The Fat Boys and WAGs at Hotel H

Imagine hosting a six-day party/activity holiday and you will have some idea of how I feel today. In short, dear reader, I am absolutely EXHAUSTED. I feel the way babies do when they’re too worn out to sleep and just grizzle but, hey, the sun is shining and apart from Scary Welsh Class tonight (no, Chris, don’t think about it or you’ll start grizzling too) I have nothing to do. Oops, rewind, Tom has just told me that he has boat plans for this afternoon… that means yours truly now has boat plans for this afternoon. I thought the free time was too good to be true.

Anyway, the hectic activity of the last six days has been brought about by the arrival of the Fat Boys and WAGs at Hotel H. The Fat Boys are Tom’s equivalent of my Ace Gang. They’re a bunch of his former colleagues who used to regularly roam ridiculously long stretches of the country in stupidly small amounts of time on mountain bikes. Unlike the lean, Lycra-clad cyclists who do the Tour de France, the Fat Boys are a strapping band of blokes who buy their clothes from shops like ‘High and Mighty’ and ‘Mr Big’. Every time one of them sits down I’m reminded of the exhibit in Ikea designed to show you what a pounding their chairs can take – only in this case I fear that my lovely leather Poang is about to splinter into a pile of matchsticks.

Over the last six days, various combinations of Fat Boys have walked, cycled, climbed hills and sailed. All this exercise has been fuelled by a small mountain of food and a not so small beer and wine lake. A good time has certainly been had by all but I’m quite glad that the prolonged bout of carousing into the wee small hours and constant rounds of ‘Does anyone want another….?’ has stopped for now (she says, looking at the diary and seeing that every weekend for the rest of May is booked up!).

Actually, I did get a couple of hours off yesterday morning when I missed a sailing trip due to a prior engagement at the hairdresser’s. Llinos took one look at my trembling hands and little piggy eyes and sat me down with non-stop tea and a pile of trashy mags. Bliss! In the process I was also surprised to discover I’d gone from gingery/ blonde to rich copper brown. It looks brilliant but, alas, is bound to fade in no time at all.

So, as the last Fat Boy roars off on his big beast of a motorbike, I am left with time on my hands – except, of course, that due to the vagaries of the tide, the boat is twenty miles down the coast and needs to be collected… so I am duly press-ganged into crewing. But, never mind, the sun’s out, the sea’s calm… and I get to miss Scary Welsh Class!

PS. I’m really missing writing! I posted FTT the same day the first of the Fat Boys arrived so haven’t really had a chance to say goodbye to it. Definitely time to get back in the saddle.

PPS. Very disappointed that Clocks single ‘Old Valve Radio’ has failed to chart so far and can’t help but think that the record company issuing three different release dates and then going back to one they first thought of couldn’t have helped the launch much. Ho hum, what do I know? It’s no secret that I love a good old miseryfest musically but Stepson Two’s summery music is perfect for singing along to in the car with the sunroof open so here’s hoping that the album, when it comes out, will bring Clocks the success they deserve.

Painting is 'Tide Out - Tenby' by Tom Tomos