AMALFI COAST

Not sure this is going to work, I am trying to understand an Italian Computer, so it may go horribly wrong. We are staying in the most beautiful hotel on the Amalfi Coast. The view from our hotel room is absolutely stunning. Dramatic limestone cliffs, covered with lush vegetation drop into the sea, with Positano just to our left, etched into the sides of the mountain.

The hotel is very contemporary and chilled, rather like being in a spa, only better because we can drink, smoke and eat pasta to our hearts content without feeling guilty.

“Be careful what you wish for” was not a statement I’d particularly understood until now. I had wished for an absence of children because, selfishly, it would have meant I would miss my own. There are indeed no children, apart from one, still growing in its mothers belly. Instead we are surrounded by young, beautiful, in love couples, which has made us feel like a couple of fat, old lesbians. We almost feel the need to wear a sign around our neck saying “the reason our stomachs looks like crepe paper is because we have seven children between us”.

The evenings have been a bit strange. We both got quite exited at the prospect of “Live Music In The Bar” last night, until we found that it consisted of a saxophonist and a pianist playing “Moon River” to besotted couples, and us. They are of course, all enjoying themselves hugely, I’m sure, but they do seem to be taking life terribly seriously. There’s not much laughter. I suppose, they are at the early 30’s stage of thinking that they should start being a responsible grown up. All it makes me want to do is a very undignified bomb into the water…

The beach is more lively than the poolside and yesterday when we there I spotted the man with arguably the best job in the world. Strapped to his bare torso he had a tank of water emitting a fine jet spray from a hand held hose. All afternoon he wandered up and down the rows of bodies gently carressing all the supine women with a fine spray of water, starting at their feet and slowly moving up their bodies in far too sensual a manner for an uptight English woman to cope with. I was quite pleased I was busily attempting to do a wee in the sea at the time he came over to spritz my friend, because I’d have probably reported him to the authorities for being a pervert.

What a lovely manner the Italians have, so laid back and friendly and warm and tactile. Obviously, its a slightly biased view, given that the ones I am observing are all on holiday, but I suspect that having the threat of a bloody great volcano erupting at any moment, might just give them that extra “life’s to short” edge they seem to have. Admittedly, I don’t think Vesuvius has erupted for 2000 years, but you never know. We’re off to look at petrified Pompeii tomorrow.