The Trip To Spain

Due to the late flight departure time, I was able to work a little on last minute e-mails and stuff before Anne and I set off for Glasgow. We're flying to Malaga and then along the coast east to Nerja, a little town where we spent New Year back in 1995/96.

Set off around 10 and stopped off in the West End of Glasgow in Byre's Road only to find the cafe we like has closed and is being refurbished so we go to The Atrium for a most agreeable Caffe Latte for me and Cappacino for Anne.

A bit longer than planned to get to the airport as there are roadworks blocking our return to the M8 and so we are diverted through the centre of town. We fly at 3 and so have to check in at 12 - for "security reasons". Why is it I always pick the wrong queue if there're more than one??

At the gate, I fire up the Creative Jukebox for the first time. As Bernstein's "A Place For Us" from his West Side Story suite plays, a plane pulls back from the gate, pushed by a little truck. The slow motion of the aircraft fits well with the slow emotion of the music. I think perhaps someone's written a childrens' book about a small airport truck - are childrens' books money for old rope?

A newspaper story viewed over a fellow passenger's shoulder opines the "chemical cosh is used too much on children" - I say use it a bit more, or bring back the real cosh....

The plane's heading for the Costa Del Sol and so it wouldn't be right if there wasn't a group of 24 drunken middle-aged Glaswegian men off for a week of sun, sea and sand in Torremolinos (named after the Flour Mill Towers which stood at the original site of what was once a charming village by the sea, now a spralling mass of high rise hotels).

I mentally draw a line from Largs to Blackpool to the Spanish Costas to Florida to, now it appears, Dubai of all places....no desire for culture - let's go somewhere hotter but make it as much like "home" as possible.

We arrive at Malaga and are quickly out of the airport and onto the mini-bus which is to take just seven of us (of a plane load of 180) east rather than west - as usual though, there's a hold up - we sit on the bus for 40 minutes waiting for one missing passenger who, it turns out, wasn't even on the plane.

An hour later we're at the hotel Perla Marina which is very clean and very quiet - the latter a Godsend after recent experiences in Amsterdam and Barcelona with morons returning to their rooms at 3 and 4 in the morning clattering about and laughing and joking drunkenly at the tops of their voices - what's wrong with showing a little courtesy to your fellow residents? Or am I getting old?

We quickly demolish the cold salad provided for us as we've missed the evening meal due to our late arrival - then out to walk to the centre of the small town.



Everything is much as we remember, although we initially get lost and encounter a dead end while walking round the promenade. We retrace our steps and take the townward route round to the Balcon de Europa, the centrepiece of the town, a palm tree lined outcrop into the Med.

We finish off the day with a couple of beers sitting out under the stars. It's good to be back...