Dave's Day Out

So, there I was engrossed in conversation outside Puerto Pollensa's Cultural bar with a wealthy businessman who was explaining to me that neither austerity nor growth is a solution to the economic mess in Western Europe or indeed elsewhere. He has a solution. It is in fact a very good one, which is why I'm not going to tell you. Not just yet anyway. I have to think about the book rights. One doesn't just solve economic crisis over a coffee and water in Puerto Pollensa and give the whole game away without ensuring that one extracts some benefit.

In the course of this conversation, I received a phone call (let's just say it came from a Mallorca-based English newspaper), telling me that the British Prime Minister was apparently staying in a hotel somewhere between Alcúdia and Puerto Pollensa (and as there are only two of them, you can probably figure out which one).

It must have all been a cunning plan to put the press off the scent of where Dave really was. But knowing better and knowing also that an offer (from the same newspaper) to treat me to a Club sandwich at this particular Club hotel whilst I was lurking in the undergrowth intent on spying the Prime Minister in his speedos and putting away a litre or so of sangria was likely to run up against a bureaucratic problem in accounts for the payment of such a lavish expense, I expressed to the wealthy businessman that I found it highly implausible that Dave would be at the hotel. Dave doesn't do regular tourist hotels, much though, big society, man of the people, the new Boris and all that, he might wish to.

"I can tell you that he's not staying at the Club (add as applicable)," said said wealthy businessman, thus confirming my doubts. There was then a pause (dramatic effect). "He's staying in a villa." "Go on," I thought. "In Cala San Vicente." Which was as far as it went. He knew where, he knew I would like him to tell me, and I knew he wouldn't.

Anyway, armed with this knowledge I then phoned the same newspaper back, somewhat relieved that I didn't have to head off to the hotel and wander around the pool area staring at women who might or might not be the Prime Minister's wife and then being thrown out by security.

Prior to this, however, I had tried my best to home in on which villa when my businessman compatriot suggested that a couple of hours with Cameron explaining the solution to the economic crisis could prove most worthwhile. Well, why don't we go off now and tell him? I was prepared to be blindfolded so that I wouldn't know precisely the whereabouts of the Dave and Sam villa. Nothing doing,  though. The meeting with Dave would have to be another day.

Meanwhile, and having thought that this apparent scoop as to Dave's general location would result in press helicopters hovering over Cala San Vicente to try and determine which villa, it would seem that Dave's people were willing to permit photos of Dave to be released. So, it wasn't a scoop at all; not that it really was, as I didn't know which villa. There was therefore a photo of Dave in Pollensa's Plaça Major, yet at the same time it wasn't being confirmed that he was staying in the area, which by now everyone knew was the case. The Prime Minister is, therefore, staying in a villa in Cala San Vicente (or its general environs). Except of course, he isn't. And this is official. Or isn't, as the case may be.


Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.