A perfect week of sunshine, friends and rosé: the tried and tested formula which never fails.
Abandoning cars, dogs, ponies and dads at polo to race to Bristol airport via Barrow Guerney only to leave a 19-year-old boy in possession of his mum's pride and joy Range Rover. Astonishment that the over-stuffed suitcase passes the weight test. The annual fainting episode occurring and passing out in between the hire cars. Being force-fed M&Ms and water. Reaching The Reservation and falling straight into bed. Up with the larks and onto the sun lounger. Frowning at whispy clouds. Starting trashy book number one. Devouring first of many lunches on the balcony. Over-doing the garlic-y Gazpacho. Having the first rosé at the pool bar. Having the second quickly after. Enjoying the first of many Deep Meaningful Conversations involving our futures. Supper at the Ke. "Sit down, I'm on my fucking holidays."
Settling into the sun-lounger-Ambre-Solaire-diet-coke-book-of-filth daily diet. Feeling the rosé to blood levels steadily rise. Realising that the hardest decision of the day is what to wear for supper.
Heading to the beach. Dealing with rosé sweet enough to strip the enamel off your teeth at the beach bar. Getting stung by jelly fish. Strutting. A'Ha.
Stuffing ourselves silly with delectable steak at La Quinta. Being called your beautiful by pre-pubescent boys. More rosé. Fish bowls.
Buying needless jewellery at the market. Olympic updates. Not sitting down for supper until gone midnight. The fear of strap marks becoming the biggest concern of the holiday - that and burning boobs. Veuve Clicquot and neon handbags at Santa Maria Polo Club. Cheering on our friends HB Polo and joining the Ayala groupies. Fragmented Spanish conversations. Wearing stilettos and going backless at the Kaptive Party at Eddie Jordan's villa. Dancing like fiends at the Scapa lounge. Not needing any excuses to buy more Bacardi and diet cokes at 5 in the morning. Raiding the fridge at home at 7am. Having to remove party dresses. Realising the next morning that we had PLENTY of excuses not to buy more Bacardi. Not talking all day lest we're sick. Over-ordering the carbs and spending a small fortune at Haagen Dazs. Dos bolas. Being admonished for my choice of cookies and cream and lemon sorbet.
More suppers at the Ke. Olivia not diversifying from cheese and ham baguettes and the restaurant salad - sin pesca - for the entire week. More rosé. Realising that a glass of water in 5 days may not be a good thing. The Pheasant.
Watching Nachi "hola guapa" du Plessis win the Silver Cup in a great final against Lechuza Caracas. Gossiping with great photographers. Sampling the Moon Club in Pueblo Nuevo. Swimming by starlight. Long boozy lunches at the Beach Club. Sharing cigarettes. Tall tales; lots of laughter. Weighing down a rib and burning up the coast. Hunting for dolphins and swimming out at sea. Scrabbling back into the boat. Being told sharks were seen in the area the day before. Expletives. Saying the first good byes. Screaming with excitement watching the Olympics. "PIZZA." NARS Heat Wave lipstick. Guess what? More rosé.
Thank you family Hutchinson and Lolly Mills for a superb break. Besos XXXX
|'Til next time, sun bed X|
Credit where credit's due: My point n shoot plus the girl's numerous iPhones, The Ke. X