Hello

 Rest days can be exhausting. You have to walk down the beach at sunrise, sit, read, swim and eat. We even found time to visit the Santa Barbara historical museum with no clues about who Barbara was. There were, as usual, a lot of men and a few wives who ‘bore him five children,’ and a few flamenco dancers but none were called Barbara. 

There were no Barbara’s around the pool, unless you count the tree. 

There was an Adelheid and Johann and a Lina and Karl, who were joyously happy. Like the Long Suffering Husband they had their headphones in and a phone in their hand. Like him, they may have been listening to the latest Jack Reacher book but most of the time they were taking video calls. Their friends and family wanted to share their joy and who can blame them?

“Hello!” Karl would shout and they’d all sit up on their sunbeds and crowd around the tiny screen.

“Hello!”

“Wie gehts dem hund?”

“Ahhh. Pschttt.” Followed by head tilting whistles. “Braver hund. Ahhh. Ja. Braver hund.”

As far as I know, the dog didn’t speak back, even though I’m sure he knew he was a good boy. 

Once the LSH got to the end of a chapter he took out his headphones and suggested that the people on the other side of the pool were quite loud.

“Where do you think they’re from?” he asked.

“Germany.” I said, decisively. 

“No, no I was thinking Poland. They’re too happy to be Germans.”

“They could be Dutch,” I conceded. “But I think they’re German because I speak dog.”

They should have brought it with them because the Californians love a dog,  In the LA hotel dogs shared a sunbed with their owner. There are even dog hotels for when film stars have to travel to countries with quarantine regulations. They even employ dogs for the mundane jobs that the homeless could do.

Is this Barbara?