Hoy estoy sesenta!

Jueves, el 8 Septiembre 2016, 07:20, Suite 103.

…… and here I am wide awake, I am stood almost as naked as the actual moment I was born as I bear witness to the most beautiful sunrise that delivers my sixtieth year.

Slowly, the sun emerges from behind the Cap de Formentor, its sudden heat blasts away the slight chill of the early morn, the tiny birds and cicadas stir and the pine tree which gently nudges our balcony emits its fragrance. As the aged Señor from the Municipio de Pollença sweeps his broom along the paseo maritimo I listen to the rhythm which started quietly, steadily getting louder and louder, then calmingly quietens, as he passes on below. 

My eyes are closed, I can hear and feel this daily phenomenon happening, a gentle rumble from behind the slight ajar door indicates that the small kettle on the hospitality tray is boiling. Mmmm, a tea bag on a string with a yellow tag attached bearing the name ‘Liptons’, desperately awaits its own infusion.

Feliz cumpleaños para mi !

Today, espeially, I have to have a bubble bath, (its the law) infact almost everyday its the law, although, sometimes I break it!. After my careful physiognomy routine with cream and other paraphernalia (because im worth it) I open my cards, loads of them, Its hard to pick my top four for display as there is not a lot of space available, I am humbled indeed.

Got my outfit ready for the day and as we have already made a joint decision, considering that as yesterday was so exhausting we would meander slowly down to the ‘Illa d’or’ after breakfast for an early Mocktail (cocktail before midday)

Further down the pinewalk the path way gets rather treacherous, the aging trees have disrupted the paving and the roots have now had other ideas, they wish to be above ground instead of below. We joke how we are going to manage in a few years time with the wheelchair and exactly who will be pushing who, Lou and Andy spring to mind and bad impressions consisting of “I dont like it” and “I wanna go helsinki” are proferred. Unstubbed toes are not negotiable, decent footwear is paramount, I should know.

We reach our favoured property, a detached villa set back in pine scrub, of course, there is room for a pool, that would be the frst thing to be installed once our lottery balls have come forth, and the space for a small outhouse for the housekeeper to be built. Exactly opposite is our family tree, a name we have given this old evergreen, both strinking and undeniably strong, its main torso is now held up by building blocks as it hangs over the path and touches the warm blue waters. This sempervirens has seen many many thousand people walk past, a vast majority have aslo sat on its trunk and been the main composition that has been imortalised in many impressive family photographs, like ours taken in 2008.img_3298

Now, picture this as Sophia Petrillio would say …. A ‘white party in Florida’ sunbaked wealthy aged people sitting at white tables under white parasols on white painted wicker cane chairs wearing white baseball caps playing cards, sipping at tall cool drinks with straws. The bar tenders in white aprons and the once aging bar-hut now stark white, all far too sterile, now devoid of character, this is new style of the once beautiful waterside bar area of the famous Illa d’or, we find a seat under shade and make ourselves less conspicuous, it would appear ages sixty and less are definately frowned upon.

I had promised myself a famed Bloody Mary, it arrives, vastly overpriced. Sometimes trying to recreate a once upon a time doesnt always work, the drink was sallow and the overall bar atmosphere dull, it had changed since our last visit, certainly not for the better either, we might as well have been the invisible men, so we decided to drink up and disappear, but not before taking an opportunity to capture the moment. This was the point where we decided that the Polaroid had to go, trying to recapture the past was now infact, past.p1020126-2

….. to be continued …

Naranja’s y Limons

…. Cont’d from Green gills and a body bag …

Sóller Railway Station

The Orange Express arrives, believe me it was like a scene from an Indian railway station crossing, the majority of passengers are un-nimble and aged, me included, my legs have now swollen up like tree trunks and the pain is unbearable, however, we have a border to cross. Now that’s over the platform, after a drop down of eighteen inches, quick-run-dash-across-rock-rail-tracks and then clamber back up another two feet into the train carriage like an old Sumatran Orangutan seeking and pleading for diplomatic immunity in Borneo. We nonchalantly cling to our seats tightly, with one arm out of the open window pretending we had been there for ages, meanwhile the other primates pulled face and offered sugar lollie pops as rewards attempting to beckon their other relatives further down the carriage to come and join them.


This was going to be a tricky ride, the train meandered through the abundant amount of orange and limon groves and olive tree estates as we continued to look down into the beautiful Fornalutx valley and Sóller further below.


Slowly at 15kph we wound our way upwards and through a series of tunnels, we reached our highest peak and then, just like the run-away train that started running down the track, she blew and she blew! This was to include the longest tunnel, blinded by the darkness we began the descent, all five miles of it … Now, this meant that we were all at the disposal to the mysterious Orange Express pervert of his, OR her wandering hands. Obviously it was not sat near to me, (sighs) …. “yet another bitter disappointment”.

Sadly, for those of us who had done our maths, that meant for eight minutes I held onto my own knees tightly for affect, I certainly wasnt going to waste a once in a lifetime experience called the ‘tunnel of love’ for nothing, not even on my own. (GRrrrr)


Trundling down parallel to the main highway into Palma, we could see civilisation on the morning side of the Serra de Tramuntanas and farmland became more arable, but if you call seventeen million hazelnut trees and almost as many almonds, then you had to realise this tiny island sure has some export produce, fortunately the Carob tree wasnt ready for harvesting, as im sure Dina, our guide would have got us out there shaking the trees lose of its ripe fruit.

Finally our terminus was in sight, we didn’t head straight into Palma as it was now rush hour, hard to imagine, all those sleepy siesta heads going back to work until the early evening …

Sad to say my legs were now numb, and being quite concerned I just wanted to get back to the resort, an hour later we were, laid up on bed with a bottle of San Miguel in one hand and TV remote in the other … nothing quite like “are you saying yes to the dress in Spanish”

Perhaps I was being a little obsessive and concerned about the smell of paint cellulose and disinfectant permeating the rooms and corridors, however, seems like the cyclists have been allowed back on level 5, all that fuss and nonsense, after all, it couldn’t have been all that serious …. no sign of those two cyclists though.

“Early dinner Daddy C?”  ….. Sounds like a plan to me, Daddy P.

After shower and spruce up we headed down to the dining room, one woman asked if we had been anywhere nice as we had not been noticed, and also that there had been a suspicious death on level 5, and they were concerned it might even have been one of us … Nosy old trout …

Now im not one really to gossip, and, to be quite honest, If I said I didn’t, then maybe, I might just probably be lying, but as its never ever stopped me before ….. I had to go and find out exactly who.

…… Obviously sworn to secrecy the lot of them !