The sirocco arrived. I hadn't realised that we were only 60 miles from the Sahara. Anyway, the sky was overcast with a sandy wind blowing over, blotting out the sun, on this our last day. Sheila is furious and thinks we have had a terrible week.
To Puerto Del Carmen and into a shop and asked to see tablecloths. The little man showed us one for 14,600 pesetas (that's £70). We laughed. Of course we cannot afford this. The price was immediately reduced by 25 per cent "because you are tourists and go home tomorrow". I didn't like the way that a shopkeeper knew of our travel arrangements. He reduced the price again and again, finally halting at 4,000 pesetas. We told him we only had 3,000, and walked out. He stood at the door yelling "bloody English".
Ate pizzas and drank mateus rosé in a tatty German café. We decide that we'll open a restaurant one day. What else can we do other than cook? I think that together we'd make quite a creative team. A newspaper stand caught my eye. The Daily Star announcing that the Queen Mother is in hospital having a fish bone removed from her throat.
Out with J & S to the Vic. John paid. The Norwegian lady is a bore on second meeting. John and Sheila have endured her for five years. Ally and I went to the Waikiki afterwards. Pena Coladas. Back to the house in a taxi at 1:30.
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