Middle-aged flash packers

We’ve become rather fond of Alcatraz, so much so that we booked to stay another two nights. I’ve become used to being a prisoner, as I can’t seem to manage to open the front door nor the bars on the patio door that provide freedom onto the back terrace. I have to wait for my jailer to open either for me, for which I am pathetically grateful. I think I have Stockholm syndrome. As far as S is concerned it’s a complete pain in the ass and he can’t comprehend why I have such a problem with doors.

We have been enjoying the sunshine to an obscene degree. We regularly check the weather forecast to make sure there are no clouds in the sky (so far, so good) and then spend all our time walking the fantastic beaches from end to end. Occasionally we have a dip followed by some lying down and reading our kindles, but most of the time we just savour the heat of the glorious sun that sparkles on the sea. I wonder if this is some sort of lockdown PTSD, as if the sun is another thing that is going to be snatched away from us at any time. Which of course it will be as once we get home we are facing 7 or 8 months of cold, damp and dullness. I’m trying not to think about that.

We returned to the nudist beach today. Not for any particular voyeuristic reason but just that it’s an amazing beach that eventually becomes a spit. We wanted to walk to the end of the spit but it was too far. Our ankles were aching from walking on the sand.

The nudism here is slightly unnerving. In theory I have absolutely no problem with people wanting to be naked – why not? It’s our natural state. But I can’t help feeling that it’s a bit more than that for some of the people (who are mostly men) as there is no discreetness about it, quite the opposite.

We were totally cream crackered by the time we got home and decided the 20 minute walk back into town for dinner was just too much to contemplate, so we jumped in the car and hit Lidl. Along with the rest of the local population. Everyone goes shopping at 8pm. And just like the UK, at peak times there are only 2 cashiers working, one of whom is just about to close their till. Listen everybody, Britain is not alone in being crap, everywhere else is the same – the grass is not greener anywhere.

Steve cooked a delicious Spag bol and we sat outside until the air cooled.

I don’t think we’ll walk along the beach tomorrow but whatever we do, it will involve being outside and savouring the warmth – it’s too precious a commodity to waste.