It’s raining in the mountains of Spain and we’re listening to the Suga Babes covering the Arctic Monkeys, which is wrong, as the phrase goes, on so many levels.
Also wrong is watching Eurovision on Spanish television, which was our entertainment last night. You really do realise how shit Eurovision is when you don’t have Wogan dryly commentating on proceedings and getting increasingly pissed as the night goes on.
Fortunately we filled in for him, getting absolutely twatted on white sherry, my bad Spanish pronunthiation having inadvertently secured us a bottle of fino blanco de la casa as opposed to vino blanco de la casa. On that front, the devil really is in the detail.
Still, well done Russia, eh?
And, as if things weren’t bad enough, after the sherry we moved on to some strange blue concoction in one of those pour-straight-into-your-mouthy bottle things , bought for us by an old local man. What’s the worst that can happen?
Answer: we had a lock-in until 5am and agreed to go parasailing next week. From the top of the mountain.
God help us and the goats that we land on.