... but I mustn't grumble. It's just that this week in Spain the temperature has been in the upper 20s every day. Too hot for me - I can do nothing but sip the San Miguel under an umbrella.
It would be unfair to describe the little Spanish village which is my home from home as Wester Hailes by the sea. But the predominant population is British. I don't really fit in, as I have neither a beer belly nor any tattoos. Nor do I believe that it is acceptable to walk the streets or sit in a bar without a shirt. But, hey, no point in getting upset about it. Go with the flow n'all that. And the San Miguel (or the Mahou or the Alhambra) is rather splendid, even if it does cost 2 euros per pint in the (relatively) upmarket howffs it is my pleasure to frequent.
The agenda for today is of a sporting nature. A stroll down to the pub to watch the Lions, then back to the flat in time to see young Murray thrash the living daylights out of some East European. Not sure when I will be able to fit in a siesta but you can't have everything.