The first rule of biology club is...

After such an eventful previous day, it was time for a some quiet pool time. At least for me anyway. It was our last day at the villa and I intended to enjoy it's facilities to the full. In summary, I meant to get in as much swimming (aka bobbing) as possible.

I'd taken a solo swim the night before to achieve my full pool value for money. The plan was to bob in the dark and admire the stars above. Sadly, this turned out to be scarier than I imagined. With the pool lights quickly turned back on, I made busy with my best backstroke. The peaceful solitude was not to last though as for some unknown reason, I started to think about an old 1980s movie called Cocoon. The thought of floating unawares over a bunch of weird glowing cocoons, no matter their age-regenerative powers, was just too much. I retired instead to the comforts of the sofa and promised never to do it again.

This morning I'd run out of exciting yogurts for breakfast so with Mr F off chasing dicky-birds, I took the opportunity to pinch one of his less exciting flavours - a plain and simple raspberry, how will a girl cope? My freckles were advancing nicely however, and I reckoned a serious bobbing session would work them all the way round my arms if I concentrated hard enough. One does go for the all-over freckle look, it's so this season.

With my day planned, I retired to a shady spot for some pre-bob reading whilst the goodness of the NASA reentry-strength sunscreen soaked in. Fifteen minutes later, bobbing commenced. Not a great deal to report on the rest of the morning as I did a whole lot of diddly squat. Paradise found!

I did make a start on the dissection of the seedless watermelon though. Mr F is not an avid fruit fan so I was surprised when he suggested buying one of these gargantuan green monsters. He said he would eat it though so eat it he will. Today. At lunchtime. Whether he likes it or not.

Mr F duly returned not long after but all talk of watermelons was overshadowed by his staggering news. He hadn't seen a gargantuan green monster. He'd seen gargantuan grey monsters no less. And to rub it in my face even more, he'd seen not just one but three of the damn things. And had photos. One was covered in barnacles for gods sake! And just in case, that went past you too fast - he'd seen the great mythical beasts - three manatees in a local marina. I hate him and may very well throw that damn watermelon at him, especially after his next titbit of information...

Many of you may have heard me extolling the virtues of the first rule of biology, i.e. if you come across any animal vaguely interesting, poke it with a stick. The length of stick and it's sturdiness is directly proportional to the dangerousness of the animal, as is the gentleness of the poke. So well known is this rule that you can even see the great Dave Attenborough employing it upon meeting a male Elephant Seal in Life of Mammals. He also applies his boot occasionally - on a Capercaillie in Life of Birds for example. Top bloke, been to one of his talks you know. Anyway, I digress,

In addition to the three bobbing manatees (no relation), he had also seen his biggest wild alligator to date. And it was within poking distance. Being a firm believer in said rule and having once poked a pit viper (with witnesses), he hunted about for a suitable implement. Alas, nothing could be found. If only he'd brought his tripod with him, it would have made an excellent poking stick - adjustable length and suitably sturdy. I was fine with all of his news so far, it was the next bit that seriously worried me.

Finding himself stick-less but not wanting to lose out on this fabulous biological opportunity, he considered what else was at hand. A hand, that's it, I'll reach out and poke it with my hand! This was what went through my darling husband's mind. And he would have done it too apparently, if he'd had more space behind him - for the necessary sharp getaway you understand. I just daren't leave him alone anymore!

After some serious ticking off and many promises not to contemplate such a thing ever again (unless I was there to hold his feet anyway), I served up the long-forgotten watermelon.

Following our afternoon siesta, we nipped out in the vain hope that the manatees were still lurking around. Alas, I was out of luck - serves me right for having a lie in. We nipped into Walmart on the way back to purchase what I'm pretty sure is the tackiest fridge magnet in the known solar system. It manages to incorporate shells, alligators and somehow, toilets. The benefactor of this supreme gift, is a very good friend but has no taste whatsoever when it comes to magnets. She will love it.

This evening's culinary delights were to be taken close to home, just down the street at the Capri Fish House. We sat outside under their tiki hut looking at the sunset as we sipped our bottles of Bud. We missed the green flash sadly as we were both looking the other way at the crucial moment. I know I was probably looking at the menu. That, or I was flinching in pain as the 'entertainment' perched on a stool nearby slaughtered a Bob Marley classic.

As we didn't make it to the steakhouse the other night, we decided to have a bit of a splurge. Mr F went for the swordfish with dill sauce and me the lobster tail with drawn butter. I planned on having the stone crab but the lobster was only caught four hours ago and how often do you get that? Unfortunately, the waiter had noted our accents and informed us of his trip to London. For the rest of the night, every time he walked past our table he asked us "alright mates?" For some reason, I just couldn't get passed that extra erroneous 's'. Such a small error and yet I had to seriously bite my tongue and not correct him each time. And when we left, he hollered "God save the queen" after us. Occasionally, just occasionally, British reserve is a good thing.

No. of dolphins seen: 0
No. of manatees seen by Mr F: 3
No. of lobsters eaten by Mrs W: 2
No. of husbands nearly eaten: 1