We got the girls water pistols, obviously. F very quickly learned to yell "not in my face!", according to the rules laid out by Mummy, without having anything like the aim required to abide by that rule herself. I learned to give a particular kind of apologetic nod to swimmers-by, a kind of 'oops, sorry, but what can you do' affair, coupled with a weak grin and, all to often, a faceful of water myself. It accomplished nothing.
C couldn't quite get the hang of firing a water squirter. So she took to wading up to me, seizing my nose and ducking my head under, then laughing uproariously at the bubbles. "Hold nose!" she's still saying, a week later, and pushing me under an invisible surface. Good. Sure I won't regret that later in life. At least I know she gave herself the same treatment, lapping water up or sploshing her own face in with surprising frequency, given that she hates getting water in her eyes in the bath at home. Maybe she just likes the taste of chlorine.
On Buffets
The all-inclusive buffets were open three times a day, all days a week. And in the afternoon, you could get free bar snacks - cladgy cold chips, grainy ice cream, burger buns curling in the sun. Delicious! And thank Christ I wasn't having to rack my brains for some new twist on pasta for the next meal. That alone was worth the admission price.
Buffets are something of a weak spot for me. You could plausibly cover a table with fifteen different kinds of manure, call it a buffet and I'd feel honour bound to sample all of them whether or not they were any good. And this from a baseline of not saying no to food very often, I'd add.
After four days, I think the novelty was wearing off. Each meal had a loose theme. After American Night (make your own burger), Canarian Night (wrinkly potatoes, green mojo) and Taco Night (Tacos), International Night felt distinctly like several days of leftovers heated up, mixed together and relabelled as Fusion. Of course I ate it anyway, far more than I needed to, but I was grumbling through my mouthfuls of chocolate breakfast doughnuts and fruit salad with prawns.
C took fat handfuls of sausages for breakfast, chain eating them. F decided that being allowed to take whatever she wanted as long as she finished it was about the best rule for eating ever. Pasta with chips three times a day? Yes, okay then. Protein with that? Hell, no. Protein is for losers.
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Obviously, it couldn't all last, all this lazy, sprawling bliss. That's holidays for you. At least the volcano didn't erupt until we were going home.
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