Through the sun’s glare I made out a figure of a man walking towards me with some purpose.
Huddled under my sun brolly by the pool, I retreated – gripping the pole which held it up.
I feared he was going to make a smash-and-grab raid for my parasol or “sombrilla”; snatching it from under my nose.
Things were bubbling poolside: ripples of anger spreading farther than we thought.
The daily early-morning scramble for sunbeds was bad enough, but brolly-rage as well.
Summer holidays over; replaced by a school half-term race for prime spots.
Towels were going down to reserve beds at around 7am where we were in the Canaries.
But many of their owners then disappeared and only returned to occupy their beds as much as five hours later.
A clear breach of etiquette and fair play, and also the resort’s own rules which were enforced rarely, if at all.
Those in charge seemed to turn a blind eye.
It’s often the same back home, isn’t it?
With anti-social behaviour, for example; overlooked because it’s too much trouble to confront.
Police and councils often talk of cracking down, making it a top priority, but do they?
I don’t see any evidence of it.
I think climate change was driving some hot-headed poolside behaviour.
As temperatures reached an unseasonal 34 degrees, brolly-frenzy boiled.
Can you imagine what it would be like if we were fighting over something really important – like water?
Two men were shouting at each other; one was in the pool, the other by the beds.
I’m sure the man in the pool screeched, “Stop…thief!”, as the other made off with his parasol.
‘It’s our survival urge to go out like cavemen and women’
Heated expletives lapped violently across the pool, to the horror of onlookers.
It’s our competitive nature: an inherent survival urge to go out like cavemen and women.
Not for food, but to capture sunbeds and brollies to stop others from grabbing them.
Ludicrous, but it’s highly stressful.
Especially if you have a family of youngsters or particular medical needs.
My wife needs a new knee, but there’s no sign of salvation from unbearable pain being offered by our broken-down NHS.
So I must admit we did find a favoured sunbed spot near the pool’s restaurant and facilities for that reason.
And I was out there in the jungle. Many of my competitors were skulking about in the dark before dawn – while the pool area was still dimly lit from night-time safety lights – and as combined snoring from 144 villas reached its zenith.
I could hardly put up a sign on our favourite sunbed and brolly saying, “Reserved – Special Needs”.
It’s dog-eat-dog here; the shadowy prowlers in the dark would rip it down.
Laughable from afar, but magnify it a thousand times and this is how countries invade each other.
Fear, suspicion and wanting what someone else has got.
We want people (and countries, too) to be nicey, nicey to each other, but they aren’t – and never will be.
We just pray there are enough strong and decent people to keep the lid on things.
Like the police, but in the north-east they are pulling back from what they classify as “minor” crime (in their opinion, that is, not the public’s) and leaving us to get on with it as part of a pilot scheme to cut costs.
Luckily, our resort director’s patience snapped as tensions simmered and hardcore sunbed bullies became a menace.
Those selfish lunatics putting towels on beds, disappearing for hours and finally turning up in the afternoon.
One couple even put their towels down and went off on a day trip 50 miles up the road.
Sunbed parking tickets for worst offenders
New rules came into force: the lifeguards were empowered to start issuing “parking tickets” of sorts to the worst offenders.
Notes were placed on the sunbeds of phantom towellers who vanished into thin air.
An official 45-minute warning that their towels would be seized and removed beyond that point unless their absence was cleared in advance by the lifeguard.
But they needed to follow through and make an example of someone.
That would really send waves of alarm around the pool.
Like pelting someone with rotten veg in the stocks.
In this case, it was policing with public approval – the silent majority was happy.
By now the man approaching me in the sun ducked under my brolly.
He didn’t grab me by the throat, but by the hand instead.
“I have to say,” he began. “That I really enjoyed your show at Barney’s bar last night – you’ve a great singing voice.”
It was a wonderful feeling to receive such public adulation.
I basked in it for as long as I could – only about five seconds actually.
I then explained politely it wasn’t me.
“Then he must be your double,” he replied.
Poor chap, whoever he is.
David Knight is the long-serving former deputy editor of The Press and Journal
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