A warm and sunny early January in Fuerteventura where mid winter had come and gone singing its solstice song…

Random Irish tourists were random around the swimming pool some playing reserve the sun bed, break the rules.

Puta rules.

Reading English rubbish journalism, struggling with the multi syllables, or what passed for today’s norm in syntax. All quantity, no quality …just tits and football.

A cynical wave crashed …almost dislodged the train of thought, but not quite.

“You’re not improving, you say you are but your not.” According to Doctor Jim..who was himself approaching the cul de sac of mental illness, the atrophy awarded to those of older age….

But he would have ignored me and focused on the barrister and spoiled daughter whom on the far side of the translucent square of water, were auditioning for a B channel Game show or so it seemed.

Begorra.

To be sure.