Last time me and Adam came here it was 2001, before 9-11, before the Paddy’s Bar bomb. To say it was a more innocent time massively underestimates the situation. We were a young couple having larks. I listened to The Streets’ ‘Original Pirate Material’ & Doves ‘The Last Broadcast’ on a loop and I swear to Buddha I had them on minidisc. I know. It’s like opening a time capsule on Blue Peter or something.
But it’s good to be back, albeit with a new world order taking shape and after 16 years worth of shit hitting fans left right and centre. And lest we forget, that carefree couple are now wrangling four kids and big overheads. It’s all good. But it’s definitely different.
Day 15 (note – Day 14 was spent on planes and apart from a particularly fine bread roll on Malaysian Airlines, not much to report) dawns in spectacular style. If you think the definition of a Hotel (big H) is somewhere to get a club sandwich, 24 hours, then this is a Hotel. The others have been lovely as anything but the kitchen was a sporadic affair. Barack Obama stayed here 2 weeks ago for god’s sake. It’s PRESIDENTIAL. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed in our villa (in fact that would explain the Kendrick Lamar CD I found, still in the player). It’s beyond: like Bey-Bey is bey-bey. It’s a teak-timbered 3-bedder with plunge pool and mahoosive tellies everywhere. And if perving over hotel rooms disgusts and offends, then you’d best look away.
NB – Check out Mannekin Pee himself, christening our roof.