The Morning After

The ball is over, which makes me a little sad, but I’m still reeling from the wonder of the evening.

Unsurprisingly, we were both tired enough to sleep until nine. Fortunately, hotel breakfast lasted until 10:30, giving us a lot of lazing time, which we fully indulged in.

That’s what I love about staying in hotels: everything feels luxurious. Our bed had been comfortable. The shower was clean, warm and just the right pressure, and we opened up the balcony doors to let the fresh air in. The weather had cooled and become cloudy, but after several days of intense heat, the air felt refreshed. Sitting on the terrace, reading, I actually felt for a moment like I was on holiday somewhere in continental Europe.

Secret Chris cam catches breakfast excitement.

At breakfast we dined on a selection of cooked foods. I had salmon and scrambled eggs, and Chris chose, as always, the full English breakfast, but was disappointed when his choice came sans baked beans. There was also a continental buffet, with fruits, cereals and juices.

Even breakfast feels luxurious in hotels. Mostly because you don’t have to cook it or clean it up. And there’s normally hosts of food you wouldn’t dream of putting on your table. Like, I had a chocolate danish pastry for breakfast.

I should learn never to pick pink juice. Pink is always grapefruit juice. I loath grapefruit.

After we had broken our fast, it was time to pack up and check out.  I had another little soiree on the balcony with my book eating the last of the strawberries. I was determined we wouldn’t check out until we absolutely had to.

The time passed quickly. Eventually we had to meander down to the front desk to check out, dress in bag.

I found a little pagoda to sit under, while Chris returned his uniform to the college. While I was waiting a man came along and took a photograph of the roof support. When I gave him an amused, questioning expression, he informed me he was part of a geo-caching game, in which you follow clues to certain points around the world. Apparently there was a QR code hidden on the rafter. I was intrigued.

I was due to catch the bus back to Totnes late afternoon, which gave us a few hours to explore the town. I was still pretty tired, and my feet were feeling the effects of a night in high heals. Fortunately, Dartmouth could fit on a postage stamp. We stopped for an ice-cream on the waterfront, and then, full from both breakfast and dessert, we stopped at a cafe for a tea and a coffee.

The day was waning and I knew it; I wanted desperately for the weekend not to be over, because I hate having to leave Chris, and because life would return to normal once I was home. Chris and I have an amazing ability to converse. It happens all the time. We can get onto a topic quickly and talk about it until we forget the time. I love that about us.

An hour and a half later we caught sight of the time and decided to go. Chris had unpacking and sorting to do ready for his new phase of training, and I had to get home and organize myself.

As I was travelling back, I overheard two other guests to the ball talking. They didn’t understand the semi-naked girls either. I just wanted to throw in that I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get that.

The day ended quietly, but my heart skips every few minutes with the notion that it all happened. I attended a pass-out parade, a ball, and stayed in a fancy hotel, all courtesy of an awesome gentleman.

Very happy Alice.




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