Somewhere Else For Christmas

A drop of sweat seeps into your eye and combined with the oil starts to burn, the prickly heat on your arm is driving you mad and you can’t scratch your undercarriage because the Greek woman with her three children have camped in front of you; roughly ten feet from your groin. The kids keep staring at you and they all seem to be called Ella. The princess tells me ‘ella’ means ‘here,’ but Google says it means ‘she,’ hmmm? Meanwhile another child, Charlie (he just had to be didn’t he?) is jumping in the pool, climbing out and jumping in again. Everytime he does this he calls to his mom to watch, but she is engrossed in conversation with the Lifeguard, who probably once did the Diet Coke ad and is ignoring Charlie’s calls.

The Greek children are teasing each other and screaming whilst ignoring their mom who shouts ‘ella!’ possibly twice a minute. Despite all this I drift off to sleep and begin to dream – I have been incarcerated in a lunatic asylum, but I plan to escape during a volleyball game, suddenly a loud shout shatters the dream. I open my eyes, disorientated, the sweat and oil, is by now,  burning holes into my pupils. Standing directly above my sunbed a member of our ‘entertainment team’ is crying out, ‘Volleyball! last call for volleyball!’ It is at this point that Santa, who arrived some hours ago on a Camel, now walks down the beach, climbs on a windsurfer, waves goodbye to the children and sails away. The greek children begin to cry, their mom shouts, ‘ella, ella.’ Charlie shrugs and jumps in the pool, shouting for his mom to watch, but mom goes to play volleyball with the Diet Coke lifeguard and I wonder if Christmas in Hurghada was such a good idea 🙂

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