There are four pools in the Martinhal resort and this one pictured, the beach club pool, is by far the most popular. It never looks like this when it’s open – the Fat Boy loungers and beds are pounced on at 10am and it’s like that all day.
We joined the masses on our first day and I ignored my book, so fascinating was the people-watching. This was very much a Home Counties pool: well-heeled families, all with an assortment of good-looking children in tow. I suspect the fortnight we were there, the Ocado deliveries back in the UK must have suffered, such was the large number of their customers who had de-camped to this part of Portugal. I was a little in awe of them, I have to say, and dared not open my mouth to speak, for fear they would discover I was a Northerner and their offspring would be wanting to adopt me as a pet (see Harry and Paul sketch)
Let me describe the indigenous population by the pool:
The Beach Club Pool Mummy – a delightful creature, dressed in floppy hat, Jackie O shades, a teensy bikini with something chiffon over the top and cork wedge heels or beaded flip-flops. Tries to look elegant whilst sinking into a bean bag seat, orders mojitos from Emerson the barman, or a glass of rose or “Have you a green tea?” Can be heard to squeak to her offspring, “Shall we go for some pasta, darling? How about a carbonara?” Either pre-holiday spray-tanned or fashionably pale with very flat stomach and little cellulite: I do hope some of them are, in fact, nannies and haven’t given birth to a brood after all.
The Beach Club Pool Daddy – To a man, sensible shorts is the dress code; not a budgie smuggler in sight. Walks from the bar to the lounger rather carefully, trying to hold belly in. Tries not to boast but is prone to wank-speak on occasions: “Yah, I did 5K today…just under 25 minutes…yah…you’ve got to keep something in the locker”. Is in charge of lugging Fat Boy loungers to where wife is flapping about trying to bagsy a spot (though they’d never say bagsy).
The Beach Club Pool Baby – Most of the young children are dressed in an all-in-one lycra suit or half-naked with mamma chasing them in her heels trying to put more sun-cream on their reddening shoulders. It is very windy here in the Algarve but everyone has brought suntan lotion in a spray bottle so most of the cream disappears into the air. Children seem to be named after Tellytubbies.
The Beach Club Pool Teenager – Granted there aren’t that many but the few that are sprawled about the decking are dressed in a JackWillAberFitchHolliDry combination of T-shirts and board shorts with the band from their boxer shorts visible (the young chaps): bikinis or very fitted shorts and numerous friendship bracelets (the young girlies). They all sit within their family groups, plugged into iPods and ignoring parents. Heard to grunt now and again before they shuffle off into the shade. (NB: I have one of these).
It is while I’m absorbing all this that I start imagining I can spot someone famous. I mistake an over-weight bloke in a navy polo shirt for James Corden and then suddenly yelp to Dougie that John Torode from Masterchef has just walked by. There is much peering through sunglasses to take a better look and then we both realise that I’m right. It is John Torode, dressed in the same knee-length shorts uniform worn by the other Beach Club daddies and an attractive white linen shirt. He is at the resort with his wife and young family: he has two littlies and two teen boys much like mine.
You’ll be pleased to know, readers, that I behaved impeccably. I did not jump up and down hysterically or run up and ask him to autograph my napkin, nor did I photograph him or shove my camera-phone in his face. No, I acted as if I am surrounded by celebrities all the time. Everyone else seemed to behave too, allowing the man to enjoy his family holiday, but many, like me, used their sunshades and books to hide surreptitious glances.
Rory looked up from his iPod and told us that a Masterchef techno spoof song was in the charts. It’s really catchy and it was so tempting to entertain the pool by leaping up to sing “I like the base, base, base, base, I like the buttery biscuit base” but I’d have been lynched so I chickened out. Shame, I’m sure he’d have loved my rendition.
We saw the Torode family a fair few times that first week. We ate at As Dunas, the hotel’s fish restaurant, on a number of evenings and they were seated at the next table on one occasion. As I tucked into my sea bass and fries I thought to myself, “if it’s good enough for John, it’s good enough for me”. Pass the ketchup, JT.
You mean you didn't ask him if he knew of a decent McDonald's nearby?
Bloody hilarious. But "wank-speak"??? Trisha!!!
@Steve – I have standards (and I didn't want him to know how low they were)
@Expat Mum – I know, I'm letting the family down with rude words. But how else can I describe wank- speak without the wank?
I would have shamed myself,
I saw Gaby Roslin the other day gave her a huge beam and said how are you? (As I recongnised her I thought I knew her – it took a moment before the penny dropped and I realised why I knew her!)
@Northern Mum – I wonder whether I might have made more of a fuss if I'd just bumped into him. I think because I knew he was with his family and we were likely to be in the same place for the next few days, I stopped myself from being embarrassing (which is quite something in itself!)
Like your Gaby story haha!
Is he tall or short? think he's quite sexy myself…….well done on your restraint. That resort looks fantastic…will drive by and have a look in a few weeks.
Sooooo….you felt you fitted in well then?!
Parallel universe stuff. Makes a good blog post though. 🙂
Oh dear, neither the husband or myself would have made the grade. He would sooner dig his eyes out with a spoon that do 5k in anything other than the car and I would fail miserably on the 'flat stomach' front. Is there a slummy mummy pool by any chance?
@Libby – I'm not sure of his height; he was usually lying down when I saw him 🙂
Do pop into the resort, tell them Trish sent you and they'll have no idea who I am.
@Kelloggsville – Well Dougie was a Beach Club Daddy as he wore the shorts and held his tummy in, Rory definitely a BC Teen and, well, I tried my best.
@Sarah – Handed to me on a plate!
@Wylye Girl – Yes, I found that pool in the second week.
I would so have been ear-wigging to see what he was saying about the food, not to mention copying what he ordered!
@Very bored – I wish I could have heard – and we'd left before we saw what came to his table (despite me urging Dougie to order coffee so we could linger). The hotel has been getting a bit of a slating on Tripadvisor lately (I think in the weeks before we went things weren't so good and the wind was hideous)but I know for a fact that JT ate at the fish restaurant at least three times so it can't be that bad!
Your Beach Club Pool descriptions are hilarious! I kept laughing as I read. We are off ourselves on Sunday, South of France again but in a place where we do not stand a chance of spotting any celebrities! Sorry!
I have to confess I had no idea who John Torode was, had to look him up!!
Shame it was not Johnny Depp!! ;o)
@Funky – you can be excused for not knowing who John Torode is. Do you have a German Masterchef?
If it had been Johnny Depp I might not have been so restrained.
Not that I know of!! Tells you how much TV I watch…
Should you bump into Johnny during your next holiday, do you reckon your hubby will whip out his duck tape to restrain you??
You name dropper you
@Funky – well he could try! 😉
@Goonerjamie – Oh yes, indeedy.
I'm a beach club mummy! I know I am! But somebody pinched my life!
Leaving me here….
Now, see, if I'd been there, I would have been able to play it cool without even having to work at it, since I had no idea who he was and had to Google him. This whole post was very educational for me as an American. It expanded both my vocabulary ('budgie smuggler' and 'wank-speak' were both new: we've always called them 'grape smugglers') and my cultural understanding re: the northern accent – which I now get, having watched the enlightening 'Clive' video (hilarious- I wonder if that's been copied in the US with Southern accents). I have to say, this is one of my favorite posts of yours I've read so far…loved it!
Do you think he was a bit miffed that nobody recognised him? I bet he went home and said 'I'm all washed up, it's over, I'm throwing in the tea towel….waaahhhhh'
I would've spent the entire holiday hiding in a voluminous kaftan!
Fab post, as always, Trish!
@Macy – Of course you are! Pull up a bean bag and I'll get you a glass of vino.
@MsCaroline – Glad to educate and amuse. The video is brilliant isn't it. I had a look through all the others on YouTube and had a good chortle.
@Christine – Oh I'm sure he knew we all recognised him. As he walked into the pool area all eyes followed him haha! His wife and children were lovely too so I just couldn't disturb him but was sorely tempted to say hello…but then what: I'd have gone all shy and giggly.
It was rather windy in the resort so that kaftan would have been over your head in a jiffy 😉
I was going to retort that he can't have been much of a celebrity as I didn't recognise the name…but then I Googled him and recognised him from his photograph and if I had seen him on holiday I would have immediately known he was "a guy from one of the many cooking programmes".
Definitely B-list though.
@Troy – The way I see it, he is a very nice chap with a lovely family, happens to be a chef and has made a name for himself in TV. It's the media which has created his 'celebrity' status: he's just doing his job.
But I was still rather giddy!
I have a small crush on john torode – a tad envious 🙂
@elsie – If I tell you he was looking very toned and tanned, will that make it worse?
Loved your descriptions… Children named after telly tubbies – lol! You were very well behaved with JT!! Emma 🙂
Loved the Blog but it was definitely a case of “Born there, lived there for 28 years but now I can’t go back, don’t speak the language” – had to Google Wank-Speak and Budgie-Smugglers – boy am I old!! Must say though that on my many trips throughout the beaches of South America and the Caribbean, I have noticed, in passing, that the local men sport Pigeon-Smugglers (would name them that cos of their penchant for display and “spreading their shit around”, of course there are other reasons) versus US men who tend to puff up their chests (while at the same time holding in their stomachs), and wearing the US equivalent to “Budgie Smugglers” which I can only name as “Where Did That Mosquito Take Refuge”.
Lord it's good to be old and able to look with people around thinking I am actually to old to be looking!!
Wank Speaking LOL
Marion
@Emma – Thanks Emma. And yes, I was a good girl with JT.
@Marion – I think wank-speak may well be a made up phrase my husband uses but I think it's self-explanatory. I have since googled it too and it's supposed to be when people talk in text language. ROFLMAO! I thought it was when people talked like wankers.
Very very funny – need you to review for us please!!
Best wishes, Jo
Agree Bloody hilarious. I'm going to keep a sharp look out for the US equiv, of these mamas. I do know that in Hawaii some mamas make their nanny's sleep out on the Four Seasons chairs all night so they are never relinquished. And kids named after Tellytubbies – spot on. Guess it used to be fruit and seasons…
@Away with the kids – I'll pop over to your website or contact you via twitter to see what you need, Jo.
@About last weekend – Imagine, putting your nanny out onto the patio! Shameful.
Brilliant. We stayed at a resort in Borneo (my parents were paying!) and the Aussie version of these people populated the pool there. Plus a couple of Ocado users.
@It's a small world – Ah they get everywhere!
I was in the Algarve last year and it was funny because you could spot the British and Americans by the color of their skin, usually a little red and white. It's always fun to people watch, especially on beaches and at pools.
@Suzy – I must have a look at your website and find your posts on the Algarve. The Brits and Americans, unless they get a decent spray-tan before they go, always over-do it. I know I do; I get too excited when I see the sun and think I'd best make the most of it before it disappears.