Saturday, 24 March 2018


You could tell they were on holiday, filling their trolley with cheap booze and by the vest tops they were sporting in 8C. The first tourists are arriving, full of hope and swimming costumes. There is a misconception that Mallorca is warm and sunny year round and to be fair, it is a whole lot nicer than the UK, who have had to deal with Beasts from the East. But March, oh March has been full of weather. Full of rain. Full of cold. Full of wind that whips round your face and creates monstrous plastic bags. Full of warm days where T shirts and sunnies are required. We've had it all, and now I am ready for a decent run of calm, of sun and of the gradual ascent to mental searing, blistering heat.

Today we have been treated to a whole day of rain. So much so, that our village Sheep and Goat Festival was abandoned in a torrent of water which ran through the streets, cancelling the dancing and tapas sharing, halting the goat admiring and beer drinking.

The horses spent all but an hour in their stables. Spot, who was born here in Mallorca, doesn't do rain. Grateful for the duvet day, he munched his hay with not a wet hair on his fat, hairy body. Kira, a girl from the north of Spain, is quite happy to stand in her corale, the water soaking her to the skin. The ducks came back to swim on the lakes created on the riding arenas, grateful for a few more weeks of puddles before they have to fly off to find a new watery home.




Violent sunsets

Windy palms

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