PALAFRUGELL, HOLIDAY FROM HELL

My back had been paining me,
it was July, there was no work,
so Mafi suggested we take a restful break

I think she was motivated
by the dreamy, hippy holidays
she had spent grooving out
in Ibizan caves and Formenteran taverns

She suggested we hasten to Palafrugell
a dinky Costa Bravan seaside resort.
There, bathing in
the sweet, lush waters
of the Mediterranean
I would recuperate
and be reborn.
I assented, anything to get rid of this pain

I imagine we arrived
full of wide-eyed hope,
excited and eagerly looking
forward to
a joyous week by the seaside,
but maybe not even that's true,
maybe we arrived bad-tempered
and weary from an unnecessarily long
coach journey, maybe my
excruciating back had already hurled
me into a dark, irritable place

There must have been a moment
when we weren't arguing
but if there was I don't remember it.
We argued in the morning
as the mighty bronzed tourist horde
joined us on the beach
where curled up in our
tatty sleeping bags
we had been attempting
to doze.
We argued at lunchtime
as we swallowed mouthfuls
of jarred lentils and stale bread.
We argued in the evening
as we
wandered wearily, aimlessly,
irascibly round
the uninspiring
streets and squares
of this dispiriting town.
We argued as we stared up at the stars
and tried to get some elusive shut-eye,
We argued in our sleep

Everywhere we looked
people were enjoying themselves:
soaking in the gorgeous
sun; feasting on lush paellas
and mouth-watering mariscadas;
splashing and joking about
they knocked back
envigorating sangrias
and refreshingly ice cold beers.
I have never and never since
seen so many
happy folk gathered together
in one place, not surprisingly
the ongoing carnival
erupting around our weary selves
only excacerbated
our 200 peseta a day
misery

The last night
as we lay on the beach
attempting to reach
the world of dreams,
a gang of menacing, drunken,
motor-bike louts
cavorted onto the beach.
Shitting ourselves
we scurried into the bushes;
we spent a couple
of hours crouched in
prickly, sandy discomfort
while this merry band
of alcohol fuelled crazies
howled at the moon;
it was a fitting end


On the up side,
I swam about 15 times a day,
for the first time in a long, long time
my back didn't hurt,
and every holiday we had after
was fun,
except for the car crash one
in Extramadura,
and even then
in that one
we got some compensation
from the
car insurance company