The Twelve

The twelve 

A whole week we had

so long anticipated, golden glowing 

on all our horizons, and now afterwards 

shining like a dream 

Hot sun, sea September warmed 

the shush and swoosh as shore breakers broke 

and curled and pulled away. 

We sat in the ten euro shade of our well-positioned parasol 

and gossiped endlessly, astonished by thongs laughing 

wriggled into swimsuits, braved the sea’s strong undertow 

for the loveliness of clear blue green. 

Alas for a silent jelly fish, and Michael sudden stung. 

Long days begun with a rendez-vous at 8, the early morning dip 

daily croissant shop, cycle rides and cliff side walks 

of tapas at Blau in the heat of midday ( padron peppers! Chipirones! ) 

Plus two greyer  days of Bridge and indoor games 

amongst the group always someone for a chat 

two Shirley curries, a Tucker quiz, who knew about  ditloids, 

brains well-teased, a trophy for Woznicas. 

As always memorable meals as the sun went down, fire on the water 

no golfers this year to pay our bill! 

And yet in spite of Covid unwelcome uninvited 

headache, sore throat and endless cough cough coughing 

Llafranc 2024, one whole week, stretches out in memory, laughter and thongs

Catalonia and tapas, the blessed company of friends, the twelve 

so long  anticipated. 

Blessings counted, blissful, this year’s magic on the Med. 

October 2nd 2024 Hounoux, for dear friends