Balloon like an Egyptian

I appear to be developing a case of the Egyptian Balloon. Either that or all the trousers I packed have mysteriously shrunk in transit.

The food here is delicious, plentiful and in constant supply. A dangerous combination. In the restaurant, at the poolside bar, in the beach front cafe, one is never more than a short waddle from piles of pastries and all manner of savoury delights. A small domestic army continually patrols collecting up glasses, plates and cups the second they are empty. A further unseen regiment returns one's room to pristine order whilst one is engaged in hard core poolside lounging or scoffing. The beds are pressed and adorned with a towel sculpture covered in hibiscus petals by the time you get back for a post-lunch pre-dinner nap.

After only a few days, I have entered into that holiday fugue state with complete loss of all sense of time or responsibility. My guess is you'd be hopelessly irredemably institutionalised if you stayed here for a month. Well, that and very fat: a proper Egyptian Balloon.