Having being called fat and mocked, assuming because i’m a Brit, that i’d have chips with everything and not be a salad man (all wrong, I prefer new potatoes and love a salad) I was delighted to be asked by someone if I was a kite surfer (again wrong, i’m more of a paddle boarder) as so the case for being a fat Brit is now closed.

4 of our merry band have left and arrived safely home in Blighty, and so the group has shrunk to a more sensible 11, and after a fishy dinner last night the rallying call to come paddle boarding went out, I woke up early because of the heat, the air con was off, and tentatively sent out a wake up call. No one woke, I went off on my own. Behold the paddle boarded man, the water was flat as a balancing pond although with less shopping trolleys and considerably saltier without the chemicals. I realised the trick is to stand up as tall as you can, as straight as you can to lessen the uncontrollable leg wobble, which in its elf is exhausting and forces an inelegant descent to an uncomfortable looking crouch. The purple patch is over, I didn’t fall in managing to stay afloat for about 45 minutes. Boom!!

Yesterday was stinking hot, really dry with an astonishingly strong hot wind blowing in from the sea, or tumbling down from the mountains, no idea what that was all about, but i’ve not experienced that for a while, probably since last time I was here, and so an end to the trivial matters of weather chat, England have lost the first test in the blink of an eye, I still haven’t managed to read a sentence of my book here and we still haven’t made it to the Kite surfing beach.  

Hot.