Friday 2 January 2009

Oman: the chickens depart

With the chaps due to fly back tonight, we spent their last day at the Chedi. Al had bought ancient Balinese massages as Christmas presents, which started the day's activities.

He was horrified and somewhat confused to be provided with a tiny pair of modesty pants made from nylon tight material which, when worn, made his lower regions look like a boil-in-the bag chicken. After an hour of pummelling, they emerged soothed and smelling of aroma therapy oil.

They sat on the beach to top up Al's tan, while Flossie and I reclined in the sensible shade. Bellies were soon rumbling and we took lunch around the pool, which gave them one last opportunity to look out to sea on a beautifully crisp sunny day in Oman. Al had a particulary fine rib eye steak with mushroom risotto which was topped with a Blumenthal-style foam.

Floss and I then returned home to finish her portfolio while Al went for the burn. He succeeded. When I collected them a few hours later, he looked like an American supermarket tomato. As we drove out of the car park, I could not resist the temptation to photograph the bush in front of the main entrance. What craftsmanship.

That evening, the computer took a typical battering copying photos and every piece of Flossie’s artwork onto DVD in the final hours before departure. Al’s burn also intensified prompting impressions of the Little Mermaid’s Sebastian from his less-than-sympathetic sister.

At the airport, the glow from Al’s skin did not set off any machinery. To be fair, he was considerably embarrassed. We said our farewells and mother let out a little sniffle as our little chickens returned back to London.

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