"Home is Where the Hangover Is"

This is our second full day here. Our first was punctuated by an unfortunate altercation between three year old Dumpie and a molly-coddled nine year old boy. Dumps had accidentally thrown sand in this older boys eyes, and some time later his grumpy (bovine-like) mother stomped over and told off the husband and his friend (a mate from London who we bumped into on the beach) for not coming over and making sure her son was okay. I watched the scene unfold as she got angrier and angrier - despite my still-jetlagged husband's sombre and repetitive apologies and his mates effusive ones. She just wouldn't drop it. I finally had to interject (though I hadn't been privy to the crime), "He's only three years old! These things happen..."

(At this point I didn't realise her bloody son was nine years old and bawling like a baby over a bit of sad being chucked on him by....a baby. I suspect my response would have been a little less tempered had I known...)

With such an annoying start, the day had to get better...and it pretty much did. Despite the husband losing his mobile phone immediately upon arrival (unless it's stuffed in a pair of dirty knickers somewhere) and the four of us getting ravaged by mosquito's in the night, the sun is sublime, the food delicious, and the air....oh the air is heavenly. I forgot how lovely it is to breathe sweet sea air.

Jay is chuffed to have bumped into an old London mate, and as such, has fallen back into his usual London ways, transporting his tired family home after dinner last night and then sneaking back out for a few more 'bevvies' while I fended off the advances of two sweaty, cranky little midgets in our cramped mosquito-netted king size bed. Dumps insisted on sleeping ON TOP of me, and Egg awoke with nightmares and had to have a cuddle in the middle of the night.

This morning at first light, I grabbed my ipod and snuck out to the almost deserted beach for a quiet morning run. Wow...beautiful. There was plenty to keep me amused - not least the sight of an anorexic, scantily-clad Russian prostitute type doing a bizarre sort of canter along the beach in a barely there bikini and full make-up. It made me - initially self-conscious in my Adidas shorts and trainers - look positively normal.

I was further entertained by the sight of a sock-and-sandals wearing fellow and his lithe young lady companion beginning the reenactment of a pretty hardcore porn film. With what can only be described as pornographic urgency, just steps away from me they began heavy-petting and panting their way towards something which was headed inevitably towards copulation. Luckily some barking dogs killed the mood and discouraged them from their attempts at al fresco lovemaking. I shudder to think of what the locals would have made of that had things progressed any further. (Cut-off denim shorts are still considered risque here...)

A solo morning swim and a ten minute stint in the hammock later, and I was feeling distinctly chilled. That is, until I crept back into the room to find two starving, chattering monsters and a prone, passed out husband face down on the bed.

You can take the boy out of London...but you can't take the London out of the boy.