Birds, breakfast and beaches

With justy over 24 hours to go now until Ka and myself start our journey back to good old Scotland we are back relaxing by the pool with the Cocoon elite. Although this Cocoon elite are not as lively as the movie characters. In fact, Ka and myself are worried that some of them may not be just lying sunbathing...
Captain Birdseye is here in the hotel too. He was lying with his Captain's hat on when we arrived around two hours ago. We know he was the real deal too as he had the white beard with the slightly crooked smile and the fact that all the waiters were saluting him put the nail in the coffin. The proverbial coffin, of course. He didn't actually die. He just sauntered off a while back, perhaps to wrestle a squid or something, as Ka and myself licked our carte d'or cones.
Last night Ka and myself boarded the Captain Nemo II, a large glass bottom ferry boat which took us a two hour cruise around the surrounding north west coastline of Ibiza, taking in the sights, including a smugglers cave, a large cliff where people get naked, a Batman logo shaped rock formation, a chance to feed the seagulls (which started following us after only ten minutes at sea and then commencing to try and shit on us after feeding - great idea Mr Tourist guide!) and, of course, the Ibiza sunset. Although cloudier than the first sunsets of the week, last nights was still great to watch from the bow of a boat, glass of 'champagne' in hand.
Afterwards we went to a local Dutch bar for dinner and after a thoroughly impressive meal there, went out for a few cocktails and then bed.
This morning we were once more rudely awoken. All through the week we've been rather rudely awoken by a villainous little bird that likes to perch on the head of the palm tree outside out balcony and tweet away like an unpleasant, highly shrill, alarm signal. The kind of noises R2-D2 would make, if on drugs. He, or she, (it may be a she for all I know, I've no idea when it comes to birds) sits on the palm tree and without fail, tweets away (no, it's not on twitter!), loudly, constantly and without fail every morning and even has the cheek to sit and look at you, if you venture out on to the balcony to confront it. He, or she, even turns up if Ka and myself decide to sit and relax on the balcony, late afternoon, and tweets away, blatantly in our faces.
On our way round a local touristy shop yesterday i spotted a rail of Ibiza sling shots that would be ideal for silencing our little friend. Of course, I abandoned the idea as we fly home tomorrow. If I'd been staying 2 weeks, it may have been a different story.
This morning it wasn't the bird that woke us up though, it was the maids. On a few morning the bird was almost drowned out by the hotel maids who seem to gather around our apartment door every morning with their mops and brushes and debate loudly, in their native spanish, about potatoes. Or at least that's what it sounds like to my untrained ears (I never took Spanish at school). They shout at each other like Spanish Speedy Gonzalezs (plural, Gonzalei?). Ka snapped this morning and shouted a grumpy "Shut up!" from her bed. Unfortunately I don't think they heard as they continued with thier noisy bustling.
I'll miss the breakfast in the hotel. Hot plate upon hot plate of sausage, egg, boiled and fried, bacon, tomatoes, fried bread, hash browns, croissants, pastries, cereals, jams, juices, fruit and crackers. Not to mention one of those cool toasters with the conveyer belts. All fantastic. The only niggly thing being that you're in constant competition with the other residents to get the best looking sausage or the last fried egg on the hot tray. If you miss the last fried egg or tomato you have to wait for the slightly scarey Head Waiter to replace the empty tray with a fully loaded version of breakfasty goodness while newly woken guests mill around you, huffing, puffing and generally moaning as to why you are holding up the queue.
The buffet dinner is even worse. the old folk are all circling the restaurant doors before they're even opened at half seven and if you turn up even five minutes later your waiting ages to get any dinner. Ka and myself have been amazed at the speed some of these pensioners eat. Some of them are diving into their ice cream before Ka and myself have even managed to pick up a fork.
I've missed out on a few puddings thanks to the elderly queue jumpers, the pudding hoggers and the guests who take a slice of the best pudding before they've even had a nibble on their main course. On Tuesday night I had my eye on the last two slices of chocolate cheesecake for Ka and myself and was making my way over to the dessert counter when I heard two women conversing loudly behind me.
"Oh, that cheesecake looks lovely"
"Only two bits left too. Count me in, hold on, I'll get a plate"
By this point I'd had enough of missing out and witha thought along the lines of "not on your nelly!", I raced up to the dessert counter and quickly cakesliced the two last peices on to my plate. With a smug look on my face, and a mental victory dance going on in my head, I turned to face the two hopefuls as I heard them come up behind me. My smug look melted as I looked round at their glaring looks of sad annoyance. One of them looking up grimly from her wheelchair. Her friend glowering at me with complete hatred.
Stuff it. I'm on holiday. I can eat whatever puddings I want. Even if I don't look quite as good on the beach as a result. Unlike the inhabitants of Cala Bassa, a beach, reached by ferry boat, which Ka and myself visited during the week. We were lying sunbathing, when I suddenly happened to notice we were surrounded by naked people.