Grimble, as ever, awoke at the inordinately early hour of 8am and had to entertain herself by sitting on the balcony watching the hotel staff tidy the pool area. In all honesty, this was not entertaining at all. Grimble needed G to waken, but it had to seem natural or he might grizzle.
Thus, she left the balcony and pushed back the black out curtain letting streams of bright sunshine illuminate G as she fumbled quietly about after miscellaneous important items. Grimble felt waking to the gentle morning sun to be a beautiful thing and so could not entirely understand G, when on her fifth attempt, he reacted like a man hit by a laser, exclaiming through screwed up eyes, “Where’s that fucking light coming from?”
Undeterred, Grimble ignored the expletive tone and responded that it was from the lovely, warm Spanish sun, as opposed to the weak sickly cold sun they’d left in Blighty. Grimble’s odd understanding of cosmology, in her implication that the sun was somehow different here, made G wake in wonder and consider if taking her to listen to Brian Cox earlier in that year had been a total waste of time.
Now Grimble is a natural organiser and had thoughtfully drafted a plan for the day. The main objective was to be sunbathing by lunch time but several other necessary tasks needed to be completed first: breakfast, shopping for essentials such as lovely olive oil shower cream and a kettle as well as putting another 2.50€ in the car park meter.
Grimble and G commenced their tasks efficiently with breakfast and Grimble felt their schedule would be met. However, G unexpectedly went rogue insisting he’d left something in the room and disappeared. Nor had Grimble accounted for Spanish service. As she had waited so long for the bill, she wondered whether to order lunch.
Finally, reunited with G on the street, they commenced shopping. Calella was a unexpected shopping haven and, as they wandered the main drag, Grimble’s planning, as well as her comment before they arrived that she really wouldn’t need to shop as she had everything she needed, disappeared into the ether as all those lovely, don’t see them at home, clothes and shoes enticed her.
However, they did complete their scheduled tasks too, interspersed with several random, but entirely vital purchases. This necessitated a trip back to the room to offload the bag burdened G. Grimble had it in her head that this was a fleeting stop en route to the car.
The phone reset
Grimble’s mind works mysteriously and once in the room, she decided her phone needed to be factory reset as her Bluetooth went inoperative in France and she could no longer listen to Spotify on the speaker. Grimble could not explain this malfunction and had, somewhat irrationally, blamed the French. G had offered to clear the cache but because it had not been done yesterday, or even before, as Grimble demanded, she decided to take the technical whiz task on. And so, 5 minutes later, she sat mournfully looking at her reset phone devoid of anything useful and as the button had advised, totally factory reset.
G tried to be helpful but it was too late as a technically frustrated Grimble is not a pleasant one. She downloaded her Spotify hunting her brain for the correct password and knowing it could be only one of seven, or so. Once she had completed faffing and flustering, time had moved on significantly.
They debated leaving the car until later. However, the beach towels were still in their car and were an essential for sunbathing. They protected their bodies from the hard plastic where a trillion dirty tourists had lain before. Once the meter was paid, more snacks bought, they finally made it pool side and set up camp. Miraculously, it was, as Grimble had planned, lunch time. It wasn’t English lunch at 1pm. It was Spanish lunch ish at 3.30pm. Their fortunate timing meant the pool was empty as everyone else had taken a siesta.
Grimble said, with the same cosmological insight as this morning, that this time was better as the sun wasn’t as hot. G was going to debate the temperature of the sun with Grimble, but recalled the factory reset phone debacle. Instead, he looked wistfully at the clouds and wondered if more wine would come his way. As she began to doze, he took his revenge on Grimble by picking the precise moment of her drifting off to ask a pertinent and interesting question. Grimble grinned grittily and regretted her early rising.
Gilbert Grunt and wife
Sadly, their peaceful sunbathing, listening to Spotify from Grimble’s phone via the Bluetooth speaker, was short lived as a British couple, with the option of the whole pool area, decided to plonk themselves right next to G and Grimble and then stare and mutter probably because of the Grimble inspired playlist.
G and Grimble were not to be intimidated, especially by some sun haggard Brit with the face of a Gilbert Grunt (G and Grimble had taken it upon themselves to develop new Cockney rhyming slang). Defiantly, they retained their speaker sound level until, in this war of attrition, the other woman with saggy skin the colour and texture of chamois leather finally fucked off mumbling some bollocks under her breath.
It was always fascinating what united G and Grimble. Often, it was their unified attitude to other people, especially those they deemed to be chav.