The sky’s an intense light-blue turning to a watery yellow on the horizon. Jagged palm tree leaves cut into the picture making a mish-mash of zigzag patterns that even the most exuberant 90s fabric designer would’ve be proud of.

The hotel courtyard is quiet, lit by a warm yellow light. The pool is still, with only the periodic splash made by the man cleaning it – the handful of towels already spread over sun-loungers are the only hint of the activity of the day ahead.

It’s just after 7am and I’m sitting in my chair, my bare legs catching the early morning breeze. When I woke a short while ago my head and heart were filled with a mix of joy, pride and relief because I’d slept for seven hours straight. To many people this won’t sound impressive but for the last few months I’ve been lucky if I can scrape together four hours of sleep a night.

The night before had been particularly challenging as pain, nausea and my overactive bladder kept me awake for hours – the loneliness of the night heightening my frustration. Right now though, I feel incredibly relaxed, sitting on our hotel balcony allowing my body to settle slowly into the day as Fran sleeps on inside.

We’ve had a blissful first few days. Fran’s making sure I stick to the policy of total rest (writing’s ok though). So far we’ve only left the hotel twice, for short outings in the cooler evenings. Our days have been spent poolside with a mix of sleep, sun and swimming.

The other guests are super friendly too and we’ve had loads of lovely conversations. I feel safe and accepted here in a way that I wasn’t expecting. This holiday with Fran is an attempt to re-set my energy through having a spell of proper rest. So far so good – I’ve got everything crossed for more solid sleeps and relaxing days.