So our mini break came to a graceful end yesterday with a perfect day. The three of us had all been checking the weather reports on our phones, kindles, ipads and laptops, with everything crossed that our last day would be the one to give us the white lines and sunburn which the British sunbather is so fond of. We weren't disappointed.
Miss R decided at breakfast that no unnecessary time was to be spent away from the pool, and because of that, she involved herself in some minor theft, and rustled up three mini ham and cheese baguettes which made it into her beach bag. As we were polishing off a second pot of tea (using our own tea bags like any sane holiday maker) one of the two waiters passed by the bread basket, and did a double take, as he wondered where the hell all the bread was gone.
And so to the pool. Seven hours of pure unadulterated sunshine, with a gentle breeze. As with every day, it seemed that we had the whole hotel to ourselves, and we snoozed and chatted like three wallowing hogs in a large mud bath. It was soon lunchtime, and anticipating this, Miss R ordered up three Spritz. These got me into a lot of trouble a couple of days ago, so I was limited to two, as it was discovered that five was not such a good idea...
Sipping at our drinks, and munching away on the contraband baguettes, the waiter loomed on the horizon with snacks. I love this Italian habit of feeding you up at all times, and I am expecting to have to wear a beach towel home as getting any of my trousers on is looking unlikely. Anyway, as he set down the mini spring rolls, crisps and nuts, he cast an eye over the baguettes and then it all made sense as to where all the bread had disappeared to at breakfast. But he never said a word bless him. As long as we were happy, all was well in his world.
The Mother, Miss R and I even managed to get into the pool a couple of times. Now this was no mean feat as the temperature was not what we are used to at home. Each of us had our own way of getting in. The Mother, ever graceful, reversed down the pool steps like a 1950's film star, dipping into the water without making a sound, launching straight into a gentle breast stroke. I prefer the quick painful entrance, plopping off the side of the wall and then huffing and puffing up and down the pool in a frantic breast stroke, all the time saying to Miss R that, 'it's lovely once you're in'. By the way, isn't that the biggest lie ever told poolside?
Now Miss R takes quite a while to get in (I'd done two lengths before she actually succumbed). She prefers to perch on the steps like a blonde budgie, scooping up handfuls of the glacial water and rubbing it up and down her arms and legs (like that's going to make any difference). All this is down in time to the shrieks of shock as she descends into the water an inch at a time. I'll be honest with you, by the time she eventually got in, I'd worn myself out swimming up and down the pool and The Mother was dry as she'd got out quite some time earlier. I suppose we had about 45 seconds of time in the pool together before I got out. Bracing would be a good word for the pool, as would 'Arctic' and 'polar', but it was certainly invigorating.
So it's now time for home. We've had a wonderful time and are already planning to come back again next year.
Perhaps when the pool has heated up a little more though...