20th May 2013
Dear Mr Postman,
Wish you were here?
Actually you may answer in the negative as quite frankly it is a little on the chilly side in old Portugal. Yesterday alternated between sun and showers and today is what we Brit’s would describe as drizzly and dull.
I seem to have paid a lot of pennies to come abroad to sample the British climate.
Still, we are on holiday so when the rain started to pour I shoved an upside coat hanger in my mouth and rallied the troops. We hid in cafes through the showers and wolfed down hot dogs by the sea and the moment the rain buggered off over the Atlantic we hit the beach. We in this instance means me and the three bambinos as he who helped create them was firmly rooted in the bar watching his team get promoted into the premiership.
Twin boy created his first boat in the sand, BB skinned both her knees on the wooden planks on the beach and twin girl collected an impressive array of shells.
Somehow Mr Postman I managed to turn my shoulders tomato red sitting on the beach wrapped in towel. I must confess this has not pleased me as I spent £20 on a spray tan before boarding the plane and now when stood in all my glory I look like BB’s paint set.
The disco satisfied everyone’s needs in the bar last night. BB boogied away with the kids entertainers and her big brother and sister shrugged off the fact that they were a couple of years older than the other kids and joined in with merriment. Myself and he who helped create them enjoyed the free beverages and I managed to learn to love the taste of white vinegar wine. The children were elated when we joined in (and won) the music quiz and we all collapsed into bed at 11pm.
And now here I sit writing to you again. It is 3pm and I have my knackered seven year old girl sitting in the buggy covered in towels desperately trying to catch up on sleep. Twin Boy, BB, and he who helped create them are ignoring the splashing raindrops and building a castle shaped masterpiece on the sand.
I have taken responsibility for the bag and ‘accidentally’ ordered a bottle rather than a glass of wine and am slowly working my way through it. Did I mention Mr Postman, I finally gave up breastfeeding last week (yes, two years and fifty one weeks – I know I deserve a medal.). Anyway not having to pop the boob out at any given moment means I can pop the cork out, at any given moment.
So in short Mr P, (can I call you that? It feels like we are friends now). In short, life is good, cold but grand. And tomorrow the sun is supposed to shine.
All my love Jane (and the gang.)
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