Its my last day on the Costa Del Sol before flying back to the rain drenched UK where they don’t have beaches or the sea or any of those things. Instead all they have is rain and rain and some more rain. I have had all my allocated sun for the year and European law states I must stop stealing it from other folks and as punishment spend the next month in the rainiest part of the world, Edinburgh. I’m a bit sad to be leaving today. For a start I won’t now see Layla for two weeks. This is bad because a) I will miss her and b) I will no doubt do something stupid without her to supervise me. I’m reckoning broken limbs or losing something within just five days. Also I’ve been able to relax for the first time in ages, with my last holiday being longer ago than you’d think. Go on, think. No, longer than that. And now after all this relaxation I have to embark on a whole month of endless stress at the Fringe followed by usual work starting all over again. I feel like I have taken the holiday at the wrong time. Its the calm before the storm. Except I’d prefer to have the storm, get all tired from storm, then have a post storm snooze. Reading that sentence back it sounds like a porn version of the X-Men.
At least I’ll be taking a tan to Edinburgh. Well I say tan, what I mean is a joining of a few freckles that gives the illusion of a tan. Whatever it is I shall be strutting my cancerous skin burns across the Scottish city just to confuse the locals who won’t be able to understand why my skin is darker than milk painted white (its harder to paint milk than you might think. Go on, think. No harder than that). Hopefully tickets will sell out for my show just because people will gather from far and wide telling tales of the man who has seen the golden ball in the sky and been tinged by its rays. What will actually happen, is three days in, before the fest even starts, all the rainfall will reduce my skin to a mottled grey and people will just assume I’m undead. Which ironically would also be good publicity for my show.
What have I learnt about the Spanish in my time here? Well very little as I’ve barely met any. The other tourists are mostly Brits, Yanks, Germans and French. The staff are nearly all Moroccan. I’m beginning to wonder if there was some sort of battle in this area and the Spanish lost. I’m sad as I was hoping to ask about the plains, but also about bullfighting, an ancient art where bulls strap boxing gloves to their hands and go at each other using Spanish martial arts. Sadly I will never know any of these things. What I did find out though is that their supermarkets are a bit mad and that in simple tins of Salsa they include the ingredient ‘Ox Heart’. I’ve never known Ox heart to be crucial to a salsary taste, but clearly the Spanish know more than us. Or really hate Oxen. In the end it was decided we would just make our own salsa. Again, another line that sounds a bit porny.
As its my last day I’m leaving the blog here so I can enjoy the last bit of beach and sun before I get on a plane, hopefully not next to someone who smells of wee or a crying baby. Tomorrow’s blog will no doubt involve crying and last minute Edinburgh stress so do look forward to that.