A cracked skull appeared beyond the hotel… Snuggled in the shape of a foetus. A larger head compared to the body. Only the shoulders and upper torso visible. A large chunk missing. Jagged edged. The sky peering through from the other side. The sharp lines of the late 1960s early ’70s hotel clashing with the smooth rounded contours of the skull. An almost square building twelve storeys high. Broad and full of bravado while facing the sea, narrow and vulnerable from the side, almost flimsy. The neat lined-up balconies as though at a military parade, reminders of the boom ’70s package holidays. Maximum sun. Maximum sea. Tiny boxes. Wall to wall windows. Wall to wall balconies. Angled for privacy precariously balanced against the aim of the holiday, to be seen, to be exposed, to be noticed, to be a star for fifteen days in a year…



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