Wednesday 24th August 2011

We thought about fixing the outside canopy that was still in a state of disrepair and rang our local contact number. A lady told us that she’d see if she could find a chap called Sylvester to come round with a ladder. About this time we also received a recorded message from our boiler insurers, Homeserve, who told us that we were not covered for the type of job required to fix our intermittent hot water problem back at home. This was all a pain; we certainly didn’t want to be dwelling on intractable maintenance jobs while on holiday.

In the evening we felt we needed some excitement - so we went to Belgian Restaurant. It was still sweltering heat which was a bugbear with the staff – a brief period of rainfall earlier in the week had already acquired something of a folk legend. For a bit of shade, they pulled out the canopy which we watched with some envy. On two occasions, I needed to change a nappy – going inside the air conditioned restaurant was pleasant but the toilet was airless and I felt myself sweating while changing the whiffy nappy.

Moving on to the food – it was rather good. There was a Tuesday tapas offer. I had a veggie lasagne, not as boring as this non meat staple usually is - it had a bit of a ricotta take, which I was told was from a Belgian recipe.

Thursday 25th August 2011

The temperature seemed to rise several more notches today. Sam and I got to the top of Cardiac Hill to find that many of the houses had left bottles of water outside, possibly as a gesture of hospitality for thirsty pedestrians. It was a relief to step inside the air conditioned Co op store at the top, a relief palpable among the shoppers streaming in. I think I lingered in the supermarket – a first – drawing on the relative pleasure of this cooler environment. On the way back down the hill, Sam again lobbed the hat away, initially un-noticed by me, but there was, luckily, someone coming down who was able to hand it back without me having to turn around.

In the middle of the day, it was a longer stay inside. We hauled out the house’s model collection to keep the boys entertained. It was a relief to get to the pool. For the first time that the water hadn’t initially felt cold.

Friday 26th August 2011

We were staying a fifteen minute walk from the beach but, up until this evening, we hadn’t ventured there. At the restaurant, the enchiladas went down well, as did the boys’ Mexican pizza, and with a sense of wellbeing we decided to head to the sea front. It was dusk as we ventured to it via a nature trail and a drift of people were walking back. I had been weary about walking long distances in sandals; I walk a lot and prefer the air cushion bounce of footwear but, over this holiday, I became acclimatised. Back home, the rare bits of sunshine bring out your shoulder thrusting sinewy Mancs; there’s nothing menacing about people in sandals: it’s harder to swagger and carry an air of intimidation as you shuffle onwards.

Having reached the beach, another tick box, we returned to the Carabassi Centre for a drink. The guy selling pirate DVD was active and was I about to decline when I halted myself at the thought that we had exhausted our interest in the house’s DVD collection. We bought two.

Saturday 27th August 2011

In one of our errands up the hill, Jan suggested that I break up the journey by stopping at a café bar. Handily placed at the top was L’Espigo overlooking the hills with railings and rolled up plastic curtains. I asked for a coffee and got a orange juice for Sam (although I was later to find that the purity of the juice was a bit too acidic and caused him red bottom). The staff were friendly and would subsequently wave to us when we passed with the shopping.

In the café, I saw a couple who used the pool. I asked them if they knew of a playground for the kids (the house owners told me there was one with outdoor gym facilities) really just wanting to start a conversations with someone in the holiday community. They thought that there may be a park further on the right hand side of road. The guy said he calls in this café bar to get away. When I found the park, it was hardly the sun faded set of facilities I was expecting. There was a zig zagged trail path which unfurled into a well maintained park. It had an onsite warden who was presently pruning a rosemary plant. There was a kiosk where it would have been possible to sit and have a beer while watching Sam play (I didn’t succumb, having the job of seeing that the sunhat stays on Sam’s head). I wonder if this would last in Spain – my local park at home has desisted from a lot of maintenance like planting flowers under spending reductions; here’s hoping parks like this withstand any coming austerity cuts.

In the evening we went to a ground floor restaurant where it was soon apparent that the staff were overwhelmed by the number of people needing to be served. Regularly, a group would go to sit down at a table next to us to be told that there is an hour’s wait until the next meal. They all decided to go elsewhere. A hungry Ed and Sam soon got restless and hungry. When the meals eventually came, Jan pushed it away on realising that it contained mushrooms, a source of allergy. When this was mentioned to a waiter, he consulted the chef and then confirmed, yes, there were mushrooms. The waiter was already at another table when Jan asked ‘Is that it?’ A long exchange followed with the staff, incorporating comments about their attitude and Jan was refunded the money for the barely touched meal. At least we spoke to a Welsh couple who were able to tell us where to go to catch the coach to Santa Polo.

This restaurant seemed to lose heart thereafter. I noticed it was half full the next day and then subsequently closed.

Sunday 28th August 2011

Sam was a great hit at the pool today. He took an interest in the birds that were tottering around on the tiles by the walled hut and aspired to have a closer look. I took him out of the swimming pool but the birds ultimately swooped off. His talk (which really amounted to repeated usage of the word with a pointing gesture) began to prick up the interest of the local ladies in the pool and he became the centre of attention. Will this be the only time that an interest in our feathered friends woos the interest of the opposite sex? I knew that if I strode around the pool in a polyester/spandex swim suit talking about this subject, I would not get any interest except as a cause for curiosity

Monday 29th August 2011

Monday 29th August 2011

We made our one and only trip out of town as we caught the coach to Santa Polo. To Jan’s approval, it stopped next to the town’s Monday market. Amidst the clothing stalls (with the most common item predictably being a Barcelona ‘Messi’ top) we held the boys interest with a selection of the potpourri of sweets on offer. A replacement pair of sunglasses was on sale for five euros. Did I barter, hold my nerve before reaching a satisfyingly lower price to pay? Nope, I handed over a five euro note.

We wandered to the local beach but the sand was too mortar grey for Jan’s tastes. Over coffee in a beach facing café that contained (to Sam’s delight) an in house budgie, Jan expressed withering disdain for what the place had to offer. The café manager pointed us to the centre and the place eventually unfurled a bit more attractively. At a pavement café, we had a pizza which was a little oily on top. We sought to visit the town’s aquarium but found it to be closed between 1 & 6 (perhaps the fish needed longer siestas). Weighed down by the pizza, we made a fraught run for the bus back to GA before the buses themselves took their own afternoon break for the day. The coach was fortuitously late. Hot and bothered, Sam wriggled and raged on board and we were glad to be dropped off at the unshadowed, hot and humid Gran Alicante for the less wearing ten minute walk back.

Tuesday 30th August 2011

I went with Sam to the GA Centre and took in one final impression of the town. It is a modern, computer designed centre, looking like one of those proposed town planner’s sketches made real. There would be no aromas, street entertainers or cavernous drinking dens here. Amidst the prosperous looking shops sticking out like a sore thumb was one with beach gear stacked high outside offering inflatables, buckets and spades to the brash seaside crew. This place, at least, offered the people what they may want; the shops were generally empty, and a month on brings sad news of the closure of the centre’s off license, tapas bar, boutique and butcher’s shop. The blame can't be laid at our door – unlike Saturday night’s restaurant neither Jan or I set foot in any of these establishments.

I bought some groceries, had a drink, withdrew some money then took the road train back. As it went on its longer loop journey home Spanish pop music was played (which is bearable – I would happily listen to Spanish pop if I lived in sunnier climes). Between songs, there would be occasional voice overs highlighting a place where we were approaching. The odd British bar was advertised with the backing brass theme of Coronation Street which sounded inappropriately melancholy in this most un Salford of weather.

Wednesday 31st August 2011

There were storms overnight which sent the air conditioning and other electricity teetering on the brink. The swimming pool security system broke down and the entrance was wrenched open for the day.

After last night’s downpour, there was, by now, a lot of water on the top of the outdoor canopy. Sylvester, the man with the ladder, had remained elusive. However, perhaps reinvigorated by the fresh air that followed a storm, we felt able to tackle this problem again. I put a towel on a wet window ledge, stood on it and, with the pole hook, was able to direct the looping rope downwards. We were able to haul back the canopy, pouring last night’s rain collection on the tiles below with a splat. It was a relief to have this problem out of the way. No payment to the owners required for damages (the offer to pay for a replacement egg up was waved off).

Thursday 1st September 2011

I found the Gran Alicante market this morning after talking to a couple in L’Espigo who had, in their possession, a bag of bulbous grapes. Unlike Monday’s market, this had stalls of spruce local fresh fruit and vegetables. I bought some freshly pressed orange juice (none for Sam who’s bot is still heeling). There was a stall with those staples of Spanish markets – car stickers of UK football shirted donned shaven head rascals peeing on a rival team’s football shirt. I found myself looking for my team as if I was going to boorishly put one on our car back home. Amidst the stalls, there were some beggars, if that’s the right word – middle aged ladies, heads bowed with a notice asking for help for a hospital operation that they haven’t got money for. They were hardly in rags but as our tourist books advised us the Spanish are a proud people.

We went to the Municipal park, then went back to the house. Later, I was to go back up the hill to a cashpoint machine in the sweltering midday heat when we realised that we didn’t have enough money to pay for the cleaner and taxi fare. I waved to the staff at L’Espigo for the last time. We had an early meal and set about packing everything for the flight tomorrow.

Friday 2nd September 2011


The remainder of our bags were packed and loaded by the door. I took the recycling to the road lined skips. Jan cleaned the house then left £30 Euros for the cleaner which, after the extensive clean already done, looks nice work if you can get it.

On the plane back, we entered some clouds where a storm was brewing up. The plane dropped somewhat to audible gasps. Ed was unphased; Sam carried on lobbing books. Back in Manchester, we got the taxi to our house. When we got out the car, the penny dropped for Ed and he burst in to tears. ‘Go to Spain’, he said.

Norfolk Holiday

Saturday 3rd July 2010



While on the road for the long journey, we've got used to regular toilet stop requests from Ed. For the drive to Norfolk, they provided him with an opportunity to flex himself beyond the constraints of the car seat. During long stretches on Lincolnshire A roads we took him at his word and were compelled to keep an eye out for suitable stops. Thus we saw the insides of working garages and used mechanics' industrial regulation soap; one garage owners hobbled from his adjacent house to his garage premises, only to have to tell us, with some irritation, that there’s a café place some miles down the road which we might try. We didn’t find the café but went on to use a hotel toilet (‘for patrons only’) and come out with Ed’s hands smelling of sweet mandarin and grapefruit hand gel.

Seven hours after leaving home we made it to our destination at a caravan site in Heacham, Norfolk. Jan had been at the helm of the steering wheel for this gruelling journey but she had not lost her discerning eye and immediately declared our caravan to be lacking child safety measures and the right standards of cleanliness. A furious call was put through to the reception who said that they would send around a cleaner. Shortly after this, Jan put another call through to the same people. They appeared to have decided to wrap things up an hour early and had called it a day. Not to be fobbed off, Jan marched in the direction of the reception, with a mobile phone chockfull of unflattering images of the caravan, trying to intercept our workshy frontline staff.

Back at the caravan with Ed and Sam, two cleaners had arrived. They looked like they had been briefed and their faces carried a premonition that they might be braced for a hard time. Neither of these had been the cleaner responsible for our caravan. I was stumped for a moment as I don’t do righteous indignation (‘Look at the state of this caravan! It’s disgraceful!’). The cleaners turned out to be attentive, going out of their way to get a stair gate. They were joined by the Head of Cleaning who was on her knees with the carpet shampoo cleaner. I later learnt that she had recently had a knee operation.

I went on to take Ed to the adventure playground on the site. He wanted to go on the swings but when I lead him away from one swing seat that had encrusted bird poo, he stood his ground and demanded to sit on this very swing seat. I tried to rub off off the bird poo with some wipes to no avail. When I told Jan of this, back at the caravan, she said ‘Well if its haredned why not let him sit on it?’ a statement which showed an end of day tailing off of her hygiene drive.

Sunday 4th July 2010

We started investigating our locality by visiting nearby Hunstanton. Jan decided that Sam needed a sleeping bag. We asked around the shops to enquire where these may be sold but after the suggested Azzam’s failed to stock them we abandoned this idea. We ate at the Waterside Bar for the first of what were to become very wearying chip dishes.

Later, we walked from the caravan site to the local beach. As I stepped onto the expanse of sand, away from the shields of the group of huts, I get a fine windblast of Norfolk sand. I step back into the tranquillity of the wind shelter protection before stepping out again into another vigorous splatter gun of sand particles. We decided that this is not suitable, especially for Baby Sam and turn back to the site’s pool.

At the pool, we struggled to get Ed into the pool – he is often weary after a long time away from the water. I eventually guided him into the shallow pool and have some success. Unfortunately when lowering myself in the pool I forgot to take out my mobile phone. In the water it dies a death. ‘Was that your mobile in the pool?’ called Jan before adding ‘You stupid man’.

Monday 5th July 2010

After yesterday’s failure to make it to Heacham Beach , we finally get there and find the conditions more benign. I had previously had a good feeling about it when the wind didn't blow open our caravan doors the moment they were opened. At the beach, We set up our wind shelter and settled down for all of five seconds before I trailed Ed along the grassy banks. Later he gets sand in his mouth and doesn’t appreciate it, especially when I find no smooth and easy way to remove it.

The kitchen at our bar on the caravan site had broken down and we headed out to the nearby ‘ West Norfolk ’ pub. It appeared to have a working butchers on the site. Parts of the place did indeed smell of a butchers shop but that didn’t phase the first lady to order who requested a veggie lasagna. It wasn’t a successful evening as Ed was loud and not easily placated. He didn’t have chips on his plate – big mistake. Within an hour, we left apologizing to diners who were sat nearby.

Tuesday 6th July 2010

In the morning a team of opportunist ducks showed up outside our caravan window. Perhaps they have been drawn by the smell of toast. Ed and I dropped some bread down from our windows which they devoured. Later, they came back with their mates.

We set off for Wells next to the Sea, attracted to it by its working model steam railway. First we looked for something to stop to eat. The lady and the tourist office couldn’t express a preference but while handing over a map of the town, quietly conceded that she dines herself at the Globe Inn. We were glad to have something that didn’t feature chips too prominently and Ed happily ate his breadsticks and hummus. The place, a brightly renovated pub, was pricey mind.

With our map of Wells for directions we surprised ourselves by making it to the model train station in time for one of its infrequent departures. We folded Sam’s buggy into a compartment elsewhere and sat in a cabin, its upper sides exposed. I sought to contain Ed who had a preference for sticking his head outside in the air. I suggested that the train was going at a slow enough pace that, if we fell off, we would survive with just a few bumps and bruises. This did not reassure Jan.

The scenery offered little: banks of thistles and weeds, sometimes a field of cabbage plantations to really get our pulses racing. When we arrived at Walsingham we soon decided that there was little to reason to linger (the tourist office did say that there was a route of pilgrimage) and while the same train was stationary we sought a windowed cabin for the return journey.

Back in Wells we walked back to the car park by the coast. There was a car next to us, parked within its lines but not offering much space to open our back door wide enough for a baby in a car seat. I accomplished this but not before Jan said, in a raised voice, Some People are really Thoughtless in how they Park their Cars. People’s heads turned and the passenger window in the responsible car started whirring down leaving me to elaborate on Jan’s views. I was relieved for it not to reveal fugitive killer Raoul Moat or any other broad necked, shaved headed sort who may not take criticism on the chin (‘Police have warned the public not to get involved in parking disputes with Moat after a father was shot at’). The lowered window revealed a mild mannered Dutch chap. ‘Is anything the matter?’ he asked. My wife was frustrated at the lack of space, I relayed before civilly turning down his offer to move the car.

Whilst in Wells we bought a growbag for Sam in the only colours available – pink. Any photos of him in this are obviously to be stored and shown to his girlfriends a decade plus hence.