NOW let’s get this straight before I begin. I am in no way turning into a male Marbella version of Bridget Jones.
But as I hurtle towards my 50th I look around at my peers and am struck by the sobering realisation that they are either “happily married” while I’m back in the Single Market.
It’s hard enough trying to keep a relationship going in Marbella as it is.
Because of the inherent distractions involved in life on the coast – nightclubs, great bars and the annual influx of tourists who come for the three S’s (sun, sand and I’ll let you work the other one out) I’ve come up with the following theory.
Relationships in Marbella use the same time scale as dog years. A one-year relationship in Marbella is equal to a seven-year relationship anywhere else.
If you travel abroad, you’ll find that the same rule applies in Los Angeles, although with a higher proportion of personal trainers, therapists, feng shui consultants and divorce lawyers involved.
I’ll keep you posted – it seems to be a jungle out there…
During the post Christmas pre New Year lull I decided to take in a movie at my local cinema.
My choices for a no brains blockbuster over the festive season were the new Stars Wars film Rogue One, Assasins Creed a film, based on a video game (I’m eagerly awaiting Sonic The Hedgehog:The Movie in that case) and the new JK Rowling Film, Fabulous Beasts and Where to Find Them.
And it was whilst trying to key in the later that I unwittingly found myself in a world of trouble I unwittingly slipped in a rogue R, resulting in Fabulous Breasts and Where to Find them.
My poor long suffering laptop went into meltdown as a series of, ahem “Racey” images flooded the screen.
Not only that, but pop up adverts have started appearing on my screen. Honestly, I had no idea that there where so many half dressed housewives within five kilometres dying to meet me.
They must be on the far side of the lake, probably close to where the ibex come to graze. I may have to paddle over in the kayak later and investigate further (See story above).
After the appalling cull of celebrities in 2016, when turning on the radio each morning was akin to wondering which of your favourite characters was about to be killed off in Game of Thrones, I was struck by the thought that either Keith Richards has secretely been nuturing the Fountain of Eternal Life somewhere in his Rock Star mansion, or The Grim Reaper must be scratching his skull and wondering who the hell he picked up in 1973 in mistake for the Rolling Stones wild man…
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