Hola Lanzarote

Rather Jackie Kennedy here I think. Large glasses and smell up nose.

That's probably about the nearest I will get to her, I suspect she wouldn't have looked quite so casually put together, nor would she have been carrying a daypack.

Just for you fashionistas out there, the shirt was some exceedingly fine yellow cotton I made up to a Donna Karan Vogue Designer Pattern. It was a painter's shirt or something. But perfect for warm/hot climes. Suffice to say I still have it now.

I bought the little red shorts dirt cheap in Puerto del Carmen (sorry Jean) and I reluctantly had to chuck those recently, owing to the fact that I couldn't even get my legs in, let alone do up the zip.

Oh, the photo. Well, we were at Teguise looking at the César Manrique House.

Lanzarote was the second of our package holidays. Partner had gone out and booked it, for not a bad price, only to be bawled out of house and home because he had us flying out of Newcastle and .... back into Middlesborough.

I did not live 20 or 30 mins by metro from Newcastle airport - or 10 mins by low-flying taxi or lift from a mate - to expect to fly back into Middlesborough. Bloody miles away.

Partner was given his orders to go back and GET A RETURN FLIGHT TO NEWCASTLE.

He did. The decently priced holiday suddenly became indecent. But notwithstanding, it was an excellent hol. The superb scenery, the beautiful Manrique influence, the great weather - even in November, combined for a wonderful week. It was my first trip to Spain incidentally. Maybe that explains a lot.

We tried to visit most of the Manrique works. The first trip was to Mirador del Rio at the far end of the island. We got off the bus and traipsed miles uphill to get there. Much to our amazement and total delight - there was a bar. Two San Miguels were never more rapidly demolished.

Then we walked back to the nearest town before getting the bus back to Arrecife. We skipped the bar/restaurants in the first pueblo, they all had bull-fighting on the television.

At the next town, we found a fine place, it had opened early, and we enjoyed our meal. But when we finished it was dark and we had to find directions for the bus stop.

We rushed up the street. Not a bus stop in sight. We kept on going out of the village wondering if we had missed it. Natch, it was the last one back to Arrecife. Missing it would be costly, ie night's accommodation or taxi back.

Out of the Atlantic darkness appeared - a bus!! But where the hell was the bus stop?? Absolutely without shame, Partner waved his arms around and shouted 'Hola!' The bus stopped. Thank goodness.

Perhaps I should rename this blog the bus blog? Because there are even more bus tales .....