Alison's Diary

Jul 20 2008

MONDAY

Still on holiday and cousin Patricia insists on taking us to Le Roc, a lovely Italian restaurant, for their seafood pasta. When we get there, we don't even look at the menu - it is seafood pasta for four. So we are well chuffed when four monumentally big portions of fresh pasta interspersed with oodles of fresh seafood arrive. Prawns, mussels, squid and, to top it all, a special piece of lobster still in its shell. Thank you, Neptune. We all sook the pasta, letting it slap off our cheeks and crunch into the seafood - Patricia and I deliberately leave the lobster till last. Eventually she picks up her clamper and crunches it down on the lobster shell, only for the whole thing to slip out her hand, fly out of the restaurant and over the adjacent road landing at the feet of a hungry and shocked hairy dog. One gulp and it is gone. Of course the rest of us are hysterical for ages - me to the extent that when I turn my attention to my lobster, Dave has snuck it off my plate and scoffed it. Swine.

TUESDAY

Back to wet, windy, cold Scotland in a few days, so making the most of our last few days of sunshine. A heap of Aberdonians arrive, so girding my liver and loins to party for a few days. There is now a direct flight from Aberdeen, which means Doric is spoken almost as much as Spanish. As I am bilingual, it is nothing but fun. While out and about, I meet a bloke who used to be in my class at school. I say: "The last time I saw you was at your parents' house in about 1977, where we all watched the Eurovision Song Contest while swigging Sweetheart Stout." He says: "Yes, that was the party the police were called to, wasn't it?" With Louis in earshot, I start singing Viva Espana, lunging out to the beach! I love the sun and they say the vitamin D you get is good for you. The new arrivals are disappointed to find wind and cloud. Och don't worry, I say, it will be tickety boo tomorrow.

WEDNESDAY

For tickety boo, read rain. Well, it is just overcast and I have to cycle into town. We hire bikes because we are quite far away from the town and I am reliving my childhood, skidding around and doing wheelies - when out of sight of Louis obviously! I have to go to the bank and pay the rent for our apartment, which we organised last minute, so I am cycling round with a red face getting annoyed because I can't find the office when the rain starts. Sundress, handbag, Miss Marple-style bicycle and rain. A bad start to the day. Eventually I find the office and go in and try to regain some composure. "It is wet?", asks the girl as I stand drookit in front of her. "Si!" I say in my best Spanish, smiling at her. It is not till I get back to the apartment I realise my non-waterproof mascara has smeared all over my face and I look like Alice Cooper in his School's Out phase. Poor woman, no wonder she looked a little afraid.

THURSDAY

Not on the wine at all. Having gin and tonics instead. Oh, my God - these measures are lethal. The consequences are not too serious in the morning, though people think you're a right one if you swig spirits with your dinner. Still, who cares? Cousin - now at home - sends photo via phone of wet day in North Berwick. I respond by sending photo of Dave with large drink on balcony smiling like a Cheshire cat. I go for a swim in the pool with Louis and see something moving out of the corner of my eye. "What is that?" I ask nervously. "A frog. Look, it's cute," shouts Louis, as I half drown trying to scramble out of the side. Cute? As I stand at the edge gazing down, I see there are about half a dozen of the little devils in there, having the time of their lives.

FRIDAY

Dave and I go out for a meal together and take the bike. We reminisce about our childhood bikes. Mine was nothing fast, nothing flash but I loved it. By the end of the evening, Dave decides he will give me a "backie" home. Firstly, we try with me sitting on the clip on the backwheel backwards, which almost sees us both in the gutter. So I turn round and clamp round his tum as we cycle the streets of Puerto Pollensa laughing hysterically. Rather than go straight home, we see the sights on the bike. We wobble round the streets, stop for a wee beer with some pals and continue on our merry way. Back at the apartment, we decide to become more environmentally friendly and get bikes in Edinburgh. They make you feel about 12. We behave like that anyway, so we might as well go the whole hog.

SATURDAY

Queuing for flight home. Very dapper Spanish man standing in front of us in the queue. Sharp suit, white shirt, black shiny shoes, a glamorous-looking character. In front of him is a lady standing with her baby. The baby is staring over the mother's shoulder at the glamorous man. The baby's head is wobbling back and forwards as it googles at the man who is ignoring it. As the queue moves forward, the lady moves forward and the baby, still staring at the man's head, sort of wobbles rather too much and lets go of what could only be called projectile vomit. There is a collective intake of breath as the man deftly side steps the flying horror and it splashes to the floor. As the lady turns round, realising what has happened, she bends down to apologise and in her haste pours her can of coke all over the man's shoes. A joy no less, a joy.