This week I did the unforgiveable, the unimaginable, the one thing Irish people are warned against time and time again. I got sunburnt. Yes, I’m ashamed to say that after learning my lesson many times when it comes to the sun, I’ve had to learn it yet again.

It was a bad sunburn, the worst I’ve ever gotten (and that’s really saying something). My legs looked like two uncooked sausages – pink and puffy. I was mortified and didn’t want to admit to the other researchers that I had been so stupid and so careless. So I soldiered on with fieldwork, despite the ever-present sting that accompanied each and every step. And I just about got away with underplaying the whole situation.

That was until the blisters appeared. They were impressive. Huge bubbles popping up all over my legs. In fact, they seemed to move around, meet up with each other, come together and then split up again. My sunburn had taken on a life of its own, and when the social bubbles burst there was no hiding the severity of the situation anymore. My field pants were covered in wet patches. It was either admit to getting sunburnt or pretend to have wet myself. I opted for the truth.

My colleges took one horrified look at my legs and sent me straight to a doctor on the main island. Infection was what worried them most, and probably should have worried me too. Open wounds, like the ones that had formed a mosaic on my legs, were very likely to get infected in a place like Cousin Island.

The doctor gave me antibiotics and told me to stay away from Cousin until my sores had had a chance to heal. This is where the story takes an interesting twist. I was brought to a beautiful villa on the beach where I was told to keep my legs very clean and not move around too much. And all expenses were to be covered by my insurance. Happy days!

The villa was very nice but nothing to write home about. I then took a stroll outside and wandered into the most beautiful pool area I’ve ever seen. Hammocks, leather sun loungers, koi ponds, fairy lights – the works! And in the middle was the piece de resisténce – a perfectly square infinity pool covered in dark turquoise tiles and with glowing yellow lights dotted around the perimeter. I stood there with my mouth hanging open, forgetting, for the first time in nearly a week, the pain of my legs.

The reception area was nearly as impressive as the outside. It was all white marble and frosted glass and the receptionist didn’t stray far from the décor herself with her clean-cut suit and her shiny exterior. She looked at me a bit suspiciously – I suppose I wasn’t the type of clientele she was used to in a place as fancy as this, and eventually gave me the Wi-Fi code. I sauntered back out and made myself comfy on a hammock, legs covered of course.

And, as the doctor had ordered it, I barely moved from there for the next three days. On the final morning of my stay a man came to the door and asked that I pay him for the villa. I gave him the money – great value for what I’d gotten, quite unbelievable in fact, and asked that he bring me a receipt so I could claim it back from the insurance. He nodded and walked away.

When he didn’t return I decided to venture over to reception and ask for a receipt myself. Once again I sat down in the giant leather chair across from the shiny receptionist. She asked for my room number and I told her and after a few seconds of fluttering her manicured fingernails over the keyboard she said that I wasn’t on file.

“Well I’ve been staying here since Friday,” I said, and explained how the same man who I had paid, in cash, that morning had given me the key when I arrived. “You paid in cash?” she gasped. “Well yeah," I said, “he told me you guys don’t take card”. At this her face slipped into a very confused frown. “I think you’re in the wrong hotel," she then said. She was right.

As it turned out I was staying in the correct villa but I’d been lounging in the pool area and availing of the services of the wrong, €1000 per-night, 5-star hotel next door. All I could do was laugh and apologize and even the shiny receptionist lady was able to crack a tight smile.

The photo above shows me a few weeks later soaking up some more rays, this time LATHERED with factor 50. I’m definitely going to be more careful in the future but if it does happen again at least I know of a good place to convalesce.