What snow there was, went fast.

We head back to the hotel for a pre-dinner snooze. Later, as we walk into the restaurant, freshly showered and still drowsy, we have that "just shagged" look and feel like embarrassed, caught-out teenagers. Damn! Remind me never to go on a pulling-holiday with a "non-partner" male again! Talk about reducing (yes, even further) our pulling opportunities!

As we don't know the procedure, we think we've missed dinner entirely. Then we see a fabulous buffet and roll up. I run into an Australian – whose accent my ears had automatically pricked up to on the bus – who informs us dinner is served until 9.30. We thank her. Some pleasing nourishment, a bottle of red, and we're on our way... again.

We listen to the resident foxy singer, who encouraged a gorgeous little kid to sing her, evidently, favourite song: "I'm a big, big girl in a big, big world..." Dave loved all the tacky music (though that might've had something to do with the vocal vixen from whom it was emitted!). I again reminded him who's responsible for this whole so-far fabulous holiday, plus that he sat back and thought of England while I sorted ALL the arrangements! Thus becomes our first in-joke:

J: "What am I?"
D: "Star!"

I like these assumed roles.

It's Cocktail Party night in Dak's Bar, which is conveniently attached to the hotel.

Ya gotta love that, if only for making the commute home! Dave and I head in for our welcome freebie. I ask the very attractive barman if he knows "Sex on the Beach", to which comes a resounding "Yes." Encouraged by Dave I then smirk, "What about the drink?!"

He gets the pun – and I soon discover he's perfectly bilingual. We peruse the marvellously extensive menu and realise we're going to have to emigrate to Bulgaria until we've tried everything at least once! Delightful! And fabulous staff! We're instant friends – although I'm a tad concerned about the natural rapport I seem to develop with people responsible for serving me alcohol! A couple of hours later I'm a walking cocktail, with crepe-paper umbrellas, swizzle sticks, translucent orange monkeys, and various shiny, tinselly bits coming out of every orifice, including my cleavage. Ah well!

Soon my meniscus is bubbling over the drunkometer level where you confidently circle the room and befriend complete strangers. So I approach fellow Australian: "Louise!" She'd heard my accent at dinner, but wasn't sure where I was from, and surmised, "I heard your partner's accent so assumed you were Irish."

I clue her in on Rule 1: Never assume!

Nationalities aside, never assume that a) my PURELY PLATONIC travel buddy is my "partner" and b) I'm therefore NOT very, very single!

I hastily corrected her: "He's not my partner – I'm on the pull!" And, very appropriately, she responded, "Oh, I'll have to introduce you to my brother!" And, later, she does. My vague recollection is that his name is Paul, and that he sounded very "ocka". He's a painter, of the outdoor/decorating variety, as opposed to the fine arts! There's no chemistry; he looks blonde-ish – and I don't do blonde. Shallow, I know, but everyone has their "thing". I'm locked, I'm on hollyars. It's Crimbo, but I still use some discretion. I prefer to go local and chat to the cute barman!

When I'm ABSOLUTELY locked, I (wisely) leave. Ten metres later, yer'man (the Aussie) comes after me saying, "You're not leaving now are you?" Er, well, obviously I am! We exchange words, then I think, "Feck it," and initiate, "How's about a Christmas snog before I go?" He doesn't have a clue what "snog" means! But once I use the traditional word, by god does he know how! Yum! Very nice. Not to mention those bronzed Aussie arms, which I hadn't seen for a LONG time! Post-embrace, he then says, "You're not just gonna leave me now are you?" Does his vocabulary only extend to two sentences? (Rrrrrrowal!) I say, "Well, I'm really drunk and have to." And I do. Like a schoolgirl who's been kissed for the first time, I skip back to the hotel and fall into bed.

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