_.Went to the airport, just a few miles away, who took £8 each from the four of us. I snoozed all the way. We were due to fly at 8:15 but the flight was delayed until 10:30.
To the Hotel Galfi in San Antonio where the manager looks like someone from a 1950s epic about the Spanish Armada. You know the type. Philip II's devious ambassador to the court of Queen Elizabeth I. His wife, hereafter called Madam Commandant, is German and resembles something like Eva Braun with a hint of Cruela de Vil.
To the beach, baring our white, purulent flesh. Rick spots us almost immediately and makes out that all is well, when it is obvious that he is on a downward, slippery slope. We can, he says, go on one of his confounded beach parties at a reduced price of 500 pesetas.
To Tony's Bar for chicken. Out in the "west end" tonight. How wonderful it is. Drank Pernod. Spewed up back at the Galfi.
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