Don’t go back…

I have made it clear before how much I love nostalgia and re-living childhood memories but sometimes, it can result in disappointment. Ever since I booked up the villa in Moraira, I was excited and soon filled with anticipation. Not just because my family hadn’t been on holiday for seven years (I don’t think I’ve mentioned that before) but the Costa Blanca was where it all started back in the late 90’s. That particular part of Spain became oh so familiar to me as a kid because we kept going back every year. It was an amazing area when I was a little boy but now I’m a big boy, I can see it’s not that great. I removed my rose-tinted spectacles and replaced them with sun-shades.

As a recent Top Gear episode showed, the financial crash has hit Spain much worse than Britain. Everywhere does look like a construction site with unfinished buildings and roads. The supermarkets again point to the economic downturn because the price of basic food was astronomical (it made Waitrose look cheap). This doesn’t match that glorious country I once knew. All the places I remembered so fondly showed that children are easily pleased. Take the local fun fair; I recall the excitement when my parents would take my brothers and I into, what turned out to be a courtyard with a few baby rides in. They seemed magical 10 years ago…

Another place I was desperate to visit was the supermarket just outside the town centre called Pepe La Sal. The reason I used to enjoy going there was because they had mini trolleys, which at the time was quite novel but most supermarkets have them nowadays. Like the fair, it wasn’t fun going back as a grown up. Again, what did I realistically expect? It’s just an ordinary shop with aisles of food and drink. They didn’t even have the trolleys anymore (not that I could use one).

Nothing really felt as good a decade later apart from the villa, which we had all agreed, was the best one we had stayed in. The two restaurants, Rusty’s and Monroe’s, used to be our regulars but they had gone downhill. The food was pretty tasteless and so too was the singer in Rusty’s. Fair enough, if it’s karaoke, you expect a few amateurs but she was being paid to entertain the customers but instead was killing a few of my favourite Adele tracks. Then, there is Monroe’s. I’m fussy so just had Spaghetti Bolognese and quite enjoyed it but apparently the Carvery was awful (it looked stodgy). Not how anyone remembered it.

Even the town of Javea (10 minutes away) didn’t have the same feel as it used to but our judgement may have been blurred by poor service at a restaurant. Basically, the waiter didn’t tell the kitchen my order so the Pasta Carbonara was brought out after everyone else around me had finished dinner (ask Gavin to do his impression of the chef). I was left annoyed and because they couldn’t understand English (convenient), I wasn’t able to kick up a fuss. I asked for money off the bill but they looked puzzled. So, we left the town pretty disgruntled. It might still be a nice place but that stupid restaurant will be the overwhelming memory now.

I think the moral of the various stories I’ve told in this blog is that memories are sometimes best left well alone. Rarely will a place be as good, especially when the last time you visited was as a child. I will definitely go back to Spain but probably not Moraira. Next time, I’ll stop focusing on my time as a kid and create new adult memories (sounds rude). Who’s up for Ibiza?

Bye for now!

Too hot…

I’m not going to do the fashionable thing in Britain today, which is to moan about the weather, whether it is hot or cold. Nor am I going to have a pop at those who have a good whinge either way because I am a bit of a moaner when it comes to Arsenal. I complain when the club spend no money and I am not content that a supposed £40 Million bid has been made for a vile, cheating, racist cannibal (Luis Suarez). It’s a British thing to never be happy and feel the space by telling everyone what annoys you. Hence, why I enjoy writing my blog.

My grand statement of the day is that I want a hot-tub (I realise that I must win the lottery first but considering I don’t do it, that seems impossible).

Come to think of it, I had never used a hot-tub before our holiday so was intrigued to know how it felt. Although the combination of sun and the heated water was too much on one of the days, I fell in love with the machine.  It was so relaxing and left me in a dream state. The jets were hitting all the soothing spots around my body and like the pool, I was dropping off. There was a T.V. screen and speakers that popped out but we couldn’t get them working (much to my disappointment).

I could just imagine one in my back-garden with a shelter to cover it from the elements. That would be amazing in the winter. The rain (or even snow) falling outside while you’re all snug laying in the lovely, warm water. Beautiful women in bikinis cuddling in close and feeding me while watching the football.  It would be like a scene from a movie… Someone slap me out of this fantasy.

Anyway, back to Spain. I really don’t think a hot-tub is necessary in a country of climate. Perhaps, it would be useful in the winter but even then the temperature is still quite decent. I was sweating profusely just sitting in the sun, let alone adding more heat. The dehydration I felt after only being in there for 5 minutes was the definition of unbearable. The heat outside now is nothing to grumble out compared. The best way to describe it is sitting in a volcano in the middle of a dessert (excuse the hyperbole but that’s what writers do).

Bye for now!

A floater…

When I say I was swimming every day in Spain, don’t picture me diving in the deep-end and doing lengths because that didn’t happen. I did contemplate being pushed up to the edge and get tipped out into the pool but I hate being under water. Instead, I was hoisted out of my wheelchair and straight into a rubber ring because I can’t swim.  Then, I’d put a foam woggle under my knees and lay back for hours on end basking in the sun. The only thing I had to watch out for was that I didn’t float off the edge, as it was an infinity pool…

Well, that wasn’t the only thing I felt needed to be closely monitored. Every day, I’d make my way over to the corner in the shallow end so I could stand and stretch my legs while holding onto the ledge. It just so happened that this position provided a perfect view of the topless woman in the villa next door. That was a mere coincidence. My eyes couldn’t help but wander. This has become a sort of running joke in my family but in all honesty, it was a pleasant feeling to freely stand again. The breasts were just a bonus. Anyway, I stopped looking after a few days (because the husband caught me and gave me evils).

One day, I was floating around with my eyes shut. It was peaceful and tranquil. So quiet in fact that I was nearly asleep. Not a great idea in water but my brother and sister were around (not that they’d be much help). Next thing I hear is a slight whistling noise like air being released from a tyre. My brother thought I was being overdramatic and didn’t believe there was a hole in it. Even after two minutes, when the ring was visibly deflated, my sister still saw no problem and told me to calm down. However, I was becoming agitated and worried because without the ring, I’d sink to the bottom. Luckily, my mum noticed the problem and hoisted me on to dry land, where I felt much safer.

I was annoyed that both my brother and sister thought I was making the hole up but I managed to get revenge on Rachel the next day. Gavin got off lightly with it… so far. The following evening, I was about to get hoisted out of the pool into our innovative shower chair (see Friday’s post). My sister leant over to hook the harness onto the metal. As she did, the hoist broke and she fell into the water. Luckily, I wasn’t attached so no one got hurt and we were all able to laugh about it. It did scare me when using the hoist in future but most importantly, it made Rachel look like a right idiot. Pity, we didn’t capture the accident on camera because it definitely would’ve made £250.

I’ve uploaded a few more pictures below of the pool and the hoist.

Bye for now!

Thinking outside the box…

Our plane touched down in Alicante on Sunday 30^th June at 09.30 approximately. So, you’d think we’d have the whole day to enjoy. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. We didn’t actually get to the villa until about 14.00 due to a few minor issues that were dealt with.

Firstly, the car-hire desk was extremely busy so we had to wait for a couple of hours to pick up the keys. I put down my sunglasses and shut my eyes because it was hurting to keep my eyes open (I had been awake since 15.00 the previous day). Then, the Fiat Scudo we were renting was a manual so my dad had to get used to it because he is used to driving an automatic at home (he found it difficult all holiday). The seats were so comfortable that as soon as I got in, I fell asleep.

When I woke up about an hour later, we were only 15 minutes from the villa according to the Sat-Nav but somehow took the wrong turning and ended up lost (a family tradition when away from home). Eventually, my father stopped being stubborn and rung the villa owner to ask for directions. Luckily, he knew where we were so drove down so we could follow him back to our accommodation.

Pulling up on the drive was brilliant for us all. My parents were relieved we had finally arrived at our home for the next ten days and I was just taken back by the breath-taking view of Moraira. My little brother, sister and I were all excited as the swimming pool looked very inviting. So, after having a little rest on the sun lounger and beginning my tan, I was hoisted into the swimming pool. This became a regular set of events.

When I used the shower that evening, I had to transfer into a plastic seat because they did not have a chair on wheels. This proved difficult because the bathroom floor was quite slippery when wet. The next day, I took the cushion off and went in the shower in my actual wheelchair, which again was a pain because it would have to dry before we went out. Therefore, we needed a bit of a quick fix.

That’s what we found in Javea. A sunbed on wheels (see picture below). Far from ideal but it worked as a good shower chair and done the job. I don’t think it was designed to carry a human from A to B because the wheels were beginning to buckle but it certainly solved a problem. The Shorey family could patent that ingenious invention for other people. It only cost €30 but that is quite cheap considering it made our holiday a lot easier and less stressful.

Especially when you compare it to travel shower-chairs which cost over $1,000. It’s a lot and they only sell them in America. However, I’m going to get one shipped over because it will make staying at hotels simpler. I love going to away games with the Arsenal so it will probably come in handy loads of times as most budget hotels have basic disabled facilities. I’m hoping to go abroad for a European fixture this season so it would help if I have it for then.

Enjoy the pictures and I’ll be back next week for more holiday stories.

Bye for now!

Catching the rays…

Just over a week ago we came home from Spain but apart from not having a pool to cool down in, the holiday hasn’t really ended. The ‘mini’ heat wave that Britain is currently experiencing has meant that the sun hasn’t gone from my life… yet. Obviously, history indicates that this weather won’t last forever so I need to enjoy it because unfortunately, winter is rapidly approaching. I should explain to any readers not from the U.K. that 30C may not seem that hot but it is tropical to us islanders as it rarely occurs.

I am guilty of moaning over the past week or so because the heat was more bearable in Spain. Here, it has just been muggy and uncomfortable. It doesn’t help that I still don’t drink as much as I should but that’s slowly improving. Also, being a clean freak, I hate sweat and if there were such a thing, I’d permanently have a shower fitted to my wheelchair. However, if truth be known, I love the summer because it means that anything is possible because you’re not restricted by rain, ice or snow.

The other reason I enjoy the sun is because I love getting a tan. When I laid on the sunbed on day 1, I turned to my mum and joked that I would get my seven years worth of sun. 3 James Bond audiobooks later, I felt proud of the colour I had turned, even if I was a bit burnt in certain areas. That was short lived and turned to disappointment when I saw men walking around topless at the Wireless festival with better tans (and fitter bodies) than me.

Hopefully, the sun will stay in England for the rest of summer and I can continue to top up my tan. I’ve started back at the gym too so I can work on that six pack for the ladies (who am I kidding). I might have to take my Venga down to Southend one day, don’t want to waste these days at a computer. Also, I want to be able to just wear my football shirt alone to a few Arsenal games. Nothing beats watching the team you love playing in glorius sun. You know the old saying, even Tottenham looks better in the sun.

Bye for now!