The Aer Lingus flight from Dublin was non-eventful. We checked into our basic (but clean) apartment, changed from our winter clothes into something more alluring and headed out to meet our friends. That evening we dined at a Thai restaurant named SaWadDee. The food was edible but uninspiring and the half-Swedish, half Spanish waiter would clearly rather have been washing his hair. After our meal we sauntered over to the Yumbo Centre – a profoundly grim, three level building that serves as a restaurant complex, a bucket and spade emporium and the centre of gay nightlife on the islands. We headed to Sparkles bar – an English cabaret bar with ropy drag queens, karaoke and the least discerning tourists on the planet – I gladly include ourselves in that category. The hostess was a Tipperary drag queen named Polly Glamourous who made a hilarious reference to Stab City upon learning of our Limerick provenance. At least we’re not from Tipperary I thought to myself. The main act was a Spanish dance troupe named ‘Sensations’ who were genuinely entertaining.

The next day we walked to the beach where I texted my friend’s daughter who collected us from the Tipsy Hammock and took us to our sun loungers where I had a gorgeous day hiding from the 23 degree heat under the  sunshade. That evening we went to the Calle Partero Leonorita where we dined on tapas and wine.

Thursday was a repeat of the previous day except in the evening we dined in the Yumbo Centre where I ordered a rare steak and ate the well-done shank when it arrived.

Friday was our day of adventure – my Irish friend and my Finnish friend’s daughter and I were taking a bus inland to see the volcanic crater in the centre of the island. It was vaguely interesting. Afterwards we visited Las Palmas where we dined on a terrace and tried to avoid the attention of the over-friendly waiter. Next we headed to the cathedral and took the lift to the roof. Following this we visited Columbus’ house. On his first voyage to the Americas, Christy had a stopover on Gran Canaria – this house being a perfect location for a diverting twenty first century museum.

That evening we dined on the Calle Portero Leonorita once again where I dined on fish and chips.

Later that evening – about midnight – it began. I felt queasy. Somewhat nauseous. Sudden (or indeed any) movement caused my stomach to lurch. Before long I was on my knees by the toilet vomiting violently. A period of calm briefly followed. Then once again I had the urge to purge. This time from the other end. That night was quite disturbed. My Irish friend felt perfectly OK. The twelve year old was not so lucky. She too spent a night comprised of urgent toilet breaks. I can only assume that it was the chips we consumed on the terrace as that was the only dish that just the two of us shared.

By the morning I was feeling better. Not well enough to travel to the beach for our final full day. Still feeling slightly dubious I wished to remain within diving proximity of a toilet. Just in case. My voice had fully deserted me. I spoke in a mouselike squeak. The vomiting had done a number on my dulcet tones.

That evening we dined in an Italian restaurant where I partook of lasagne encased in bread – unusual but tasty.

I arose early the next morning and made my way to the airport for my 11am flight back to Cork.

Another joyful trip to Gran Canaria complete, Ten days after my return my voice is still not right however as I continue to speak in a withered croak. It is improving at a snail’s pace. Hopefully by next January it will have recovered for my inevitable return to those marvellous islands.