Crazy child and the singing lifeguard

Okay, okay, we have been remiss in blogging but we've been busy, doing what I'm not so sure - washing socks and underwear much of the time, to be perfectly mundane. So many hotel beds and train rides and bus stops have whizzed by. Our tour of Sicily next took us to the islands of Lipari (that's me in the not so warm mud bath on the island of Vulcano. The sickly sulphur smell is still in our clothes after 3 or 4 washings and could be a permanent fixture. I did invent a good joke from this visit though - "Why do they call it Vulcano? Because it's a hole.") Then we finished up at the beautiful hillside town of Taormina, overlooking Mount Etna, with orange trees lining the narrow ancient cobblestoned streets, which thronged with coachloads of daytripping tourists by day and prominading Italians by night. We just heard that Mount Etna erupted now that we've left. We often felt like exploding too from so much Italian food. Wherever we went in Taormina, we often heard people answering their mobiles. Nine times out of ten, I swear, they all said "Ciao Mama!" Then the conversation would inevitably turn to food : ) What they ate, what they were planning to eat for dinner. It was hilarious. Obviously Sicilian mamas are still concerned that their offspring are nourished sufficiently and call often to discuss this important topic.

We also took the cable car to the beach twice at the foot of Taormina to plunge into the (still!) ice cold Medditerranean. We rented beach chairs one day and were treated to the singing lifeguard. He was a hilarious man in a red shirt who brought drinks and towels, paid special attention to groups of young ladies in bikinis, explained the intricacies of the lounge chair hydraulics (strict instructions were issued which Miles does an excellent imitation of that still gives us hysterics), and also broke into a chorus of "Volare, voooah, cantare, whooah ooah ooah ooah!" every so often. Did we have the camera with us- idiots, no. But I do have a video on my ipod which will commit him to posterity.

As we left Sicily from the Catania airport, I was treated to one more memorable snippet. An elderly woman was in the airport gift shop attempting to buy a small pink t-shirt. She said to the shop assistant: "Do you speak English?" Shop girl: "Uh, Yes." Grandma: "What does this shirt say?" Shop girl (translating Italian writing on shirt): "This is Child. And this is Crazy. Crazy Child." Okay, grandma said cheerfully and purchased said shirt. Somewhere in Manchester, a tot is wearing a bright pink t-shirt that says Bambina Pazza, blissfully unaware of her grandmother's true feelings : )

Ole! And now for Spain.