Rhodes - The Final Instalment
Tuesday morning was focussed on some more pool-based lounging. Fortunately, Laura McMeekin was on fine aquatic form, impersonating driftwood, Sirens ("lots of lovely parking for ships over here") and seaweed ("Look, I'm tangled on your arm and you can't get rid of me, hahahaha...").
The afternoon involved some kitten-herding to try to assemble 7 people for a final afternoon's activity. Lunch included some excited roadside crepes and elegantly frescoed churches. Our quest to find the authentic Lindian sea-captain's mansion proved fruitless. However, we did at least find an authentic Lindian peasant's house. Since these are essentially one-room affairs with a raised living area at one end, and a canopied bed at the other there was not in fact much to see. Particularly as every available surface was covered in tat-for-sale.
After yet more ice-cream, the sea-swimmers departed coastwards and the shopper perused the knick-knacks and the owls. In a rare turn of events, I spent more on clothes than Amy did - thanks largely to the old Greek lady with no English to speak of, who nevertheless successfully translated my hand gestures as "Can I have this shirt but shorter, with long slevves, better embroidery and in a medium, please?" And she even knocked a whole Euro off into the bargain.
With everyone sporting their new clothes (or their new skin colour, Laura McMeekin) more Happy Hour maths were calculated and we set off in search of our pre-determined roof terrace. Sadly, no amount of dithering outside produced an offer of free wine to entice us in - although the nice waiter did ultimately proffer wine on the house (or, more strictly, on his father - whether father knew about this remains to be seen).
Kleftiko was consumed, and Kevin Bacon separated many times over. Lindos is not immune to the perils of the street-hawkers who will tout their wares around the dinner table. However, at least on this occasion we were being offered educational wares to fund the establishment of a new museum by a silver-haired Hellenic fox: Enter Laura McMeekin's future husband, Panagottis - kerching!
It wouldn't be a Family Holiday without a postcard to Cara filled entirely with preposterous suggestions for baby names. Fortunately, she was expecting again, and so our meal was spent filling our postcard with suggestions such as Acropolis Thomson, Tzatziki Thomson, and OneLitreCarafe Thomson.
After a final stop at Gelato Blue, it was back to the terrace for wine and a rousing game of Who The Gerry McCann Am I? Fortunately, everyone was Ewan Maclean since we were using his business cards to play with. (Though, obviously, Ewan would have been a distinct improvement on the now infamous Ed Begley Jr). A couple of "Savas The Securités" later, and it was time for bed.
Our final day passed, unremarkably, the late checkout allowing us to enjoy it to the full - by which I mean (aside from waving-off Ewan) more pool-lounging.
As we had stocked up on a ridiculous amount of booze from the nearby supermarket, there was plenty of wine and tzatziki to be had before dinner but fortunately, the sun decided to set behind the Acropolis to entertain us, whilst we munched.
Happy hour maths was made confusingly easier now that we were an even number once more, but Maudlin Hour was accelerated by the timeous arrival of our airport-transfer coach.
With nothing to do in Rhodes airport but smell the perfume and take amusing pictures of sleeping Amy, we somehow still managed to board the aeroplane with Nicky's Monty Python Fluxx still unplayed.
There was little to comment on re the flight, save that Water for Elephants is not a film worth paying £2.50 to hear through the headphones, since Steve gave an entirely accurate summary without having had the benefit of audio - I suspect that his was the more enjoyable flight.
We arrived at 1.30am, tanned, cozy and counting the days until we can go back.
THE END.
NOTE - No ovaries or passports were harmed in the making of this production. A couple of livers were, though.....
The afternoon involved some kitten-herding to try to assemble 7 people for a final afternoon's activity. Lunch included some excited roadside crepes and elegantly frescoed churches. Our quest to find the authentic Lindian sea-captain's mansion proved fruitless. However, we did at least find an authentic Lindian peasant's house. Since these are essentially one-room affairs with a raised living area at one end, and a canopied bed at the other there was not in fact much to see. Particularly as every available surface was covered in tat-for-sale.
After yet more ice-cream, the sea-swimmers departed coastwards and the shopper perused the knick-knacks and the owls. In a rare turn of events, I spent more on clothes than Amy did - thanks largely to the old Greek lady with no English to speak of, who nevertheless successfully translated my hand gestures as "Can I have this shirt but shorter, with long slevves, better embroidery and in a medium, please?" And she even knocked a whole Euro off into the bargain.
With everyone sporting their new clothes (or their new skin colour, Laura McMeekin) more Happy Hour maths were calculated and we set off in search of our pre-determined roof terrace. Sadly, no amount of dithering outside produced an offer of free wine to entice us in - although the nice waiter did ultimately proffer wine on the house (or, more strictly, on his father - whether father knew about this remains to be seen).
Kleftiko was consumed, and Kevin Bacon separated many times over. Lindos is not immune to the perils of the street-hawkers who will tout their wares around the dinner table. However, at least on this occasion we were being offered educational wares to fund the establishment of a new museum by a silver-haired Hellenic fox: Enter Laura McMeekin's future husband, Panagottis - kerching!
It wouldn't be a Family Holiday without a postcard to Cara filled entirely with preposterous suggestions for baby names. Fortunately, she was expecting again, and so our meal was spent filling our postcard with suggestions such as Acropolis Thomson, Tzatziki Thomson, and OneLitreCarafe Thomson.
After a final stop at Gelato Blue, it was back to the terrace for wine and a rousing game of Who The Gerry McCann Am I? Fortunately, everyone was Ewan Maclean since we were using his business cards to play with. (Though, obviously, Ewan would have been a distinct improvement on the now infamous Ed Begley Jr). A couple of "Savas The Securités" later, and it was time for bed.
Our final day passed, unremarkably, the late checkout allowing us to enjoy it to the full - by which I mean (aside from waving-off Ewan) more pool-lounging.
As we had stocked up on a ridiculous amount of booze from the nearby supermarket, there was plenty of wine and tzatziki to be had before dinner but fortunately, the sun decided to set behind the Acropolis to entertain us, whilst we munched.
Happy hour maths was made confusingly easier now that we were an even number once more, but Maudlin Hour was accelerated by the timeous arrival of our airport-transfer coach.
With nothing to do in Rhodes airport but smell the perfume and take amusing pictures of sleeping Amy, we somehow still managed to board the aeroplane with Nicky's Monty Python Fluxx still unplayed.
There was little to comment on re the flight, save that Water for Elephants is not a film worth paying £2.50 to hear through the headphones, since Steve gave an entirely accurate summary without having had the benefit of audio - I suspect that his was the more enjoyable flight.
We arrived at 1.30am, tanned, cozy and counting the days until we can go back.
THE END.
NOTE - No ovaries or passports were harmed in the making of this production. A couple of livers were, though.....