We are now seasoned ClubMedders, not looking up when new busloads of guests are clapped and cheered in at the reception. In fact, one could say we have succumbed and surrendered. Participation is no longer a dirty word. Our routine has been fine tuned since my last post and we have carefully branched out to activities which are not too strenuous, such as archery and sunset yoga stretching. Synchronized dancing is now just a small step away. You would understand if you were here. Everything works on a weekly rotation here, so we are back to the white dress code and fish buffet tonight. There is unrest amongst the bar personnel. It has all become warm and familiar. I would say it’s nearly time to go home.
Jip has developed a strange illness, called “being sick”, with unspecified symptoms. All he really wants to do is lie in our air conditioned room and sleep, he says. We feared a mild form of sun stroke and kept him in the shade for a day, but as there are no other visible signs - his appetite for pasta, pizza and fries, with ice-cream (ketchup has vitamins in it, doesn’t it?) has certainly not suffered from his illness - we now have a sneaking suspicion that the wish to lie in the room may have something to do with having been allowed to watch Cartoon Network while resting. I certainly hope his obsession with television is leading to a great career in cartoon writing. In the meantime, unfortunately, the TV in our room has mysteriously broken down and we are hoping for a quick recovery.
Rosie has taken the art of whining to new heights in week two. We have accordingly brought the hour forward of, and increased our alcohol intake around the pool and that seems to reduce the holiday stress to a perfectly acceptable level.
Will report back in SF,
Love sister 1, still in bikini