaving my possessions unattended… Not that I plan to holiday in Strangeways prison anytime soon I hasten to add!

I’ve found spending my daylight hours writing and evenings chatting to various upbeat individuals in the bar to have been a pretty good mix for the lone traveller. It might not be to everyone’s taste, but I found it a decent fit for yours truly.

Sure, I’ve missed my Ossett beau, Sarah, but, as she was away with her family herself last week, I’d not have seen her anyway for five days if I’d have remained in the UK. Since she returned back. to her Gawthorpe lair, though, that event has upped the yearning levels.

Happily, Sarah says she’s missed me too. That being said, after telling her I couldn’t wait to whistle her a medley of songs from Fiddler on the Roof (which I perfected during quiet times over here) she appears to have changed mobile phone numbers… As she has promised to pick me up from the airport tomorrow evening upon my return, hopefully, I can get in touch with my fragrant amour sooner rather than later.

As I type, a member of the hotels property maintenance team has just passed by pushing a large white plastic container on wheels. One of the castors on this vessel is squeaking cacophonously as it passes… Coincidentally, it doesn’t sound too dissimilar to the caterwauling I emit when whistling a medley of songs from Fiddler on the Roof.

The alabaster hued container in question stands at around two foot by three foot wide and two foot deep. I’ve no further interesting observation about this piece of hotel equipment; well, other than it’s used to move stuff around the hotel.

I realise the above paragraph wasn’t a literary pot-boiler in terms of excitement. However, the news might come in handy on the off chance you get a pub quiz question “What is the colour and size proportions of the Jandia Mar hotel container with the squeaky wheel?”… Unlikely, but as the Cleckheaton Never Say Never Society like to say, errrr…. well, “Never say never!”

After five days of antibiotics, my infected finger is mercifully almost back to it’s pre-infection proportions. If you want those proportions in the event you get asked for them in a pub quiz I’ll gladly provide them… Come back!!… Come back!!… I was only kidding!!… Blimey, tough audience!

So, there you are, I’m at the cusp of another holiday end. I feel re-invigorated from being lucky enough to spend some time in warmer climes while back in Blighty people are starting their mornings scraping ice from their cars.

As much as I’ve had a pleasant week, if truth be told I think I’m just about ready for home. Sure, I’ll be back freezing my bosker browns off, but (as a bit of a home bird) a week is ordinarily enough away from casa Strachan.

Right, I’m going to listen to one of acerbic comedian Frankie Boyle’s audiobooks. A raft of very funny observations that have had me laughing raucously around the pool area. Events which raise some intriguing looks from nearby guests… With the Scot pulling absolutely no punches with his vitriolic diatribes, thank god they don’t know some of the stuff I’m laughing at!!

Anyhow, catch you when I’m back in Blighty.