OK then, so with my passport duly cleaned after a 40 degree spin cycle, there are no stamps left in it (boo), but the picture is in tact (and it still shows a bloomin tache even tho I never had one). Basically my passport is less use than a rehab clinic for a nihilistic singer. So a wee trip to one of the multitude of Post Offices that exist in the area (Not), to pick up a form.

The upshot, it is easier for me to come into the country as a foreigner than it is to replace my damaged one. I need to specify my parents nationality and birthdates (that’s gonna happen) and I now need the form certified by a lawyer, doctor, company owner, who has known me for more than two years and is prepared to provide their passport information, stool and DNA sample as well.

And as I am duly reminded by Mrs Fogg I also have to pay £77 for the privilege plus a potential £8 if I would like the new graduate with their degree in molecular biology at the post office to do a “check and send service” (like that’s gonna happen). At least Dick Turpin wore a mask!!!!

I really hope that this additional level of security is worth it because all I can see is that you are treated worse in this country if you are a “citizen” than if you are a foreigner.

Pah!!! Rant over, you can get on with your Sunday now.

After the journey back to the Shire d’York by Bucket Airlines (sorry BA), a drive across the M62, rapid clothes change we were just in time to catch the tail end of Stu and Jens Ruby Wedding celebrations in a marquee and we promptly got dwunk.

A wonderful evening, topped off with a well needed Chinese. No 42 anyone?

Mrs Fogg was doing yoga again this morning and I will attempt the fitness trail for a second time before we leave.

One last breakfast and one final lunch to be had afore we go. It has been a wonderful relaxing fun time with plenty of people watching, Stick, Hick, We want our Hut, Stares a lot girl, the lushes and last night watching We are Essex mayte.

Time to plan our next jolly methinks, oh and we have Route 66 on a Harley in two years.

The last 10 days have flown, Mrs Fogg has read 3 books and chilled by the pool, had a speedboat ride, flowers, chocolate cake, champagne, jewellery, gifts and a really really nice time (oh and a naked midnight sleepwalk, see the previous blog).

The bags are all packed and we leave this little piece of paradise tomorrow at 9pm UK Time and land back in muggy London at 7am on Saturday, before winding our way upt North (eta 6pm UK Time).

it’s been wonderful, thank you all for Mrs Fogg’s wonderful cards and gifts and we will see you all real soon.

Picture the scene, a usual evening of a few glasses of FizzyBoobly then onto a 3 course meal although not sure Mrs Fogg enjoyed the French delicacy of snails in BBQ sauce followed by baby calves. So food done it was back to the cocktail lounge for more fizzy stuff, a scrabble whitewash (yep I kicked botty again) and then a round of Backgammon where Mrs Fogg’s losing streak just got worse.

A nice romantic wander along the beach at midnight trying to find a stone for Mrs Fogg to take back with her, with a bottle of Baileys in hand (don’t worry we will get to the point in a moment, just setting the scene). And then an oh so labored stagger back to the room through the multitude of toads.

Ah to sleep, perchance to dream and within milliseconds of her head hitting the pillow, she was unconscious and snoring (who says over 40s can’t handle their booze). I read until about 1am then gently drifted off to enjoy a nice respite from the mozzies biting.

SLAM went the outside door at 4.30am with Mrs Fogg stood there looking at me in her rather nice birthday suit, shouting at me “where were you, I went to the toilet and you weren’t there”, obviously dazed and confused I am looking at Mrs Fogg stood in the outside doorway and at the toilet door on the other side of the room, missing the ever so obvious “why would I need to be in to loo with you”. Still ranting at me, although a little less now, I am trying to wake up to understand what I was missing (alien encounters, WW3 the final countdown, etc). Mrs Fogg then started babbling about going to the toilet, in the restaurant some 400 meters away. Why when we had a perfectly adequate one next door, and and I suppose an even better one would be why would you go all that way STARK NAKED?

Mrs Fogg calmly climbed back into bed and promptly proceeded to snore, leaving me looking in bewilderment at the passing events, oh well I’d better go to sleep as well.

So this am, Mrs Fogg gently wakens as I’m looking at her and then I casually asked, did you go anywhere special during the night? Oh I wish I had my camera for the expression of dawning realisation slapped across someone’s face.

So Mrs Fogg, explain…..

Ahem, well….I had this weird dream that I needed the toilet and had to walk all the way down to the ones in the restaurant. In my dream I can remember looking down as I wandered through the hotel gardens and thinking “oh I seem to have forgotten my pants” Thinking nothing of this (it was after all just a dream) I ambled slowly to the restaurant, into the cocktail lounge and through to the toilet. I even remember washing and drying my hands! I wandered back into the cocktail lounge and wondered where Mr Fogg was and may (bit unclear here) have actually wandered through into the main restaurant and to the bar close to the main beach to find him.

I don’t remember seeing anyone, I do remember feeling disappointed that the bar was closed, imagine if it had been open and a naked sleepwalker asked for two glasses of champagne!!

Still, one of the security guards who patrols the grounds waved a friendly hello this morning……

Thats my first ever sleepwalk! I thought the dream felt very real at the time. Good job I did not decide to go for a swim too. I would have walked past the pool twice on my trip.

All set for a wonderful evening meal (again), more champagne and more ass whooping at scrabble or even Bsckgammon.

Mrs Fogg is now on her third book and I’ve even managed to get half way through one (without pictures I may add). The wonderful thing here is not watching a single bit of the fools lantern even tho you can here some Brits racing back to their rooms for the latest trivia of “EastBrookCoronation Farm Street”.

There has been music every evening including a wonderful pianist last night, who played the Steinway with his eyes closed and no sheet music (suppose it’s not much use if you got your eyes closed). He rattled of a diverse range of music and applauded himself after every song.

Oh god I do hope it’s not jazz night tonite, if there is one type of music I can’t stand, it’s Jaaazzz, nice.