A Lazy Day in Paradise

Sarah and her mum have gone in a hotel car to visit some family friends. I am parked by the pool. I just need to make sure there is nobody from greenpeace around before I lower my fat white ass into the water. Although one of those orca slings from Seaworld may come in handy when it's time to get out.

The water is surprisingly cold to get into. The chart poolside says the water is 26 degrees. Bollocks!

Being a non-swimmer, I don't just suck it up and get in. I stretch the agony out over many minutes, thinking that the transition will be easier if I get in one centimetre at a time. Bloody idiot!








I think I have worked out the maths for getting into the pool. I'll call it the nut-shrivel factor.
Take the ambient air temperature, subtract the water temperature, add the wind chill factor, and then divide by the circumference of the body part breaching the surface at that moment.
Putting your feet in is easy, the waist the hardest, the head easy again. Simple, really.

In the evening, we went to a middle-eastern restaurant on the top floor of the hotel tower. The staff are attentive to the point of audience participation. The waiter explains each dish as he serves it, and actually makes the tabbouleh at the table in front of us.