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Legal Aliens: Englishmen In Resort
Day 3 at Camp Sunshine (not its real name) brings an increase in the sea breeze and the nations’ flags between the restaurant and the beach are flapping furiously – though there’s not a Union Jack or a St Georges anywhere to be seen in the collection. Colours are to the fore: the deep brown suntans of those Germans presumably nearing the end of their stay clashing with the frighteningly red raw faces and shoulders of the newcomers who’ve done too much sun too soon. They must be suffering. There’s also the sky blue – not the sea or the sky but the shiny sky blue of our wrist bands…
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Red Sea Coast And Other Stories
We wander around the unfamiliar territory of a resort hotel like two kids on their first day at a new school, not knowing what we’re meant to do or how the whole thing works. When researching where to stay round here, we’d had to Google the term “animation team”, as it meant nothing to us. It’s one of the things on our learning curve now. The barman speaks to us in German and is amazed when we say we’re English. He’s delighted, too, whispering that he’s a bit fed up with bad manners and it’ll be nice to have some “polite English” to serve for a change – make of…