TAKE a deep breath because after celebrating International Workers’ Day on May 1 – although as a freelance journalist I have little or no concept of the work ‘work’ – this month marks the run up to another summer on the coast.
Many of the beach clubs have already hosted their opening parties, that invariably feature a white and some other colour theme, the usual half clad and body painted hostesses at the entrance, and some modern circus performer swinging from the rafters on a hoop, trapeze, or a couple of bits of cloth.
The queue to get in is biblical, and the bouncers, hyped up for the first big bash of the year, are a little more twitchy than normal.
With my previous record of being ejected at high speed (normally backward) from most beach and nightclubs during my, ahem, ‘colourful past’, I try and avoid these occasions.
If you do own a beach club in Marbella, you are probably in the mood for celebrating that it is still standing.
Playa Padre – opened by Julian Assange’s best mate Pamela Anderson and a favourite among the Boho crowd – was mysteriously gutted in a blaze that apparently started in eight separate locations, while neighbouring Bounty Beach also fell victim to a mysterious fire.
While the CSI Marbella crowd was pontificating on what the possible cause could be, I had my own theory.
I suspected that a rogue seagull with a half lit cigarette, casually tossed aside, started both blazes.
It’s all part of the ‘nature bites back’ period that I am going through at the moment.
The boar continues to wreak havoc in my garden, while I also seem to have been adopted by two more, and very vocal stray cats, who like nothing better than to kick off around 2am outside my window.
I can’t even retreat to the lake and take a boat out to escape out on the water, since the discovery of a ‘cyanobacteria’ that the Junta blames for the dog deaths nearby, has lead to the powers that be banning everything on the water.
The ‘cyanobacteria’ seems to have gone very quiet recently, but knowing my luck, if I did take to the lake I’d probably end up the victim of Swamp Thing, or whatever is lurking out there.
It might be the quietest summer I’ve had for a while…