There is, I repeat, little of interest to be written about beach idylls, delightful though they are to experience in reality. But today some surprising things happened. Namely:
I went to a beach that was even more of an idyll - more sand, fewer people, fewer shacks - and in the morning, emerging from the toilet block, nearly got brained by a coconut. I've never been nearly brained by a coconut. Up the tree, a man was busy with a machete, inadvertently nearly braining tourists. I had a coconut later, after fried eggs and chips for breakfast. It tasted sweet, like revenge.
In the beach idyll, I had my dinner sitting in the kitchen of Antonio's Paradise, where I was staying, and where my companion knew the staff. I asked the Nepali chef for pasta with tomato sauce, not expecting much beyond too much spice and Italian food given the same Indianization treatment as Chinese food, to not much good effect. Then I watched as he made a perfect sugo al pomodoro, even adding a touch of sugar to complement the spice, which is the secret to my Italian ex-boyfriend's grandmother's recipe. I realised Nepalis cook good pasta, and that I haven't cooked a meal in 2 months and that I miss cooking. I found myself gaping at the boy chopping vegetables like a recovering alcoholic faced with a whisky bottle. There will be veg shepherd's pies and Yorkshire puddings galore upon my return next week.
I saw dolphins, in the sea, jumping. They are wonderful. I giggled like a schoolgirl. (In my day, schoolgirls giggled.)
Pure enjoyment may not entertain others who are not currently enjoying it. But I'm liking it, lots.