Still here . . .

. . . and still online, it would appear. I figure that as long as I don't log out from my Google account on this tablet, I can still access Blogger. Anyways, not much to report as we seem to have sunk with alarming haste into a mindless routine so typical of the average Brit on holiday. Up at the sound of 10,000 birds squawking in the palm trees surrounding the hotel heralding a new dawn and the pool boys laying out the sunbed towels. Out quickly to decorate the two sunbeds outside our room with yesterday's unwashed swimwear, seeing off two fat old Russian women who were about to claim them with handbags (picture Lampwick cavorting theatrically, shouting, "Get orf moi land!!). Leaving said sunbeds completely unused, as evey other moron does for hours on end, to grab everything that'll fit on a plate from the breakfast buffet (Hey, I've paid for that!"). Then wandering off to the beach for a morning swim by the reef while Linda sits in the shade on our petite garden balcony reading her Kindle and standing guard over our still as-yet unused sunbeds. Makes you proud to be British, doesn't it?

OK, maybe we'll stop the psychopathic behaviour (yeah, when every other fucker does!) and behave. The Coral Sands is actually a nice hotel. The staff are well geared up to looking after the customer and very lively on the Tripadvisor forums. I was quite impressed with the manager's insistence on answering every complaint with withering efficiency. In fact, this was why I picked the place. It's right on the beach with a security guarded border to stop the beggars and hawkers from hassling the guests. The whole beach is surrounded by a reef (no coral, alas, that having been wiped out by tourists and the tourist industry aeons ago) so the water is clear in the mornings and there are plenty of tiny fish to see while snorkeling.

The other side of the hotel sits on the main Colombo - Galle coast road and the small town of Hikkaduwa. Well, town might be a bit grand as it sits on a junction of one road eastwards on which also sits a bus and railway station. This makes traversing the road a bit hectic as it constitutes a chaotic navigation of overcrowded buses, u- turning tuk-tuks badly parked delivery lorries and thousands of over-revved motor bikes the owners of all driving with a blithe disregard for anyone else o the road, with or without a metal chassis. Still, Hikka Junction demands exploration as there are a number of shops, art galleries, pharmacies and restaurants that need investigating.

Our evenings have been somewhat repetitive. On the first night we had a wander through the touristy end of the Junction but ended up back on the beach at Mamas bar and restaurant. We'd spotted it earlier as all the weekenders seemed to congregate there to get pissed and badly play bongo drums. Sure enough, we sat on a pair of rickety wooden chairs tilted over some sandbags that kept the waves from wetting your feet. Our metal table used to have a life as an advertising sign in a garage. We drank cheap beer and gin 'n tonic, eating snacks of garlic calamari and chilli pork watching the sun set through the silhouette of some dangerously leaning palm trees. Heaven!