Paddling

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More beach time this morning, this time stopping off en route to pick up a couple of snorkel and goggle sets to get Euan and I to doing a bit of Jacques Cousteau-ing. Loads of little fish and a few bigger ones in the fairly shallow bay and a spent enough time snorkelling around to ensure some nice shoulder sunburn later on.

Think that must've done for Euan as he headed back to the room and slept for three hours in the afternoon, whilst Ursula Andress here* and I sneaked off to a shady palm tree for a sangria or two (or six).

After scrapping for our scran in the mess hall - Asian theme night, staff dressed as Charlie Chan type characters and serving Chicken Tikka - we took a stroll along the market stalls that set up in the evening in the grounds selling mostly rip-off touristy type stuff, then somehow found ourselves again at the Moon Bar drinking large cocktails and playing Gym Runny (Euan with too much Mediterranean in his ears mishearing that one) whilst listening to a not too shabby sounding Tina Turner work the crowd over the lake.

Popped into the late-night food outlet, past the security guard and the omnipresent disinfectant gel machine and into the bevvied up and hyperactive maelstrom that unlimited alcohol and sugary soft drinks followed by a rip-roaring rendition of "Simply The Best" stirs up, grabbed a hot-dog and some fries before escaping off to bed. Ooft. Any semblance of decorum that might have sneaked in at other meal times was well and truly oot the windae at this point. Glad we were a bit tipsy (except Euan, whose teenage hunger glands acted as an equal anesthetic), 'cause I don't think I could've managed that stone cold sober and in the daylight.

*That's as far as Samantha, with her fear of fish, will venture out into the sea. Don't know how she copes with the heat without a proper dook.