Dipstick

The journey unexpectedly smooth having caught the luckiest break at Gatwick (by serendipitous chance we arrived 5 minutes before "the herd" to check in for our flights to Portugal) and then The Lish sleeping with Alice in Wonderland vigour the whole way right up until the undercarriage touched destination tarmac, can you blame me for thinking that this could well be the start of what is commonly known as a happy familiy holiday?

Still in shock on arriving at the hotel and settling in without so much as a bicker (well just a little one over who got the bed furthest away from The Lish) I was further amazed when The Silverback didn't have kittens over me watching TV in bed until the wee hours (well, we are on holiday afterall).  Not content with this, the next day decides to open with a resplendent sun hanging high in a cloudless sky with what I can only imagine were angels fanning just the right amount of breeze down onto our surprised and furrowed brows.

The breakfast buffet didn't disappoint though it did surprise, as if tantalising us out of a stupor with fizzy tomato juice and asparagus. Fizzy.

I hate to continue in this vein for it is totally out of character but the luck continued when the nearest beach turned out to be styled like a buddhist-type hidden gem in the Indian ocean.  Any minute now I will wake up with a council tax bill in my hand and a broken pipe in the toilet...no?  Apparently it is no, because the ride continued with the discovery of saltwater pools in the hotel.  OK - where are the cameras? this can't be right.

I'm fully expecting tragedy of Jacobean proportions to befall us.  In expectation, I've hidden passports, cameras, laptops and credit cards.  The Lish is under 24 hour surveillance and The Silverback is on tasting duties lest we be served some bad shellfish - though to be honest I never turn down a bout of diggy dye-dohs to help drop those last few stubborn pounds before a well attended party - in this case a friend's wedding.  Ah yes, the wedding for that is the only way a hot blooded Spaniard can justify a visit to Portugal - I will report back shortly in detail and full colour.

But for now, I'm waiting for the fall, the crack, the short-circuit, the one mosquito with malaria to bite.  In the meantime, I will have to make do with The Germans who so selflessly gave of themselves today to entertain.

Having obviously discovered, like us, that the hotel's pools were saltwater, they being the kings of efficiency felt it would be wise to confirm this outrageous claim by dipping a finger into the pool and tasting it - except they chose the one pool where the salt is likely to come from a far more organic source than the sea (or a shaker)...for they decided to taste, of all pools - the baby pool.  Yep. The. Baby. Pool.

Nevermind efficiency - here comes health and safety.

Laugh? I nearly peed myself.  Guess where?