Wot larks Pip Old Chap!

How neatly a cynic might look at a hotel buffet as a symbol for life: a seeming profusion of exciting elements soon reduced to tasteless monotony by familiarity.

Perhaps that is being a little harsh on the Hotel Neptuno buffet, but neither Toni nor I could distinguish by sight or taste the chopped fruit displayed so appetisingly to our view yesterday. We have begun, after a very few days, to pass slighting comments about the quality of the food. If we had been here for a fortnight then I am sure that we would have been eating in surrounding restaurants.

That about sums up our approach to the hotel in general: it promised more than it delivered, and it takes somewhat less than a week to discover this.

Last night we, eventually, went to the Yumbo Centre and had a glimpse of the entertainment on the centre stage. It did not look to be of the quality which would have made us regret our late arrival. We were just in time to hear a long legged nonentity sing a Madonna song badly. The seated audience were suitably restrained in their acknowledgement of her slightly desperate attempts to stir them into frantic expressions of delight.

We reeled away to have a drink in ‘Hummel Hummel’ which actually had people in it! From our previous visits (for silly old nostalgic reasons) we had spent our time consuming the drinks and wondering how the hell the place made a profit, and if it didn’t then just what was going on. We are ever of a suspicious turn of mind. But, that evening – full of people. When I say ‘people’ I mean that the tables were filled by what looked like a convention of ageing (perhaps retired) bank managers and accountants. I wonder what they told the folk back home about their holidays. The stared at their drinks and at each other in faint surprise which increased when they noticed the fairly unaccountant-like picture show at the back of the bar!

Our wander around after the first drink led us to a serene Liam, resplendent in a sheer blue gown outside ‘La Belles’. Our continuing circumperambulation of the Yumbo discovered to our bemused view all sorts and manner of folk. I wonder if their mummies knew what they were all up to. Hmm!

Indolence took away my determination to complete the blog yesterday and bed seemed the much more enticing possibility. And so it was.

Our morning cooking session was enlivened by Toni throwing himself into the foaming brine for the third (3rd) time this holiday, something of a record given the low temperature of the water! I shall say nothing of the lack of immediate facilities which prompt so many reluctant swimmers to embrace the waves!

Another excellent lunch which always throws into relief the rather lacklustre meals waiting for us at the hotel. This valedictory lunch was made especially poignant because of the location: a perfect view of the beach and the rolling waves and the sun, mother, the sun. I wondered why my usual depression at this stage of a holiday, to wit, the last day, was not so intense as usual. Then Toni said those immortal words that I have waited so long to hear, “At least you don’t have to go to work when you get back!” How right he is.

What I do have to go back to is the continuing situation with the house which does not get any better. I also have the never ending problem of my CRB. But with the CRB at least I have opened a file, which is a sure sign of things resolving themselves in my favour [see also: HSBC; Starlight Blinds; Insurance Companies; and other too numerous to mention] or at least giving me a moral victory.

When we finally arrived back at the hotel, we were just in time to see the Gay Pride Street Parade. This was scheduled to have finished at least an hour earlier, but you can just imagine the prissy fussiness of determined Queens at the start of the parade!

Well, it certainly didn’t give Rio a run for its money but there were a few moments of high camp visual fun. I was on a balcony three storeys up so my photos all have a slightly detached feeling but I’ll post some of them anyway. Never let it be said that cultural pursuits were ever far from my heart!

The fact that we have had an extra day in the hotel to compensate for the departure time of two o’clock in the morning has made all the difference. We have not had to leave the hotel by midday. We are at the moment shouting abuse at the television while watching the travesty of natural justice that is the Eurovision Song Contest. The Balkans and the unreal countries of Eastern Europe have hijacked the competition so that any country west of Austria will find it impossible to win. At present the poor old United Kingdom has obtained null points. We should, as a point of high policy at once leave this cosy little Eastern enclave of racial voting and establish a Eurovision Song Contest of the Real Countries where, with any real luck, someone will vote for us!

Such bitterness over something as pointless as a song contest is rather sad but I really do think that there is some sort of lesson to be drawn from this farrago of nonsense, but I am too depressed to bring it into print.

Roll on a two hour wait in the airport!