Last hurrah

Walking the city at night

I can feel the heat of the day

belting off the buildings -

there are fireworks in Granada,

some religious festival or other where

rose petals carpet the streets and

church incense creeps heavy in the air.

Tom says it's raining sideways back home,

Lynn teases fuck you but then says have a lovely time

Veronica says I hope you're feeling smug, 

wine glass emoji.

I slide into the rooftop pool, up here

among the aerials and masts and the

Moorish roof tiles.

Laura tries to squeeze a wasp's sting out of my arm,

new jokes go into the archives,

fresh shortcuts for guaranteed laughs.

Every hour is punctuated by ominous church bells,

I drink horchata for the first time,

like the milk at the bottom of the 

cereal bowl.

The sky is stupidly blue at all times.

It's mid October but you'd never know it.

Heat blooms on my skin, 

up in the hills looking down on the city 

I roast, feeling closer to the sun.

Jon says it looks horrible, laughing emoji.

The pool has a bench inbuilt so you can

sit and read in it,

they know you'll need to cool off.

Huge salt crystals lie on every 

sliced tomato.

We eat

rare tuna steak, and

they give you slices of fried aubergine

just for buying a drink.

Tinto de verano, and another, 

fuck it let's have cava, 

shall we have extra bread.

Last hurrah, I keep saying,

before the winter duvet goes on.