This morning we’re getting the local bus to Alcudia, the next relatively large place along the coast. We got off the bus, stood around to get our bearings and found one of those large street maps by the side of the road. “Let’s just find out where we are. What’s the name of that road opposite?” Pauline said. We all peered across the road but none of us could make out the name. “Hang on,” I said, “I’ll go across and read it.” When I got there it must have been one of the longest Spanish road names ever thought up. I started to read it but was having trouble with the Spanish. I eventually committed it to memory, walked back over to Pauline and she said, “Well? What was it called?”
“Dunno, I’ve forgotten. It’s quite a long name though. Hang on, I’ll have another look.”
On the third trip I’d only got as far as remembering ‘Calle de….’ before I noticed everyone else had moved on, disappearing round a far off corner.
Didn’t like Alcudia, very much an urban sprawl. Lovely sea frontage and beach but behind all that was the usual Spanish hotchpotch of hotels, tacky souvenir shops, fast food outlets and for some reason, rows and rows of Chinese restaurants.
We got back to the hotel about 5 pm only to find we’d missed the line dancing and sarong tying sessions. Damn. Of all the days to go out.
Tonight at dinner I needed some slices of lemon but after three tours of the buffet table I gave up looking, not a lemon slice in sight. Never mind, the staff are always very helpful, I’ll ask one of the kitchen staff who are always hanging around the table taking away empty dishes or replenishing empty ones. I looked around but there was no one in sight, not one bloody waitress, not one bloody chef. Hang on though, what’s that right up the far end of the dining hall? Yes, in the far distance I can see someone loitering about with a chef’s hat on. I’ll ask him.
As I got closer, the chef appeared to get taller until by the time I’d reached him he was so tall his hat was almost brushing the ceiling. He stood there, back to the buffet table, arms folded, glaring at everyone who passed. Jesus, he was big.
“Er, some lemon slices?” I said, not wishing to upset him any more than he seemed to be already. He just looked at me, staring at me as if I’d not said a word. “Limon?” I said, not bothering with the Spanish for ‘slices’, I wasn’t sure what it was and was convinced it wasn’t ‘slicos’ so best to keep quiet on that one. He glared at me again, the stubble on his big face reminded me of Desperate Dan. “Limon?” he suddenly bellowed. I swear if I’d had long hair it would have been flowing behind me in the jet stream of his breath. “Yes, please, limon slices?”
He fixed me with another glary glare. Christ, this bloke’s frightening me to death. I glanced around the dining room to make sure I wasn’t alone with this homicidal maniac. He slowly unfolded his arms and stomped away towards the kitchens. I stood there not really knowing what to do but on reflection decided not to move from the spot I was in, in case I upset him again.
I kept peering at the kitchen doors waiting for him to come back. I had visions of him storming into the kitchens, sweeping all the pots and pans onto the floor, punching a few waitresses and shouting, “Lemon? Lemon slices? He wants bloody lemon slices? Who the hell does he think he is?”
Eventually the kitchen door opened and in the distance I could see him advancing towards me, shoulders hunched, head down, ploughing through the sea of guests mingling around the buffet. He stomped up to me with something in his hand. I closed my eyes and said a prayer.
“Senor, limon,” he said, “bon appetite.”
I opened my eyes and he was there in front of me, bowing low with a silver dish in his hand, a huge grin all over his face.
Bastard. I still don’t know if he did it all on purpose .
Ken and Dee were the entertainment tonight.
Need I say more?
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