As we wind our way to the end of the hols, I thought it time I caught a bit of the local culture. “A Trip with Claire to the Local Olive Farm” was advertised at reception and only costing a reasonable €2.50. Okay this would keep me occupied for a couple of hours. Mrs CT chose to stay and worship the sun God a little more, so I left her to it. 40 people, two minibuses and down the mountain we went.
A view from the road looking down on Sorrento. Around the next bend we stopped suddenly as Claire leapt from the lead coach to rescue a poor little kitten that had wandered into the road. Aaaaah. What a kind hearted soul. After Oxford university she has chosen to have a gap year by working here as entertainment organiser for the summer before going on to Oz/ Thailand etc. Being the youngest in the hotel by a good 25 years she must be bored! Anyway, onwards to the olives.
Set in the mountains the Olive groves gave welcoming shade. The particular trees around here grow very tall allowing oranges and lemons to be grown underneath them. It all looked and smelled lush. Our hostess, daughter of the farmer, explained the growing, harvesting and pressing process in fascinating detail and with quite a deep sexy Italian accent. The tour included a look at the old farmhouse built in the 18th century. Even Sarah Beeney would have a hard time resurrecting this one.
Needless to say, the farm had a shop were you could buy any of the previous year’s production. The farm had a DOC for producing one particular olive. A litre of this was purchased is you cannot get it anywhere else. Dippy bread and balsamic awaits our UK friends. Upon returning poolside all hell had let loose!
What the *^$¥ was a giant polystyrene whale doing next to my sunbed? And more alarmingly there appeared to be an orange monkey with a 3ft curly cock hanging above! As it turns out it was Pool Party day. With cocktails being made freshly by Johnny, live music by the resident duo and games organised by Claire later. After the initial shock, I settled back down with Mrs CT and a couple of Strawberry Daqueries.
All you regular readers of this blog will know that I don’t often have a rant, but standby here comes one. It has nothing to do with this holiday, resort or hotel. Today I am going to have a go at clothing manufacturers and retailers. An inch is an inch just as a centimetre is a centimetre so can please someone tell me why these measurements are open to widespread abuse and interpretation by the said manufacturers.
For instance. Before lunch I decided to change out of my shorts and into some trunks in readiness for a refreshing dip. The pair I had been wearing up to this point were attracting unwelcome attention from flies and other wildlife if you get my meaning. So at the readiness I had brought a pair with me, previously unworn, that I had purchased last year. Yes the old pair were red from Timberland and the new, blue from Speedo (shorts not budgie smugglers). The important bit is that there are both the same size – extra large. As the Speedos made their way up my thighs I already knew that this was not going to end well. As finally they completed the journey to my waist, the Twins were quite happy nestling either side of the netting gusset. Harry on the other hand was distinctly unhappy, bulging forth in an alarming manner. The look was just downright rude and could have caused discomfort amongst the oldies around the pool. Oh dear. Nothing for it but to rinse the red ones and go “damp” to lunch.
Sort it out please! (No pictures of this episode for censorship reasons).
Sorry guys, I know you have all been waiting for a picture of Claire since the first paragraph. Here she is. I will try and get a better picture later on, Mrs CT permitting.