& then it was over, we said our farewells

Our week on Fuerteventura is now becoming a distant memory and the tan is fading quickly. It was another good break, albeit this time the weather was a bit changeable and genuinely cold at night, especially in the wind. It was a bit of a shock to open the curtains in the morning to be welcomed by a bank of clouds.

Out of our seven days six were bright and warm by 11am. I doubt if the temperature got above 25 degrees at any time, but that was fine for us. I know I call our airline of choice “SleazyJet” but I shouldn’t really complain. They took off on time and landed on time for both legs of the trip. On board was fine, both times having a spare seat so we could spread out a bit, more on the return flight later on in the blog. When we arrived at Fuerteventura airport we were due to be met by transport from the hotel which I’d pre-booked, however there was no sign of anyone holding up a “Welcome Mr Clark” board. After hanging around for 10 minutes of so I emailed the hotel to get an immediate reply saying transport would be with is within 10 minutes. 20 minutes later and I was becoming more and more angry. We were just on the verge of jumping into a taxi and giving the bill to the hotel when are driver eventually turned up, full of apologies as apparently there had been a mix up with the bookings. We mentioned this episode when we checked in with the hotel manager, three hours later a knock on the door brought a bottle of Cava and a plate of fruit with the compliments of the hotel.

By this point Carol had knocked by two Hendricks on the plane, a large glass of white wine whilst waiting for our room to be ready and was now faced with a bottle of fizz to demolish. She stood up well to the task…. A game old bird.

Our days were spent cycling to the dunes, soaking up some rays, cycle back for lunch. Carol would then go off and use the hotel Spa facilities whilst I explored a bit more of the immediate vicinity of the island on my bike. There was a convenient bar at roughly half way house where I stopped most days. Well, when I say bar, it was more like a hut next to the harbour, but it sold nice cold beer. The woman that ran it reminded me a bit of the old wench from the Blackadder series, she certainly looked well worn, however despite the fact that she spoke no English and my Spanish is pretty poor we managed to communicate. She’s got an old plastic shopping basket next to the hut, in which sat a pigeon. By the power of sign language and nods I worked out that she was nursing it back to health, no idea why as there were hundreds of perfectly healthy ones around she could have chosen from J I stopped at her hut I think five times in total and each time there was a welcoming smile. That’s possibly another advantage of having a Lary, it makes you recognisable. I’d hazard a guess that on the island that week I was probably the only Lary wearer. It was the same in the bars and restaurants we frequented, once we’d been in the once we were remembered. Not sure that’s a good thing or not J I enjoyed my cycling exploits however I had to stop fairly often as the filter wasn’t letting enough air through to my lungs when I was trying to breath hard. When I got back home I mentioned this to SALT Caroline who’s given my some special filters to try out that are designed to let more air through if you’re exercising. Regular readers of this blog may remember that when we went to Gran Canaria last year I suffered from the fine sand getting into the filters and finding its way into my stoma, I’m pleased to say, that with one exception, that didn’t happen this year, maybe the sand on Fuerteventura isn’t quite as fine as that on Gran Canaria?

Corralejo has the usual tourist type bars and restaurants as well as the more traditional Spanish ones. The area around the harbour, with the wonderful views across to Lobos and Lanzarote are the most popular with tourists, but also the most pricey. We had one meal in an Italian restaurant of the harbour which was probably the worst service I’ve had in a number of years. Rude, disinterested, and generally crap. I can’t remember the last time a waiter didn’t ask if we’d like to taste the wine before pouring the glasses. This one didn’t even bother pouring, she just opened the bottle, plonked it down on the table and disappeared. In and out in 35 minutes, zero tip left and a 1* Trip Advisor review written when I got home. I reviewed all the places we ate in and this was the only 1*. In contrast at the back of the town there was a tapas bar called Oscars that we’d used in previous visits. This became our restaurant of choice for evening meals. It was always busy, generally with Spanish voices which seemed to suggest it was authentic. The food was based largely on fish which was fine by us, but with the added bonus of some goat dishes. Now I’d never eaten goat before, but the slow roasted goat I had was sublime and served with a degree of theatre too. Oscars didn’t have a wine list, they just recommended which ever local wine they felt went with your order. We were never ripped off on the bill from what I could see, with bottles ranging from €10 to €17. I think I could probably eat tapas as my food of choice for the rest of my life, being able to order small and varied dishes works perfectly with my current eating abilities. I just need to make sure I check what’s actually coming out as a couple of times we ordered dishes which arrived with Canarian potatoes when we’d also ordered them as a side dish, carb overloads! We’d planned on eating at Oscars on our last night and had even delayed having seafood paella, however we should have checked. Along with a lot of the more traditional places Oscars was closed when we arrived on Sunday evening. Luckily we found another decent place to finish off our food journey with a decent paella. 

We tended to finish our evenings at the Rock Island Bar, a very small venue which hosted various acoustic artists. It’s got a very laid back vibe and is the perfect way to wind down from a hectic day of sunbathing, eating and drinking. We saw the same artist on two nights, Daryl Kirkland, who was pretty entertaining. His party piece was to play the two best songs about London (In his opinion) the first was Waterloo sunset by the Kinks, and the second………………………….. Feed the birds, from Mary Poppins, an inspired choice, but I guess you had to be there to really appreciate it.

The main act we’d hoped to see whilst we were on the island were Gary and Dave. Gary is co-owner of the bar and Dave is Dave. They were supposed to be playing on Friday night, but when we arrived we were met with the sad news that Dave had the squits and couldn’t perform. This is the sort of music Dave and Gary usually played - Dave 'n Gary   The replacement act was a chap called Andy, who was frankly a disgrace. His “Jokes” bordered on the offensive, he couldn’t sing and seemed pissed. We left after 10 minutes. The next time we met Andy was on the 10.50am flight from Fuerteventura to Gatwick. He arrived on board pretty late, staggering to his seat in 3F, ie the window seat in the row we were sat in. He announced in a loud and slurred voice that he was desperate for a wee! The flight crew let him use the facilities whilst others were still boarding as it was obvious he was going to be a pain in the bum. His wife, who was a caricature of a fading rock stars long suffering wife……… cheap gold bangles, badly dyed blonde hair, tight jeans, plastered makeup, you get the picture, commented that whoever he was sitting next to would have a fun flight as he was already pissed. He emerged from the toilet, swayed down the aisle and asked me if he could sit in my aisle seat as he might need to use to toilet quite often, I declined and told him to sit down, in his seat, shut up and not to annoy me. Luckily the aircrew ID’d him as a total twat quite quickly and moved him and mutton further back in the plane to an empty row of seats, much to my appreciation and those sat around us. I had the last laugh as he’s put luggage up in the overhead lockers before being moved. On landing I refused to move to let him have access to his baggage before we disembarked, he was huffing and puffing to his full height of five foot fuck all and trying to push pass those in front of him so he could get to "His Seat"! A nasty piece of work all round.

One of the challenges for the holiday was to give Mr Fox No. 19 a new name that suited his character. Carol had booked herself in for a full body massage and facial at the hotel spa, so I took foxy off for a cycle around the town and down towards the windmills.  We stopped off for the necessary beers and discussed the matter in great depth, before we came up with the new name of Hendricks Pinkman, or HP for short.

We felt that as Carol had been doing her best to put Hendricks Gin into the FTSE 100 by her consumption and that I’d just finished watching Breaking Bad (Again!) that the name fitted perfectly, ie the fox was a gin soaked meth’s cook! 

All too quickly the week was over and it was time to head back home to Max and Neville. The welcome from Neville when we got back home had to be seen to be believed, - ..... and it's hello from Neville Penny of course was nowhere to be seen and unlike her she was still not back inside by 10pm, we were starting to get a bit concerned. Carol opened the front door about 10.30pm and in stoated Penny, head held high in that “Oh, you’re back are you?” pose. Nev was licking and jumping and almost wee’ing himself.

The week back was a mixture of work and hospital appointments. I went to see Sian at the Physio Dept. Again my movement had improved, despite not doing the prescribed exercises on holiday. Sian reckoned that the cycling may have helped as its putting pressure through the shoulder via the arms. Another new set of exercises prescribed to work on the scatula muscle in my right shoulder, hopefully a few more degrees of movement will be seen prior to my next appointment.

Thursday saw me rocking up at ENT Dept for my regular appointment. It was 12 months to the day that Cool Dude had told me that “It” was back and I’d need to have surgery to remove the bastard once and for all. Nowadays I turn up with no real qualms. I know the appointment will probably run late, I know I’ll be in and out in five minutes flat, I know that so long as there is no CNS Nurse sitting with the Consultant that I’m still ok, I know that the NHS won’t let me down. As per usual I arrived about 10 minutes before my appointment, the receptionist knows me well by now and never asks me to check in, it’s just a case of “Hello Paul, take a seat” – Another example of the Lary being recognised perhaps? I was called in to be weighed after five minutes, 86.7kg, my heaviest ever, perhaps time to start curtailing the carbs? About 20 minutes after my appointment was due I was shown in to see Mr More Scary the Scary, he commented on how well I was looking and how strong my voice was sounding. He reckoned on a scale of 1 to 10 my voice was an 11 (I think he’s a secret Spinal Tap fan!) No “Up to nose and down the throat” this time, just a quick look at my stoma, which apparently is looking good. He’s asked me to get a blood test to see what my thyroid is up to (Having a party I’d imagine) as it can be damaged by the surgery and RT, this could be a reason behind my lethargy, other than that he’s now happy to see me every three months unless I feel the need to be seen beforehand. This is the first time since December 2015 that I’ve gone onto Quarterly Reviews and is a major step forwards for me. I left feeling pleased.

Friday night was the annual Rams End of Season Ball, held at a hotel in Reading instead of the Old Bath Road ground as it’s become so popular. There was a lot to celebrate this season, and celebrate we did! It’s a Black Tie and Ball Gown affair, in the past I’ve always struggled to get my bow tie done up properly, for obvious reason I didn’t have to fret about that this year. As always, it was a cracking evening, however I struggled with my voice. My friends know that I haven’t really got a volume control anymore and in a noisy atmosphere it’s difficult to make myself heard. The evening’s presentations and prize giving ended about 10pm, not long after that Carol and I made our excuses and left the debauchery to start in our absence. I was a bit upset to be leaving so early, but I knew I just wouldn’t have coped for much longer. Congratulations to all the winners of awards, all massively deserved, especially Andy and Janette for being awarded their Honours Caps. I was awarded mine back in 2013, one of my proudest days, I even went to bed wearing it, much to Carol’s disgust.  

& it's Goodbye Redingensians, hello Rams J

Another blog comes to the end, the 101^st since I started publishing in January 2016, and as far as the current format is concerned this is the final one I’ll be writing for a while. However, Penny, Neville and Hendricks Pinkman will be adding their thoughts on everything from which tastes better, fox poo or manure? To how many times Nev can poke Penny in the bottom before his nose is scared for life!

It’s been a blast and I’d like to thank everyone who’s supported the Clark family through the last couple of years.

As always, thanks for reading.

#Shoulder2Shoulder