November 2nd, 1990

November 2nd, 1990

Benalmadena, Spain

Mum had a peaceful look to her, when, after a lengthy, restful sleep, I joined her on the balcony.

“This is the life,” she said, her head tilted towards the sun.

“What do you think the temperature is?”

“Low seventies,” she uttered, her eyes still shut.

“My kind of weather.”

She nodded. “This balcony’s a wee sun trap.”

“It really is,” I said, squinting at the sea. “Do you want some tea?”

“Oh aye, please, hen.”

“I’m absolutely starving, I wish we had some food.”

“We do.”


“Aye, I’ve already been to the supermercado,” she said in a Scottish/Spanish accent!

“Oooh, in that case I might make breakfast.”

“Knock yerself oot,” she chuckled “You won’t get me inside ‘til the sun’s gone!”

In the early afternoon, we took the train to Torremolinos, which I consider the ultimate tacky tourist destination, but fun nonetheless. The weather was perfect for what mum called, “a wee mooch aboot.” I found a ceramic dolphin for David with Espana scrolled on one flipper, which was just too hideous to pass up. Seems slightly unfair that the dolphin David gave me is made by Swarovski crystal and this one cost ten pesetas but as the expression goes; “It’s the thought that counts.”

Tonight, we walked to the old town and found ourselves in a restaurant owned by the sweetest couple that have been married for fifty-two years. They insisted on plying us with Sangria “on the house,” and promised that if we go back tomorrow night they’ll introduce me to not one but two of their, “very single grandsons.”
On the walk home along the promenade, mum linked her arm through mine and told me how much she’s loving being back in Spain.

“Me too,” I said. “But just so you know, there’s no way we’re setting foot in that restaurant again!”


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