Breezy, mild and slightly overcast yesterday with the possibility of rain. After carrying on with the very excellent A People´s History Of The United States (from now on PHUS), I took myself off to the centre of Cala Llonga to find The Tobacconist to buy some cigars and then to find a bar with Sky to watch Man U v Man City. (Man U did the business, winning 3-2 in the 97th minute. The extra time was odd because there were no hold-ups to speak of. In a minute I shall log into the papers to see what the pundits make of the matter.)
It was spitting rain when I left the hotel and I bought an umbrella as soon as I hit town. Ten minutes later is was raining properly, five minutes after that is was simply tipping down and did so for what seemed like 30 more minutes. It did stop, but we had a hell of a thunder storm in the night and Cala Llonga this morning now looks more like Dudley, West Midlands, than sunny Ibiza. But who cares? I have Howard Zinn to keep me company and absolutely fuck all obligations, duties, tasks or deadlines. Not feeling particularly relaxed yet and I hopelessly tires all the time, but . . .
At the bar met Jo (36) and Claire (35). It might well be Clare or, this being a modern age, Klare - these things are now fully permissible and anyone who objects to the progress and the personal right of any and everyone to spell their name exactly as they damn please should be prosecuted in Her Majesty´s courts and thoroughly ashamed of themselves to boot.
Jo was the football enthusiast and sat and chatted to them for several hours. She is months out of an eight-year relationship, is originally from Wolverhampton, but now live in Leeds and works as a recruitment officer. Clare (Klare? See above) works in online advertising and is originally from Leeds but lives in Birmingham. They were at college together. They asked my why I was on holiday on my own, and I told them the truth: to get a bit of peace and quiet and away from my wife. My candour, I hope, achieved two things: 1) it is the truth and so the explanation didn´t involve lots of euphemistic guff, and 2) I Am Available should Jo feel in the mood for a holiday fling and be able to see past the rather ragged looks, receding hairline and unforunately spreading figure of this virtual 60-year-old. I go to the gym every day at work, but all that achieves is that I don´t look even worse. To be fair, I don´t look a day older the 59, but no younger either. For the record, Clare is not my type.
Found my cigars and bought five good ones for 6.25 euros. Had one, but, heart attack and all that, woke up during the night and felt guilty. My nose is blocked, my breathing seems more laboured, and my heart rate seems higher. This might all just be my imagination, but all other things being equal, I now rather wish I hadn´t given into the temptation to smoke a cigar. I did, however, enjoy it a lot.