It’s not often that you get a rude awakening. Especially when it’s mid-afternoon and in public.
Today’s replicated scenario sees us Scoot out to a different town. One that’s been created purely for the tourist and his dollar. Smart apartment blocks set in luxurious grounds inset with designer swimming pools and real tended grass. Locked and guarded by security gates and high fences. Stretch alongside the length of the bricked promenade at La Antilla. Screened by the high rises, the tractor leveled beach is buffeted less from the strong north westerly. We stretch out too. Go there and back. Peruse the parade. Do a lap. Mrs S laps up a couple of bargains. The latter of which I might just allow her to keep on.
Early afternoon sees us back on the actual beach. There’s less wind. Toes and torsos turn to face the oncoming UVs. Ready for action – protection in place. Wind picks up. Sand sticks. We turn over. Try to ignore. Sleep brings success. But not for long. Unknown to me, one hundred metres away, a group are fishing. Some huddle behind their huge brollies. A rogue gust tears one from its anchorage. It sails up and downwind. We’re downwind. It thinks it’s Mary-Poppins. It’s looking for Bert. That’s not me. Maybe I resemble him from up there. Or at the very least my backside does. Its sail loses puff. It tucks in. Starts its swoop. Like an earthbound Peregrine Falcon. Eyes locked on to its target. Going for a bullseye. Luckily I’m lying on my front, or it would have been. One hundred and eighty! Not quite. I don’t get pinned to the sand. Merely jack-knifed into a sudden and confusing state of wakefulness. No damage done. We move to higher calmer ground up in the dunes.
It’s just as well we manage to catch a few zzzs. It’s evening and the Spanish parents are mingling. Seems everyone knows everyone. They’re one big happy family. Having one big loud happy party. They let their kids off the leash. The kids are going bazonkers. So much freedom. The later it gets the wilder they get. We climb into bed after mid-night. Come 12.45am it slowly starts to peter out. That is until a group of trick or treaters start banging on the sides of caravans and MOHO’s. Very funny. What a good game. Can I play? . . .