As it turned out, it was, and by two we were checked in and comfortably pushing up zs. Just, in fact, what the doctor ordered, though I might have been slightly happier if the doctor had thrown in airconditioning as well.
I was back on deck about three hours later, considerably refreshed and inclined to start thinking about dinner. Not that dinner was something I needed, you understand, but I figured if I didn’t get something down the gullet I’d be waking up somewhere around three in the morning suffering from food withdrawal.
There was a fair wrap on the nearby Spicy Thai Hut, and we were there shortly after six-thirty, but the place was booked out. We settled for takeaways and rolled around to the Mission Beach Resort bottle shop, where a bottle of Semillon Sauvignon Blanc looked like a good match for Thai, and a boutique beer looked like something that would go with a spell in front of the TV screen in the guest lounge at Licuala Lodge.
As long as no one objected to Hughesy watching the first round of the Big Bash, anyway.
The wine and food did their thing very well, the cricket kept me awake until eight thirty, and the beer meant I wasn’t feeling any pain when I toddled off for a serious spell of shut eye action.