Day 3 in Malta…a day where nothing happened

After the hectic day I had the day before, I decided that I wanted a day spent almost entirely horizontal. (No, not like that, you filth) I swam, I bathed, I ate, I drank…and I made my first trip to the hotel spa for a head, neck and shoulder massage.

Local beer, poolside.
Local beer, poolside.

At 35euros for half an hour, it was reasonably priced but I wished I could have afforded a longer massage because it was goddamn amazing. I follow it up with a visit to the sauna, where I befriended a rather rotund, old, posh english man and a reserved german man – they were both pals and had emigrated to Malta ten years prior. They asked lots of questions about my holiday and assured me that I would love my stay there….I believed them. Despite the fact I was chiling out in what was essentially a giant greenhouse, with some strange old dudes with all my bits hanging out, I felt unusually at ease.

Patchwork Cronin
Patchwork Cronin

It was at this stage that I realised that I had been rather over zealous in my newfound love for sunbathing, and had some pretty ridicuous shaped burn marks all over my body. Nothing drastic, and I knew it was redness that would disappear by the next day, but still – I looked like a paint by numbers. See photo for an example of my patchwork torso. I then spent the next hour taking selfies. Yeah, what of it?

I’d spied a nice looking joint down the road earlier that day, which I figured looked good for dinner. I wasnt wrong – I ordered a mushroom pizza and the thing was like a spaceship. This pleased Bargain Basement Cronin, because I immediately clocked that I wouldn’t be able to eat it all, and could therefore take the rest back to my hotel for lunch the next day. (There was a fridge in my room to store it in…I’m not an animal) In fact, that giant pizza and a glass of wine cost 10euros…so about 7 quid. I was thrilled.

Pizza of dreams
Pizza of dreams

Speaking of cheap plonk, I had picked up a 5euro bottle of Maltese wine from the local convenience store earlier on, so I head back to my room to crack it open and relax on my balcony. Slight problem though – it had a cork. Not to be dettered, I rolled down the10 floors to the hotel lobby to ask the bartender in the piazza bar to open my pikey wine for me. Of course, at this stage I had already changed into my PJ’s, and wasnt about to change back, so the other hotel patrons experienced the utter treat of seeing me with my semi-transparent summer PJ’s whilst they were sipping their aperitifs. Whilst waiting for the bartender to open my wine, I saw the cocktail menu and thought….yep, you guessed it…I want another pina colada. So there was I, pina colada in one hand, open bottle of plonk in the other, strolling around the hotel in obscene PJ’s like some kind of slutty hobo.  I didnt care.

“If you like Pina Coladas….”

After a swift interlude with a couple in the lift who joked “party in your room is it?” as they observed the party-sized alcohol stash I was clutching, I collapsed on my bed and proceeded to sink the aforementioned whilst watching the sunset. Not a bad day for me.

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