Nada in the Costa del Sol

Amazing leg room on the flight from Gatwick and I have no body sat beside me – I was randomly allocated a seat over the wings, the friendly flight crew told me that I must help with the emergency escape hatch – which was nice. I was free - all this space about me! Plus the emergency exit!

A very tall man sat in the aisle seat, put on an eye mask, extended his legs and went to sleep – blocking me off from everything. I hate disturbing people when shut in on planes or at the cinema – now I know that comes from a deep seated place in my development – some sort of self centred fear of exposure.

I still have a certain mild level of guilt going through security and passport control-both ends this time. I triggered off the thing so had to be body scanned – no there's nothing in my boots! Why me? I have often thought it would helpful to have a separate line for Catholics.

I have been reflecting on last weekend in Fuengirola. I have learnt that the correct response to thank you in Spanish is Nada; which literally means “there is nothing to be thankful about” which is curious, though it really means “your welcome”.

And I was honestly feeling a bit Nada. It wasn't quite exactly what the Doctor ordered. 20° was a fairly good start, but it was cloudy, i.e. grey. To be honest the coast line is really nothing here without the sunshine – a big contrast with say North Devon. The castle looms over the town but the only alluring thing in the landscape is the mountains of the Sierra de Mijas – that come right up to the coast. “Silver and gold in the mountains of Spain..I have to see you again and again....” Jim Morrison intones in my head.

I had until recently had little experience of proper hotels. That would be because they didn't come with my career choices or lack of money and the fact that travelling had to be masochistic to make it authentic. I like the way you can wander about & treat the place like home. I am easily pleased and am amazed at the pristine en suite double room I have all to my self and still get a bit excited by the sweet little tray of grooming kit and mini bath gels. But the hotel definitely has the feel of the fag days of summer – a certain quiet melancholy pervaded. I had a strong sense of ennui or “el tedio!”

Things livened up with the convention starting. I catch up with the Cockneys that cheered me up in Malta. First time I had met Terrie-Ann she said to me “You know they say Essex girls are dogs? Well it's TRUE”! I am an honorary cockney - their babbling talk bubbles -always uplifting. All the English are from Laaaandan -I sound posh in comparison. It's doing my head in a bit – my conversational timing was sometimes out. But the real problem was that I felt the need for an exclusive close conversation. By the way -I would have you know that actually my dad was working class – South London – my mother liked to correct some of his vowel sounds.

Sunday it is pouring with rain, thunder and lightning. I was homesick. I finally got back to Oxford on a Sunday or rather Monday morning – it's 1.0 AM and a Kebab shop is still open in the Cowley road near home – how civilised is that?