Mad dogs and Englishmen

[A crappy early 90s flick starring the young Liz Hurley if anyone remembers, but anyway]
Have been spending a spectacularly lazy couple of days on Ao Leuk, a beach on the southeastern coast of Ko Tao - quite cut off from the busier west coast, as unless you're Superman or don't have any luggage heavier than about half a kilo you can't get there or back without 4WD taxi - it's a ludicrously rutted path up and down a hill which must be 45 degrees at some parts (yes Mike, obviously the ghetto boy would manage without, in the dark, with hands tied behind his back; I'm talking of mere mortals here).
Stayed in a small resort right on the beach - that's resort in the sense of a few bungalows and a restaurant, nothing more, but gee willikins what a view! Blazing white beach, clear green and blue water, boulders at the edges of the bay seemingly hand-picked, scrubbed and placed for maximum picturesqueness, beautiful lush greenery covering the hills behind us, palm trees, the whole holiday brochure covershoot. Suddenly it all made sense. I'd only slept about 4 hours in the preceding 40 (no matter how knackered I am, or what I take (buggering chemists wouldn't give me Valium, the swine) I still can't seem to sleep in any form of transport) and was feeling rather delicate - half an hour later, splashing about in the green, life was much better. That's despite the plastic bags, crisp packets and other rubbish floating around - you don't see that in the photos, surprisingly, but it's quite a problem on the island. No matter, at least I didn't encounter any floating prophylactics, thank the sweet lord. Spent the next day and a half doing not much more than splashing about (proper swimming is a bit beyond me these days), a bit of snorkelling yesterday afternoon around the rocks (another world suddenly appears full of weird-looking plants and gorgeous iridescent fish of all colours of the rainbow - and b*stard shells with feckin' razor-sharp serrated edges stuck to the rocks, of which my hands and feet are now all too aware), loads of reading (not that I want to give credence to some people's erroneous view of my proclivities but it's all been a bit bachelor-gay: last 2 books were The Line of Beauty and Stephen Fry's The Hippopotamus, both positively chock-full of bumfun... I've wondered if other beach users have wondered about me - probably not, they're French; anyway if you haven't read it, Beauty is great) and a not inconsiderable amount of hammock-lying. Oh, and in the process broiling my back to the colour of well-done lobster, hence the title. After Sun is now a priority.
I do wonder how much good or edification all this is doing me, but am content for now in the sure and certain knowledge that it beats making up planning dossiers - sorry, I mean 'conceiving and giving birth to a planning application', as I understand the new jargon has it; almost makes it sound interesting.
OK off now, getting a catamaran to Ko Phangan in just under an hour, quite possibly to do more of the same. Will keep you posted, TTFN.