Mrs Carmichael has been buffed, spritzed and shined in readiness for her (and, not forgetting, Mr C’s) late summer sojourn to the north east of Mallorca. We leave early doors tomorrow. So early, in fact, that last minute airport shopping opportunities appear to be nil. The grills will still be down on Hermes, Louboutin, La Perla and the electrical shop that I really need because once again I do not seem to be able to find an adaptor. They are stockpiled somewhere in Casa Carmichael laughing at me.
Anyway, I will be drinking here tomorrow eve (if not before):
Here’s another view:
I shall be walking through these divine gates
many times over the next week and enjoying sunsets over them thar hills:
We will not be swimming in this excuse for a pool that we (me, Mr Carmichael, Gracie and Mr Gracie) were fooled into believing was a real sized pool by an over enthusiastic uber wide angle lens in the marketing propaganda.
Do not get excited. That is not Mr Carmichael.
This was the outside area of a villa we rented for an extortionate price. Said villa purported to fit 8/10 people. Count the number of sun loungers. Doesn’t compute does it?
Anyway, we’ve learnt our lesson and by staying there found where we are resting our coiffed heads this year. So that has to count as a good thing. Si?
Hasta luego, mis amigos. I’m off to find my passport.