There’s a guy works down the beach bar thinks he’s Elvis…
His name is Josè. He’s a waiter and I’m in a crushing/semi-stalking scenario with him.
He works all day with his feet in the sand and a sharp cream shirt opened just a tasteful smidge to give a flash of gold necklace on deep brown chest. His hair has a subtle suggestion of a quiff and his moustache is full and neat, as are his epic eyebrows.
He speaks no English and I can only order beer in Spanish but that is all we need, Josè and I, because we have our eyes for talking and he has a smashing smile.
Yesterday I watched as he took a break to eat his lunch at 5pm. I sat drinking beer, spying on him and making a note of what he ate which yes I know is bloody weird but I wanted to know the secret of how this fine fella can work all day in such inhuman heat, on his feet, and not even break a sweat.
You wanna know what he ate? Do ya? Well I’m gonna tell ya anyways!
- A plate of fried anchovies which he drizzled with the juice of a whole lemon
- A plate of salad; huge chunks of beef tomato, raw onion and green olives which he drenched in oil and salt
- A basket of bread
- A cold glass of San Miguel
He sat alone and took a leisurely forty minutes over his lunch, all eaten with his fingers, a thick wedge of raw onion, a whole anchovy, a slurp of beer, an olive and a gawp at the sea.
Josè is 80 years old. This daily diet must be why he can work all day in the 80° heat and at 42, I can’t get through the cold drizzly day without a nap.
When I return to my chilly, damp island and reach for the shitty cheese sarnie and the bag of crisps, I shall pause and think of Josè…and then insist that Gwyneth prepare me a Mediterranean platter each day for my lunch if he harbours any desire for me to live beyond 45…
Josè finished off his lunch with a chocolate Cornetto…he and I are literally MEANT FOR EACH OTHER…