The End of the Postcards from Portugal

May 28th

Dear Mr Postman,

It is the end.

I’m writing to you from the clouds, squeezed in between twin boy and girl back en route to Blighty.  Leg space is limited and the burn in my legs is rubbing against my linen trousers.  Twin boy is fidgeting, fighting sleep, and on occasion he whacks his shoes up against my red shins causing mild spasms of pain to ricochet up my body.

Portugal lays far beneath us, home is our next stop.

Well, we had a good last day.  The children alternated between kids club and poolside, and feasted well on the last all inclusive meal.  Twin Boy had a holiday highlight when he pushed me in the pool.  Luckily Mr P I saw him coming and managed to strip off my dress so I was only in my swimmers.  This was his revenge as I accidentally beat him at Bean Bag Boules.  I swear I tried to lose but my natural ability at tossing bags of beans shone through and I made it into the quarter finals.  I was then trounced by a seventeen year old boy who took one look at his soggy middle aged opponent and realised he had it in the bag.

Through a mixture of strategically placed towels and the kids Factor 50 I managed to prevent any more burning.  My legs still look like a St Georges Flag Mr P, I won’t be flashing them in the pool until I have coated them with a tanning spray of some description.  I cannot face mother and toddler swimming with stripey pins.

We had a nice trip out for tea, the  kids opted to go to The Wild Wild West Party instead of dining with us, so he who helped create them and I snuck off site and went to the local chinese instead.

Then we had the final disco, the whole bar sang Happy Birthday to BB, her face lit up with a smile so wide it brought tears to my eyes.  She had a belting day, swimming, stamping with ink by the pool side, a party and a disco, what a way to turn three.

We stumbled back to room around eleven and after putting the exhausted kids to bed, Twin Boy fell asleep during the show, and kissing them all good night, myself and he who helped create them set about packing whilst a little pished.  I think I may have thrown my clean undies in with my dirty washing, serves me right for going overboard on the vinegar wine.  BB called out to us as we were almost done and when I sat by her bedside stroking her nose she murmured, ‘thank you for my birthday presents mummy’ before falling back to sleep.

And so the end begins, with lots of memories,  new friends and three very happy kids.  The flight so far is peaceful, except for the linen on sunburn sensation.  For ant extra treat twin boy and girl got to visit the pilots cabin.  I must confess feeling a slight tinge of trepidation when twin boy posed in the pilots seat surrounded by a range of important looking buttons.  His mischievous face was out and I could see him trying to resist the urge to attempt to fly the plane.

Hope you have enjoyed the postcards.

Until next time,

Love

Jane (and the gang)

xxxx

To read more Postcards From Portugal check out these post’s:

Day One: Needles and Vino

Day Two: Raining on our parade

Day three: Thongs and arse cracks

Day four: Beating the kids

Day Five: How a skinful leads to Agadoo

Day Six: Being so beautiful you can eat for free

Day Seven: The One Where he who helped create them goes on a hen do

Day Eight: Dying Young

Dear Legs (anyone else write to their legs?)

Day Nine: The one where the kids go to a drag show

Day Ten: BB’s Birthday

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