Colourful Creatures.

You really can't miss Olga. Her well-defined image remains indelible in my mind’s eye. Dressed in a transparent beige silk shirt matched with tailored cut-off jeans she cuts quite a dash at breakfast.

Her long, braided blond hair is finely sculptured and falls delicately along her spine. The braid is decorated with coloured ribbons which match both shirt and trousers. She often wears polychromatic kaftans, which top slim leggings in various tints, and she bedecks herself with jewelry. She can wear leggings, her legs are slim and tipped with brown ankles and small feet on which she always wears golden slippers. She glides around the buffet table selecting, as a mother bird would select a worm, tit-bits to bring to her lover, who sits waiting to be fed. He is mesmerized, watching his soul-mate scurrying to supply him with breakfast.

Olga is not very tall but energetic and nonchalant. Her face has a happy lively look and her eyes are arched with green shadow. Her décolletage is deep and very, very brown. But she looks after her mahogany skin, as all day long she applies layer upon layer of sun cream as she sits around the pool. She lovingly lathers her husband's face too. First the broad forehead, the hooded eyes, the aquiline nose, and the high cheekbones. She leaves his chin until last massaging the creams delicately with a swift grace. (It is said that her husband was a goal keeper with a well-known Spanish football team. Take a tip, Posh, look after your man!)

I haven't yet told you that Olga is of 'a certain age' . Hubby is slightly handicapped in the walking department, with an unsteady gait. His footballers' knees have been replaced with new synthetic ones. He carries his possessions close to him. He keeps everything within reach, including his beloved Olga.

The couple spend hours playing cards, drinking and smoking. At dinner the breakfast scene repeats itself. The blouse replaced by the caftan, but wait the shoes are now red.! Piles of food appear as if by magic at their table. Olga has been on the rounds again. There is a dish of melting ice cubes, Yogurts to accompany the meats, a wavering pile of juicy red water melon, bottles of water and wine, bread, butter and other necessities to make this a foody still life. Their conversation never dies. They are in complete symbiosis.

Next day/

Today, Olga appears alone, and after taking food to the bedroom returns to sit with ‘Dom Juan’ to eat her meal. ‘Dom Juan’ is another interesting personality. An eagle of a man who has well-turned legs for his 80 odd years.

He acts like the original of his nickname, preying on all unsuspecting widows that pass his lair! I love the way he stacks his square bread, at breakfast, drizzling it with olive oil, in a labyrinth fashion from corner to corner until the whole surface is covered. He repeats this operation on all the slices. He then piles them up again and then deftly cuts them all into little squares and places them lovingly into his milky coffee, where they float before they plunge into its foamy depths. It must be a good recipe for longevity, so I do not mock this strange ritual.

The gymnastics lessons are run by Gustavo. A good mover is Gustavo and good looking too. He struts like poetry in motion to the loud Spanish music. He pushes everyone just enough to feel those long forgotten muscles and endorphins.

He watches that no one is having 'trouble' like a 'father 'hen. 'Canary lady' is here today. So called because she wears a yellow bodysuit, cut off just below the knees and up high into the neck, her cap of brown hair just a shade darker than her chestnut skin. She apparently migrates from hotel to hotel, roosting occasionally in Madrid. She adores dancing and is so light on her tiny feet. Twisting and hopping she's as agile as her namesake.

People watching can be such fun and we have returned many times to this fascinating Spanish hotel.