Well this enforced breakfast diet of fresh figs, yoghurt and rancid lard has really cured my constipation. Just call me Mr. Regular. At last I can go to the toilet again. And again. And again. I’m as regular as clockwork now every morning at 8 am. Trouble is I don’t wake up until 9 am.
That bottle of brandy I bought in Gibraltar for £1.90 is absolute crap. Can’t trust anyone these days can you? Its so bad I cant face drinking it. don’t think anybody could. I know, I’ll give it to Pauline’s dad when we get back. He’ll drink anything. Imagine someone said to you, here are lots of different bottles of flavours, mix them together until you get as close as you can to a brandy taste. Then imagine every bottle of flavouring tasted like horse shit. You wouldn’t have too much trouble getting as close as you could with that would you?
Emma’s made a friend. A 12 year old from Sheffield called Sara. She’s here with her Gran and Grandad
Tonight at dinner I realised that I’d bought a pair of shoes in Mijas that are exactly the same as the ones Sara’s grandad is wearing. I cant believe I’m wearing the same shoes as a 62 year old man! Christ, I’ll be wearing knitted waistcoats and shirts with big floppy pointy collars soon. What made it worse was both Pauline and Emma said, “They look nice, they suit you.”
I think her grandad looks younger than me too but I’m not saying anything in case they agree.
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