Now at dusk, and drunk, I briskly stumbled the 1 km down the road to the Jolly Roger. Adding to my strong brandy and coke, after a swig-from-the-bottle of Cape Velvet liqueur - that's all that was in the house - I've ordered a golden half draught of Hansa Pilsener.
A fine-but-soaking rain's permeating everything, including my inner head, and I'm loving it: the ocean has become muffled beneath a low-slung and padded coastal cloud bank that's overwhelmingly hugging the coastline of my content.
Earlier, in the last sun, I baked by the salt water pool and Sherlockly researched a literary tourism article I'm working on, and that i hope to have almost done by the time I'm done here this week.
Alone amongst the crowds I'm happy. Very. And do now dry. Very.
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