You know what it's like. You spend three days in Eastbourne, relaxing, eating ice cream and being massaged in your pants, only to get home and find that your neighbour's murdered his brother. We've all been there. Although as things stand right now, there's every chance he could be innocent. Either way, I think I preferred it along the coast where the only thing being killed was time.
You've got to hand it to our neighbours though. There are only twenty-four flats in this block, but they've already managed to reduce the population of two of them. And that's just since Christmas. Give it another year, and the place will be empty. Still, at least we've got a good alibi this time. And the crimes are going in the right direction – the last one was on the 4th floor, this time it's the 5th. I pity the people on the 6th floor. It must be like death row up there.
Anyhoo, murder and mayhem aside, the last 24 hours of our honeymoon were as lovely as the first couple of days. On Tuesday afternoon we headed out along Seaside Road...
... where, I'm reliably informed, you can eat, enjoy, shop, live, work and play. Lisa and I only did one of those things. And, surprisingly, it wasn't eat. We actually enjoyed a full-body massage at the Mystique Beauty Salon. We were hoping to be pummelled at the same time, but as it transpired, they only have one beautician, so I was forced to spend another ninety minutes in the charity shops while I waited my turn.
It was worth the wait though. I feel I should big up the Mystique Beauty Salon a bit here. Partly because they're a new establishment, and their resident beautician is a lovely young girl who only qualified last summer, is one of the few people on her course to have found work, and is struggling to make ends meet. But mainly because they undercharged us and I feel a bit guilty.
To be honest, I'm not sure I'm cut out for full-body massages. There's something about lying on a bed in my underwear with a girl who isn't Lisa, which makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. I don't think I ever relaxed quite as much as I was meant to. Especially after she took one look at my semi-naked body and offered me a back, sack & crack wax for eighteen quid. I politely declined through the hole in the table.
The girl was very good though, and the prices reasonable. I was expecting to pay £35 for a ninety minute massage, but having been kneaded from head to toe (literally), she told me everything’s 20% off at the moment, and charged me £56 for us both. It wasn't until I got back to the hotel that I realised she'd forgotten the fiver for Lisa's eyebrow waxing. It's no wonder the business is struggling.
Having been oiled up and rubbed down, we then headed out for a meal at La Locanda Del Duca, an authentic Italian restaurant which was recommended to us by the beautician. Not that she can afford to go there. It was very nice though. Frankly I've never had better gnocchi, and they can poach a pear in red wine like no one I know.
To be honest, our entire honeymoon was like a trip to Milan (and I keep telling Lisa that). Not only did we eat Italian every night, but we made regular trips to Fusciardi's ice cream parlour. Our mere presence reduced the average age of the clientele by about thirty years, but they serve ice cream sundaes to die for. Probably through morbid obesity.
After one last trip to dairy heaven, we picked up Amelie yesterday afternoon and arrived home last night. I weighed myself this morning. And the diet starts here.