Having made my way into Pollenca for the sake of nostalgia and had lunch at one of the old places, I must treat myself to another classic bit of Mallorcan holiday tradition, which is some kind of cold chocolatey drink on the placa major itself. This time, it’s Brasserie Numero Ocho, chosen because I see it’s got a milkshake section of the menu and I am nothing if not easily led. I sit under the awning with my chocolate milkshake and begin to try to write some (non-Butterflies) jokes, for the sake of variety, but am initially distracted by birthday present discussions with Alasdair, then by the English speaking tourists who get angry at a waiter because their pepperoni pizza was not vegetarian, and then later much more distracted by the torrential rain that has begun. I gather myself further under the awning before deciding that I should settle up, compliment the waiter on how he handled the complaining tourist, and head on back to Alcudia on the bus before I am further drenched. Upon my return, it is delightfully sunny again, and the excursion takes on the air of a fated dream, a trip to Oz from which I’ve woken up in Kansas.