To start with, we went to my favourite little restaurant overlooking the beach. However, it quickly transpired that we were too late for the daytime menu, and too early for the evening menu. So we had a quick beer, then walked down the road to Plaza de Santa Ponça, turned left in search of an alternative. Finding none that really appealed, we turned back, and continued to look.
We ended up at a Chinese restaurant close to the beach. Pete was his usual clumsy self, and managed to drop his soup all over the table. The meal was very good (although Kirsten didn't receive what she ordered), and we spent a lot of time laughing and joking together. Although I will be happy to be home tomorrow evening, part of me is still sad to leave such a great group of friends, and a nice location. Experiences like residential weeks, good or bad, are always self-contained. Even if you've had a great time and you go back to the same place, you can't ever really climb back into the box.
I had expected that the rest of the group would want to go to this naff-sounding party at the Rovers Return (the horrible English pub just 50 yards away from the hotel). Warp has been proudly telling everyone that he's organised it all with the landlord, by which I suspect means he's either done absolutely nothing, or that he mentioned it in there on Saturday night. However, I was very pleasantly surprised to hear that none of our group particularly want to go to the pub, to be surrounded by the people we've been taking the piss out of all week - Stalin and Alien Insect being prime candidates here.
It looks like it's going to be booze on the beach again, which is fine by me. More later on.
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