Starky, mi amigo, Stella, she's my fren'

Awoken at 0800 by the water squirters. These hidden sprinklers pop up every morning and keep the hotel gardens an oasis of green in a dusty landscape. They chatter away for 20 minutes and make all the walkways slippery in what is a surprisingly hilly locale.
Today's duck-related yogurt profession was Y for Yogurtero, no doubt a member of the honourable guild of Yogurtmakers, and a bit cheaty, I wanted it to be Y for Yeti-herder.
This was our last day so Jof asked to go to the tiny secluded micro-cove one hop along between here and Cala Mondrago.
We took the snorkels and the dinghy, although I ended up not carrying anything. There was just enough space for us to sit so Bud took me out in the boat and then we snorkelled to the headland.
Walking on the limestone pavement right by the sea, it was quite rough so we were better off out.
In a KARST landscape such as this, each stratum is unevenly eroded by wave action so it scours out rockpools and caves and we found salt pans and recent rockfalls and crystal formations. We chipped some off and brought them back to Jof.
For my final afternoon session at Club Cala Barca, I chose ... guess what, swimming. I dived and swam underwater and made my first friend in a waterfight and practised my underwater handstands which is a vital life skill.
We are going to import the water-guns and Eleanor Rugbyball and blow-up dinghy into the UK so an old ASDA bag is now my official carry-on luggage, hope they don't think I'm Carlos the Jackal smuggling brightly coloured plastic firearms on an international flight.
I bequeathed the yellow lilo to a 9 year-old Englischer with pretty eyes. 6 foot German girls were everywhere as we had our last supper and moved out to clamp our traditional space just the other side of the staircase.
We'd done as much of the packing as we could, I'm out of socks and pants and 2 suitcases are full, the laundry has to go in Bud's. Killing a thousand ants with every step, we all walked down to the sea in our little cove (Barca Trencada) and tried to count the stars (I made it 32).
At supper we made Jof laugh so much she dribbled, which is nice given that her mothers' funeral is in less than a week. We were just having an argument about koalas when Jof said where do they come from and Bud said where do they go, where do they come from Cotton Eye Joe, and it all went downhill from there.
While the kiddie show was on, Jof took me to the crap shops for some tacky Mallorcan souvenirs (made in China) so we have something to remember the holiday by apart from the transient tans, palm tree seeds and enduring yearning for leggy German teenagers. I may also remember the theme tune to the animated bananas Starky and Stella, but I'm trying to forget.
Their nightly routine was as follows: Following the piped-music song of 2 chipmunks on acid fighting, they arrive on stage to rapturous applause from the under-5s and do the dance with the kiddie presenters. Then they stand at the back for the medal ceremony. They are then led by the hand (or lateral sticky-out bit) down the stage steps and around the whole audience bowl and back onto stage again. Then you realise that they absolutely cannot see where they're going because their eye-holes are set too high up on the ludicrous child-friendly costumes. The whole conga-line sequence is accompanied by their signature theme song on a loop.
"Starky, mi amigo, Stella, she's my friend. Here comes Starky, here comes Stella, we are going to have some fun! We've had a fun day in the sun, but now sleeping time has come."
Finally they make a big show of being tired to encourage the bratlets in the audience to go to bed so that Mutti and Vati can get stuck into the vino.
I did not get any Bob Esponja (SpongeBob) but got a nice watermelon-shaped dish, and a wooden box to keep my Majorca keyrings in.