I couldn’t quite (and still can’t) get my head around the fact that for the first time in years me and significant other Simon are holidaying for fourteen days this year.
It’s normally a week and it’s normally over in a flash. This time the impending annual holiday is stretching out ahead of us. What will it be like? Will we get bored? Will we actually read all the magazines and books we’ve bought each other? Will we listen to all the stuff we’ve recorded off the radio? Will we think we’ve made a mistake to stay for an additional week in a week’s time?
Somehow I doubt it. We’ve done our usual thing of booking ourselves into one of those oh-so-not-very-glamorous airport hotels and ended up marvelling at the attentive staff and their failsafe ability to make administrative errors to our advantage.
The night before the flight is always the overture to the main event. It’s always terribly important that the overture doesn’t eclipse the main event. I’m banking on the promise of an infinity pool, canoeing, a private beach and a daily high of 30C to make our hotel on the outskirts of Bodrum make the Crowne Plaza in Crawley a distant memory coming Monday morning.
Tonight’s evening meal was an even greater joy as a result, second only to our eyebrows rising as we tried to figure out exactly what “creamy herd mash” really was.
As far as the rest of our meal was concerned, I am happy to confirm that my meal of ceasar salad followed by king prawns in teryaki sauce rounded off by a lemon tart (with more apple than actual lemon) did fill a rather empty hole. The staff were hugely attentive too and if I was to use this evening to arbitrarily decide which country should win next year’s Eurovision it would be Spain.
Our waitress this evening did at least seem Spanish and was utterly adorable.