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Beach, beats, betrayal (by waiter) and pub quiz glory

Today we bravely attempted a radical new routine known as “doing almost the same thing, but with sand.” At 10am sharp we crossed the road to the beach, where the sun was doing that smug Spanish thing of being warm without asking permission.

I planned to dive back into La Guerre des Gaules and emerge two hours later speaking fluent Latin and commanding imaginary legions. Reader, I instead put on my AirPods and let Deezer Flow decide my emotional journey for me. And honestly? The algorithm knows me better than some members of my family.

Post-beach, we did a quick change at the apartment and marched back toward the Londres area, lured by two powerful forces:

1. the tyranny of the 10,000-steps target, and
2. the memory of a previously excellent meal at Il Fornello.

Sadly, nostalgia is a liar. The charming, efficient waiter from the other day had vanished into the great hospitality void, replaced by someone whose vibe could best be described as “I’m here, unfortunately.” The food also seemed to have lost some of its former sparkle. Same menu, different energy. Like a band reuniting without the lead singer.

Speaking of waiters: post-Covid, finding hospitality staff back home in France has been a saga. Spain, however, appears to have gone full international remix. We’ve been served by people from Cuba, Chile, Ecuador… basically a Spanish-speaking Avengers team. They blend in so well that unless you’re doing waiter genealogy at the table (which I do not recommend), you’d never know. Globalisation, but make it tapas. Win-win.

After lunch: heroic walk back, followed by my sacred one-hour nap. This is not laziness. This is advanced athletic recovery. Then off we went again to Carrefour for a “last shop before the visitors arrive,” a phrase history has proven to be a filthy liar. Back home as the sun began to set, perfectly timed for aperitif, because we are nothing if not professionals.

Being Thursday, it was virtual pub quiz night with friends in Devon, courtesy of Zoom. Modern technology is wild: I can be in Spain, lose a quiz question about 1990s boy bands, and still feel personally attacked in real time by people in England. Beautiful.

Quiz done, whisky poured, I rounded off the evening with an old French favourite, Le Cœur des hommes. Emotional, nostalgic, and the perfect companion to a reflective nightcap.

I retired to bed deeply satisfied with my day: sun in my skin, music in my ears, mild resentment in my heart toward one particular waiter. Balance.

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