Pauline has to keep reminding me to take my vitamin tablets every morning, I have no idea what they’re for, just that there are four of them and they’re supposed to be good for me. They don’t make me feel any different but maybe I’d feel a lot worse if I didn’t take them. These pill manufacturers aren’t stupid are they?
We checked out the supermarket this morning. Because there’s no competition they can charge what they like but a sliced loaf of cheap looking white bread for over a pound? Come on, is everyone here from Islington? They must be if they’re paying these prices. In fact most items, apart from wines and spirits, are more than double the price at home (mind you we do only shop in “The Pound Shop”). The trouble is there isn’t anywhere else to shop unless you take the bus into the nearest town or hire a car.
Saw a couple of items in the supermarket which I might take home with me. One was a litre of liquor in a bottle the shape of a football boot and the other was a litre of genuine Scotch whisky called “Kilt Castle”………. nice.
Plenty of restaurants as you would expect but as it’s an artificial environment there are no small non-touristy bars or places to discover. We’ll have to see how far away the next real town or village is to add some variety to the holiday.
Emma and Dan got up late and spent the afternoon doing whatever it is they do while we just lazed around.
It was soon time to go for our evening meal, doesn’t time fly? So we quickly did the rounds of the various restaurants to check out prices and what was on offer. The one we chose was a very big place with a large sort of indoor terrace. We were given a table by the far side overlooking the street below. As we were being shown to our table I noticed that all the waiters seemed to be fairly short wiry types with shaven heads and surly looks. They were either all gay or out on parole or both. One of them came over, brought us the menus and asked if we wanted a drink. We ordered a bottle of house red for us and some water for Emma. The waiter came back with the wine and for some reason showed me the label and then poured a small drop into Pauline’s glass for her to taste. Obviously here in Menorca it’s the man’s job to do the most important thing of looking at the label while the lady just has the mundane task of actually tasting the stuff. As the waiter stopped pouring the wine into Pauline’s glass he spilt a few drops onto the clean white tablecloth. Pouring wine for the rest of us he did it again, he was slopping the wine all over the place. I didn’t actually say anything to him, I didn’t like to mention it in case he was out on parole and punched me one or even worse he might have been gay and burst into tears. I decided, on balance, to keep quiet.
Shortly after, another waiter appeared, looking nothing like all the others. Well he had a shaven head but that was as far as the similarities went. This was a tall, well-built bloke.
“Ready to order yet?” he said in a loud broad Australian accent.
“We are, but I’ve got a question about this pork sirloin,” Pauline said.
“I’m here to answer any questions you might have young lady,” the waiter said.
“Is it fatty?” said Pauline.
“Well, I can’t answer that,” he said, “it might be, who knows? Could be, may not be. Best not to have it I’d say.”
“Well I think I will,” I said.
“OK sir, you don’t mind what it’s like then?” he said.
“No, I’ll take it as it comes,” I said.
“Right, how would you like it cooked? Rare, medium, well done?” he asked.
“Does it make any difference?” I asked.
“Quite honestly, no,” he said.
“Fine,” I said.
Pauline chose pork fillet and Emma and Dan ordered pizza.
The Aussie took the order and hurried away but not before turning to Emma and with a big grin said in a loud voice, “You’ve caught the sun today haven’t you?” Emma immediately went redder than she already was and the waiter moved off smiling. He carried on with this sort of banter throughout the evening at every table he visited and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.
I must admit though that by the end of the evening he was beginning to get on my nerves.
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