Flying high

Yesterday morning I went to the roof deck to sit by the pool in the sun gently digesting my enormous breakfast considering the idea of walking to the lighthouse. A conference arrived for their coffee break so I decided to move to a less conferency spot but I tripped most inelegantly and fell splat on the hard tiles. A nice lady helped me up and I assured her I was perfectly OK, it was just a little graze and I'd be fine. But I wasn't fine. I thought I had broken both my right arm, right knee, a rib and damaged other parts too. I sat very still for a long time until I thought the conference may have got over the floor show. I then very gently hobbled to the lift and made it back to the room where I looked in the minibar for something suitably cold to use as a compress on my shattered kneecap. In the absence of frozen peas I used two cans of Red Bull (to give me wings) that I wrapped in a towel. I then lay on the bed watching my knee turn bright blue/purple along with my arm and my ribs. I noticed we got charged for the red bull as apparently there is some sort of automatic alarm thing when you take something out of the minibar. Well I put them back - only one previous careful user.

So once again I did not make it to or up the lighthouse. Last night we went out for an expensive fish dinner at the fishermen's beach. The langoustines were arranged like synchronised swimmers dancing on an elegant dish of ice. It was stiflingly hot with hardly a breeze despite being right on the coast. There has been so little wind whilst we have been here and almost no waves which is a bit if a bummer for the surfers as Biarritz is the surfing capital of Europe.

Today is our last day; we fly back tonight. The Canadians have gone to golf then on to Spain to Rioja country. Oh no, I have just realised Mr Smith has gone with them. How will I get back to Britain? Actually, if it was left to me I would just take a taxi to the airport and fly back to Heathrow but Smith tours involve driving miles to another country then landing at an airport two hours away from where you live all to save 2p on the cost of transporting stupid golf clubs. In fact if you take into account the cost of car hire this was the most idiotic way of doing it. Oh good, Mr Smith never gets things like that wrong. Actually, we inherited this holiday from his brother who sadly couldn't make it, and with five of us and four lots of golf clubs it all makes better sense. However, next time I will fly to and from the places I wish to be and just pay for the golf clubs' first class seat.

And it really hurts