I am disturbed by a ventilation unit

Me and Mel went for a holiday in Funchal, where me and Kirsty went as English teachers thirty years ago. The air was just as warm and balmy as I remember it, but there were far more tourists than then, most of whom, like us, were contributing to making long-term rentals difficult to obtain for the locals.

One of our chosen bars had this jack the lad waiter, whose performance on the street in trying to get people into his place was an entertainment. One afternoon, a group of young women in bridesmaid's hair and clothes walked past. "Oh la la, I've gone to heaven," he said, with sweeping, appreciative gestures of his arms and eyes. I also liked him because he congratulated me on my Portuguese when I asked him for a spoon so that Mel could fish out the fruit from her sangria. "Fala muito bem Português," he said, and I felt all radiant and manly in front of Mel.

We took a bus tour over the mountains, to a village on the north coast where there are some extant examples of the traditional A-shaped houses that were once common on Madeira. At Pico do Arreiro, 1800m up, there's a souvenir shop and a toilet policed by a black man who has the unenviable job of standing outside one of the coldest and windiest toilets on the island to collect a Euro from anyone who needed them. We had the best seats in the minibus, at the front. The driver delivered the tour in German and English in a calming, slow voice.

Our flat had this loud whirring, humming noise which started at 10am and didn't go off until 11pm. I texted the landlord about it. He said it was the ventilation shaft from the restaurant next door. "There's nothing I can do." Apart from not tell anyone about it in advance, I suppose.

By day four it was driving me nuts, and I booked us in to a new place for two days' respite before we went back for the last day. When we arrived there, it was a bleak ex-hotel turned into an airbnb without the promised kitchenette. After assuring Mel there are little bars everywhere in Funchal, I realised I'd chosen the single suburb in which are none. We went to the shop and got a bottle of wine. There was no corkscrew in our room, and I snapped the front door key off while using the key as a substitute.

"We haven't had sex once," she said, when we got back. "Do you still fancy me?" I hid behind my drink, laughing it off.