it's not Lloret is it.......

Remembered a little holiday experience which I will share with you. Are you sitting comfortably....

We decided to be a little adventurous this holiday and catch the bus somewhere - wa-heyyyy! (we'd both forgotten our driving licences and couldn't hire a car actually...) We were both kacking it a bit in case we couldn't make ourselves understood to the bus driver, which is a bit crap since I can speak spanish (fairly ok) and in any case just mumbling our destination should have been sufficient, and so we boarded the bus outside the hotel and trundled off in air-conditioned comfort to Fornells (a pretty little harbour apparently). The first time the bus stopped, we assumed ourselves to be at our chosen destination and jumped off in a panic with everyone else. It became apparent after walking aimlessly around a (very pretty) housing estate for half an hour that we had NOT chosen the correct bus stop and were not even in Fornells. How embarrassing. We eventually ended up back at the very same bus stop to await the next bus.

Waiting there too were two middle-aged over-tanned Brits (you could tell they were Brits before they even opened their mouths, sadly - vests, shorts and gold flip flops for her, trainers for him,) and when they did speak - by 'eck it were funny. They were from 'up north' - sorry, my regional accent definitions are a little sketchy between Bristol and Newcastle, but it was a very strong accent, and they had also cocked up with the getting off the bus thing. They were also trying to get to Fornells. Not for the pretty harbour, but just 'to get some fags'. This had me giggling because it sounded so, well, bad! As we waited, we, as Brits, started bemoaning the length of time the bus was taking. Mrs gold flip-flops then said, with sadness, 'well, it's not quite Magalluf is it....' at this point I think I laughed out loud, as this must be just one of the most crass things any tourist can say - ever. I was reminded of Shirley Valentine (the film) where the up-northerners all gather together moaning about the basic conditions of their pretty Greek holiday island and one remarks; 'thing is, I could like Greece - if it were more like Spain....'

Anyway, to top off this lovely day trip out, Fornells turned out to be a bit dull. Oliver had a little swim to cool off in his pants, but then his shorts blew into the water meaning he had to make the journey back on the bus naked and swathed in my shirt. He refers to the trip as the worst day of his life. A bit strong, but I know where he's coming from.

This is Oliver not enjoying the walk round the housing estate:

This is Oliver not enjoying wearing my shirt:

This is the Mark and Oliver waiting on the quay for the bus to escape the delights of Fornells:

Oh, and I did the Docs a couple of days ago. Went pretty much as expected. She has prescribed a course of anti-depressants which I have no problem with taking, and my responses to her questions indicate a raised level of anxiety rather than any deep-seated depression, which is good. I asked to be referred on to speak to a counsellor of some sort so I can start to sort out my overreaction to certain situations and I have an appointment at the end of October. All quiet on the western front....