I’m starting to acclimatise now and I’m waking up a wee bit later but still way too early. A breakfast of cereal and yoghurt and I wandered up to the cab rank to get a taxi down to Puerto Escala. From here the Lineas Salmon ferry sails to Arguineguin and Anfi in the East. I saw they’ve now extended the route further round to Melaneras which is almost as far as Maspalomas. I was going in the opposite direction though and taking the ferry that goes North to Puerto Mogan. It’s not very far, you can see it from Puerto Rico but it’s a pleasant voyage that hugs the coast and passes Playa de Amadores, Playa de Tauro, Playa del Cura and Taurito before chugging into Puerto Mogan. I was going to miss all of these though because twice a day at 10.30 and 12.30 the same trip takes an hour and goes way out to sea looking for dolphins. For the same price too, it’s a lovely way to spend an hour even if you don’t see any dolphins which we didn’t.

There were other dolphin watch boats out on the horizon and we headed towards them. All the captains of these vessels keep in touch over the radio and if any were spotted they share the knowledge. If you’re really serious about wanting to see dolphins or whales then go on one of the other boats that depart from the same harbour. These spend much longer looking and guarantee if you don’t see dolphins then the next trip is free and you can keep going until you do. Or go to the Scottish Coast where there are more dolphins than anywhere else in the world so I’m told.

Well all we saw was an orange plastic piece of what looked like a step from a boat. The captain hooked it out of the sea and inside a small flat fish about six inches long was living. He released the fish back into the sea and also the orange plastic thingy. Excitement over, we headed inshore to Puerto Mogan.

I’ve been to Monaco, probably the richest place on earth, but this is where the money is on the Canary Islands. The harbour is full of millionaires yachts and fancy restaurants. What was once a tiny fishing village has been developed tastefully for once into a very picturesque little town. Known as Venicia de las Canarias, the Venice of the Canarys because of its network of tiny canals that run through it. The only pleasure trip you can get from here is the Yellow Submarine which didn’t seen to be running because it was up on blocks. Probably failed its MOT. I’ve been on this trip and would recommend it if you’re not claustrophobic. They take you around an old wreck and the sea is so clean and clear that you can still see the sunlight from above. You wouldn’t believe how many fish are in the sea. Then the captain makes the boat shake and pretends we’re in trouble as we head back and certain Geordie women fall for it.

We disembarked and I wandered around the town taking photos. More pics are on my Instagram site, http://www.instagram.com/gaz_south. The main centre is completely pedestrianised with arches covered in bougainvillea between the buildings. There is only one hotel and everywhere else is just apartments, either residential or for holiday lets. A good deal of these are owned by an Irish family, the Dehennys who started off with one bar, the excellent Bar Marina on the harbour front where you can get a pint of Guinness for four euros, and now seem to own half the property in town. Good luck to them, I like a success story.

I wandered over to the beach where there is a promenade full of fish restaurants and bars. The last tine I came here was with my friend Helen who has lived on the island for some twenty years now, having had enough of the Manchester rain when she was in her early twenties. On that day we did no sight seeing as we’d both seen it all before but went from bar to bar to restaurant sinking many bottles of the excellent Vina Sol. She was getting me pissed for a reason, to soften me up before telling me I had to move out of the house I was renting for the last two days of my holiday because it was double booked. I could move in with her but as I like to have my own front door I made the wrong decision and stayed at Carol’s house in the middle of nowhere where there was nothing to do but get pissed. I ended up getting totally wrecked, lost my bag with my phone and house keys both for Carol’s and my own house in England. I had to e mail my sister as I’d lost her phone number and get her to get a locksmith to break into South Towers for me and I also got a rather splendid tattoo.

Back to the present and disaster struck when my iPhone decided it was full and couldn’t take any more photos. As there was nothing in Mogan that I hadn’t seen before I got a taxi back to Stalag Blue Star, only fifteen euros along the motorway, and spent a long time on the phone to O2 and Apple to see if I could do anything about it. The only thing possible was to delete a load of apps and texts which gave me a little more space but I discovered my upgrade is due on 22nd January so I may have to get something with more memory. When I got back I found out Eleanor had been in Mogan at the same time. If I’d known we could’ve met for lunch.

After an afternoon on the patio feeding the collared doves I took a cab down to visit Helen. She lives in Motor Grande, a residential district out the back of Puerto Rico that houses the school, church and fire station. We met in Casa Jesus, the only bar there. It was full of locals, no tourists or english spoken, just regular people having a Saturday afternoon drink following the football scores. We went back to her house where her little dog Scampi remembered me and went mad to see me. Scampi loves me and lay on her back next to me making me tickle her belly. After a pleasant couple of hours Helen had to go to the Tauro Grill for a golf do. She invited me along but I wasn’t really dressed for the occasion in shorts vest and flip flops so I declined.

Dinner followed for me again at the only place in town, Los Danieles where I sat outside in twenty three degrees at eight o clock at night eating tapas and watching the local team Las Palmas play Leganes on the telly. This is the life for me I thought.