January 31st - the question is, did we ever really join?

Boris said he was going to get it done and he has. It must be a unique experience for a man who has built an entire political career around calculated dissemblance.

Unsurprisingly the London based tabloids' headlines are crowing. When I looked at them this morning Mao's famous phrase 'running dogs of imperialism' leapt to mind. Only the Independent, Guardian and Scotsman struck a more nuanced, sombre note.

Yesterday's sunset was particularly beautiful, a fitting image perhaps for a sad moment.

We moved today from Castillo de Baños to Castell de Ferro, the distance between the two is about 10km. In fact the place is just around the headland you can see in the sunset photo.

Why have we moved? Partly because we remembered that Castell de Ferro has a particularly good traditional butchers, mainly though because three days in Castell de Beños is quite enough. At first the Frinton by the Med Caravan Club rally is amusing, then slightly annoying. Not that Camping Tropic at Castell de Ferro  has a particularly Spanish ambiance, it is owned by a French couple and much loved by their compatriots. Lunch happens en-masse at noon and the afternoon boules match is a very serious business indeed.

Escape from Frinton on Med to Cote d'Espanol seemed an an appropriate move, especially today. It is interesting to note that whenever nationalities camp together abroad they unconsciously establish a shared cultural enclave; well perhaps not entirely spontaneously in the case of people who pack a 3m carbon fibre flagstaff to fly a big national flag above their gleaming pride and joy.

In past years we have always  spotted a few Swift's and Autotrails with Union Jacks or the St George cross fluttering above them. This year, not one. That's got to be a result of Brexit embarrassment we surmised. The only thing we have noticed in this regard is a sudden increase in British vans with 'Scot' on the rear number plate or a St Andrew's cross sticker on the back. I've seen so many that I am now convinced half of them are actually English Remain voters whose great-grandfather happened to hale from Elgin, prompting them to embrace their inner haggis as some sort of desperate Brexit avoidance ploy (it wasn't us it was them)!

Well, that assertion did not stack up for long. A few minutes after I wrote the above, as we exited Frinton on Med we happened upon a spotless Autotrail with an enormous flag of St George pegged across its awning. It looked pristine, clearly it had been carefully folded and carried all the way from dear old Blighty just so it could be displayed specially on the occasion of Brexit day. Honestly, I despair.

What is infuriating about the situation is that the EU never was about cultural convergence, in fact its direction of travel has always been quite the opposite - a response to the horrors of WW2 - an attempt to create a political entity that created peace, prosperity and cooperation in a continent that historically had been riven by conflict and ravaged by war whilst respecting the diverse national and regional cultures of Europe. Hence the ring of equally sized stars on its flag. By these standards then over the six decades of its existence the project has to be regarded at least as a qualified success.

So why would anyone want to leave? Perhaps the answer lies in the fact that the UK never really ascribed to the EU's core values encapsulated in the block's  motto 'United in Diversity'. On public buildings from Portugal to Finland we have noted the same thing, three flags flying in a row, the EU, National, and Regional - I took this photo of them a week ago, fluttering  in Seville's Plaza España. 

Of course, the project is not perfect. The three flags can fly uncontested in Andalucia, but not quite so in Catalonia, where not only is the relationship between the region and Madrid contentious, but there are also three Catalan flags in circulation, each representing a different vision of Catalan identity. All that being said, I cannot recall ever seeing the Union Jack and EU flag flying in tandem as a matter of course in the UK.  Maybe it's more usual in Scotland. Today's front-page from The Scotsman is a case in point, but it is telling that it's message was essentially valedictory.

There is an aspect of the British psyche that does not accept the notion of equality between nations. Our vision of a United Kingdom is very different to the notion of a continent 'united in diversity'. The four constituent nations of the United Kingdom are united under the British flag, but they are not equal. As the referendum result proved, the democratic decisions of  Scotland can be simply ignored; Westminster rules. The British state remains imperialist in outlook even though we have no dominions to rule other than the infinite horizons of our self delusion.  Let's make Britain great again, we are exceptional, a special case.

In this regard it is worthwhile recalling that almost every British Prime Minister since Edward Heath, who took us into the Common Market in 1972, has succeeded in exempting the UK from some aspect of the EU's development. Harold Wilson re-negotiated the terms of our original accession and put them to the country in a referendum in 1975. Margaret Thatcher decided we were paying too much for membership and succeeded getting a rebate in 1984 after a gruelling five year negotiation with Brussels. John Major agreed opt out clauses to the Maastricht and Amsterdam treaties' 'social chapters' that excluded Britain from the freedom of movement implicit in the Schengen agreement. Tony Blair committed to joining the Euro, but not before five economic tests were met. His Chancellor, Gordon Brown, ably assisted by Ed Balls more or less designed them to be unachievable. Additionally, Blair rejected the EU's pro-UN stance regarding Iraq and teamed up with George Bush to launch an illegal war.

By the time  David Cameron headed off to Brussels to wrest more concessions officials there must have simply thought 'here we go again'. This time the PM overplayed his hand. The government driven by the fear of Farage went for the nuclear option, half the population and a smidgen more, driven largely by a fear of foreigners, pressed the big red button. Forty three months of political turmoil ensued, and tomorrow we're out. I have come to the conclusion that the whole debacle, though prompted by Cameron's miscalculation, is the result of four decades of missed opportunities - two generations of half-hearted EU membership. The problem is not that we decided to leave, but that we never fully signed up to the European project at all. 

Just a little green...

Our search for tranquillity and a bit of greenery has brought us back to Camping Castillo de Baños. It ticks our boxes, right by the sea, near a small village; the site itself is set in trees with hedged grassy pitches. Given these bucolic qualities it is very popular with British caravanners; as you might anticipate the place is packed full of Toms and Hilda's, Lindas and Steves and their scrutty furry friends. That's ok.

However, in order to escape being overwhelmed by a creeping sense of extreme primness, I took the opportunity to use the place's free Wifi, not only to update the blog but also to stream Billy Eilish on Amazon music. There is nothing more uplifting than channelling your inner gen Z in the futile hope of staving off a sense of utter demoralisation at the sight of the grey haired stranger who stares at you every morning from the bathroom mirror. I like Billie Eilish, both her style and music. There are limits to my over-age gen Z project. I can't see us becoming vegan any time soon nor ever getting the hang of dropping the word 'woke' casually into a conversation.

When I say the site is bucolic that is a relative term. Whereas the coast of the Costa del Sol is covered in concrete, here on 'Costa Tropica' it is shrink wrapped. Looking out of the window right now, across the sun-drenched bananas in the fruit bowl, and the geranium bushes that form the pitch's hedging, towards the the sun streaming through the trees, the shining sea beyond, the only sounds - surf breaking and pigeons cooing contentedly, then it does feel tranquil and natural.

However, it's a scrap of nature, a green oasis amongst a vast agro-industrial complex, as this Google Earth screenshot shows.

Humans have lived on this coast continuously for over 100,000 years; their presence predates the arrival of our species, Homo Sapiens, or in our case Moho Sapiens. It's unsurprising given that span of habitation that it's a profoundly un-wild environment, nevertheless our small green patch is very pleasant.

The shadowy evergreen Eucalyptus trees form avenues between the pitches, the sea is never more than a few metres distant, always within earshot. It is an enclave though, more of a garden than a wild place. It struck me that our visions of paradise, at least in European culture, have been perfected humanised places not the wild - Eden, the Celestial City, the land of Cockaigne.

I suppose it is a lot to expect that we can step outside our cultural bubble. Other animals don't suddenly give-up on their hives, or reinvent the ant-hill or warren; the shared ideas, customs symbols and beliefs of human culture is the hive within which we enact our lives. There has always been a wilderness beyond it and we have always presumed these resources are simply there for the taking without impunity. It's become very obvious over the past few decades that there is a finite limit to earth's resources and we can't continue to live how our forbears did The big question for the next generation is how can humans live sustainably? Can we step beyond our collective big Id? 

The coastline of Andalucia poses big questions if you bother to look, both the concretopia to the west of us and the plasticulture here. Now, sitting in the pleasant afternoon sunshine, the particular question that's bugging me is what price are we prepared to pay in Morrison's for a ready supply of avocados during the winter (it's the main crop hereabouts)? They might cost the earth... I could ask Gill, as a former geography student she is wise about these matters...

Hmm... perhaps later.

 

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Normal service restored

As forecast, blue skies and warm sunshine return, and even  better they're predicted to stick around for the next ten days.

This is a relief, we are now three weeks into our trip and there have been very few days where it has been comfortable enough to relax outdoors; too many cold and rainy ones that have trapped us inside. Eventually it becomes claustrophobic for two people to live within the confines of a 7 x 2.5m box on wheels day after day 

I celebrated the beautiful sunny morning by visiting the recycling bins, not exactly a romantic gesture - they are situated beside the N340 outside the campsite gates. The road itself runs alongside a scrap of grey gritty sand which purports to be Valle Niza's beach. However, as a spot to unload a bag load of plastic and half a dozen empty bottles, a skip with a sparkly blue Med view has got to be better than most.

We keep changing our plans, the latest one is not weather related, more fundamentally we're going to have to curtail our trip and head back home ten days earlier than planned. The builder emailed us to confirm he will begin building our extension during the first week of March. We've booked Eurotunnel for the 26th February, that gives about three weeks in the Mediterranean before we start to head home.

The plume of warmer weather is forecast to spread northwards from the coast raising temperatures north of the Sierra Nevada into the low twenties. This is quite unusual so early in the year. We are planning to revisit Granada then head towards Almeria using the inland route across the Tabernas desert. 

It will be a welcome change from hopping from one crowded , over-developed resort to the next. This year campsites and 'areas autocaravanas' are even busier than ever. At times we have struggled to find a place. Gill has taken to phoning ahead, we have never needed to do that previously. Partly I think it is the result of the police cracking down on free camping, but also I think more northern Europeans are buying motorhomes, not just retirees, but younger people too in Campervans.  It's a more mixed bunch too, Italians, Poles, Czechs as well as the usual suspects from Scandinavia and Western Europe. Maybe a home on wheels is replacing a 'place in the sun' as something people aspire to.

Though Granada is where we are aiming for next we need to hang around the east of the Costa del Sol for a few days more, just to let temperatures build a bit. At the moment we are parked at the area autocaravanas run by the harbour authorities at La Caleta de Velez. 

It's ok, a bit soul-less, packed full of snazzy big mohos, attracting a crowd that enjoys being next to the amenities offered by a Costa del Sol resort. It's difficult to ignore them, blocks of apartments stretch along the shore to the east and west as far as the eye can see - the  Costa del Sprawl. 

An esplanade runs along the length of the development. It leads you to ponder just how many hundreds of kilometres of Spain's Mediterranean coastline looks just like this?

It's not horrible, in fact it can be quite pleasant on a sunny Sunday like today. Nor is it entirely dominated by pallid invaders from the north. The string of towns along the coast from Malaga to Motril are sizable settlements. As well as locals, many Spanish people have holiday homes here too. The result is that even in January, at the weekend, the beach restaurants that line the esplanade are all busy.  However they are subtly differentiated, some providing the  grilled fish Sunday lunch as required en-mass by local families, others offering a more international menu pitched towards tourists.

The divide is startling. A hundred metres to the right of us is a small restaurant doing a roaring trade providing for the locals and Spanish tourists . 

Immediately to the left is a place offering tapas and pizzas. It's packed with foreign tourists. Just to make sure there is not a native invasion, the management have provided a live Country & Western duo to suppress any outbreaks of multi-culturalism.

It was to escape the yeehah music which drove us to take a long stroll up the esplanade in the first place . I have never quite got the hang of Country music despite an early brush with it due to my mother's penchant for Jim Reeves' schmaltzy songs. Later It became forever associated in my mind with 'The Good Ol' Boys' from the Blues Brothers, in other words with red necks, white supremacists and more recently Trump supporters. I am sure there is more to it than that. Matthew, our eldest, recommended I listen to 'The Highwaymen' - a Country supergroup, but I can't bring myself to do it. There was nothing about today's performance that tempted me to change my mind anytime soon.

After the pair had finished extolling the delights of West Virginia they explained that they haled from Hamburg and Sweden. The latter snippet did not surprised me, one of the unexpected aspects of our trip to Sweden last summer was all the  gas guzzling vintage US cars we came across. Our friend Svenerik explained Americana was big thing, as well gleaming Chevrolets, country music, line dancing and cos-playing Oklahoma is very popular too. I suppose this should not come as a surprise, after all Burns Night and St. Patricks's parades are a big thing in Japan.  I suppose in a 'wired world' most cultures are headed towards hybridity.

It's odd though how this works. At times cultures mix and merge - like British Asian cuisine. In other circumstances different cultures simply co-exist in the same space in parallel to each other. This afternoon felt like that. In fact quite often in Spain's Costa's, though concrete triumphs, and the the place is flooded all year with foreign tourists, Spanish culture prevails unscathed nonetheless. Even the architecture, - amid  villa complexes and hi-rise apartment blocks you still happen upon  a row of old houses which look as if they belong to local families, kids kicking a ball about in the street, parents and grandparents hanging about having a chat..

In truth hereabouts these remnants are few and far between. Winter retirees flock here. The all year sunny climate has ensured most of the coast from Estepona to Motril is more or less completely built-up. That amounts to 185 kms. of sprawl. After a few days it becomes dis-spiriting no matter how blue the sky. As well as how it looks, noise is a problem too. The motorhome parking area in the harbour area of Caleta de Velez is next to a boatyard. Most of today someone has been using an industrial high pressure hose, to clean boat hulls we presumed. The high pitched screech started first thing and continued until sunset. We need to find some peace and quiet, a patch or two of greenery would be nice too.

Weathering Malaga

The weather today - scattered showers with sunny intervals.

Now that's a blast from the past, a throwback to when Bert Foord or Bill Giles moved fuzzy-felt symbols around a wobbly map of competing pressure systems, annotated with isobars and jagged fronts  sweeping majestically across the Atlantic. The jetstream? I suppose it must have existed, but nobody ever mentioned it. 

Underlying changes to the climate no doubt have affected our weather patterns over the past half century, however an even bigger change has taken place in the way we talk about it. 

Weather forecasting organisations have replaced descriptive language with icons and data, so a phrase like 'sunny intervals and scattered showers' has been replaced by a black cloud with sun rays sticking out of it and a percentage. So far as I understand the percentages relate to the likelihood of the forecast conditions occurring at any time during the previous hour.

The media, however, so far as the weather is concerned, has eschewed science and instead embraced a tone of biblical prophecy, a wintery snap becoming 'snowmageddon' or a 'beast from the east'; gales slam into Cornwall or like now, Spain is 'ravaged' by rain.

Regrettably, previously sensible organisations such as the Met Office have joined in the fun, now what used to be a 'deep Atlantic low' has been personalised as 'Storm Eric', or whatever. So at the moment we are in a brief lull here in Málaga before being ravaged by Gloria.

In the event the weather in Málaga today was better than predicted, sunny intervals, but no showers. It's a very satisfying city to simply mooch about in. 

It's our fourth visit since 2014, maybe the city is becoming a little more overwhelmed by mass tourism than five years ago, not quite to the extent as Barcelona, Amsterdam or Florence where the authorities are getting to the point of rationing visitor numbers. An article in today's Guardian contains some startling statistics about the issue: Overtourism in Europe's historic cities sparks backlash 

Though Málaga has not reached the stage of being fully Airbnb-brushed, it characteristics that could send it that way: it has an all year sunny climate, ancient monuments and a two Picasso museums (he was born here), it is adjacent to the big resorts of the Costa del Sol, the airport is well served by Europe's budget carriers, it's a cruise boat destination... in a sense it is remarkable the place has not been totally overwhelmed by tourism already.

It still remains a relaxing place to stroll, the central market a place where locals come to buy first class ingredients. It has not yet succumbed to becoming an up-market food court full of trending pop-up restaurants. Granada, Lisbon and Bologna's old markets have all lost their original civic purpose; Covent Garden, of course, was disneyfied decades ago.

Even so, our lunch-time experience today perhaps reveals the shape of things to come. Last year we had a delicious, inexpensive light lunch at a small bar in the corner of the market called 'Happy Fish'. There are no seats, you simply prop-up the bar, order three or four tapas, a couple of glasses of wine and share a small moment of unstylish gastronomic delights.

Today we opted to eat at a similar place to be found in the opposite corner of the market. This time we got seats, a bar stool at one of the tiny tables on the pavement outside. Perhaps the food was not quite as tasty as what we had previously at 'Happy Fish', but this was not our complaint. What annoyed us was that the three tapas and a glass of wine each cost twice as much as last year. Gill queried the bill and was given a printed receipt. The reason for the discrepancy became clear, we had been charged per person rather than per plate. Maybe the locals who prop up the bar are charged one way and tourists and visitors sitting outside another. If so, it's a classic example of how an economy based on tourism alters local custom and practice.

We decided to have a coffee elsewhere, in fact wandering right across the city to the area below the Alcazar. It would be regrettable if Malaga  became a parody of itself, overrun by visitors to the point that it loses its original charm, like Barcelona, Florence and Amsterdam mentioned in the article. However, I am also all too aware that we are part of the problem not the solution.

At least we managed a day out. Tomorrow apparently we are going to be assaulted by Gloria. Fortunately she is predicted to be a little exhausted after her efforts up north - thundery rain is on the cards but nothing cataclysmic.

The rain in Spain

...wherever it falls is a pain. Particularly when a wet period of several days is forecast. Sunshine and showers are ok when you live in a van, five wet days on the trot isn't.

Yesterday, the last dry day forecast for a while, dawned chilly but bright. After Seville we had planned to travel towards Málaga then head gradually eastwards along the coast towards the Cabo da Gata. Now we have changed our mind altogether.

Unusually the long range forecast is for the area north of the Sierra Nevada mountain range to be warmer than the coast. So instead of crawling through the sprawl of tomatoland we are going to spend a few days in Granada then head towards Almeria across the Taberna desert. We like deserts.

In the meantime all we can do is to wile away a few days until the weather cheers-up. From Seville we headed east planning to stop overnight at Osuna in the area autocaravanas we know in the corner of an Eroski car park. The store had changed hands but the motorhome parking place and service point was still there. 

We did a bit of shopping, topped-up the van's white water tank then considered revisiting the town. It is old and full of handsome late baroque mansions. In the end we pushed on, a dislike of drizzle proving more persuasive than any enthusiasm I might have for architectural gems of the Spanish Enlightenment.

There are few places to stay along the A92 motorway that connects Seville and Granada, especially in winter. It's an empty tract of countryside mainly given over to industrial scale olive production. We decided we could do with a proper shower so we headed for the only all-season campsite in the vicinity situated in the small town of Humiladero, a few kilometres from Antiquero.

We have stayed here before, again as a hideaway from bad weather. The site itself is ok, but the town's outskirts are drab and slightly odd. More than decade or so ago, before the financial crash, there must have been a concerted plan to developing the place, a whole tract of land was cleared, a grid of roads constructed and lamp-posts installed. Only a handful of houses were actually built, they sit somewhat forlornly in a chequerboard of empty streets. Big billboards advertise 'parcelos' for sale; the signs are faded and torn. We did get the proper shower we wanted, but had to wait until mid-morning for the torrential rain and violent thunderstorms to abate before venturing out.

As we turned south towards Malaga the downpour resumed. Driving conditions as we crossed the Montes de Málaga were a tad tricky.

In truth we have little reason to complain, our phones' news feed keep updating us about conditions elsewhere in the country which are little short of catastrophic. The terrible weather a couple of hundred kilometres to the northeast of us has now been graced with a name  - storm Gloria. A  disaster is unfolding from the Costa Brava to Cartegena and the Balearics - the rice fields of the Ebro are inundated with sea water, waves of 40' reported off Ibiza, a storm surge wreaks havoc on the seafront of Murcia's major resorts, Avila, north of Madrid, is snowbound. Fatalities have been reported and the toll keeps  rising.

It is one thing to be inconvenienced by a few days of bad weather in a motorhome, but being caught in a full-blown storm - a weather-bomb' as the tabloids might say - that would be very alarming. How would you fare in the site at La Mamola or the beach parking at La Fabriquilla, both a mere couple of metres above sea level at high tide? Even if you were in a safer location, motorhomes and strong winds are an uncomfortable combination, not just while driving. In anything stronger than a fresh breeze, unless you have installed costly hydraulic stabilisers then your pride and joy will gently rock from side to side. It's nauseating but tolerable for an hour or two. If it persists any longer then occupants become increasingly deranged.

In an attempt to empathise with our unfortunate fellow travellers caught by the full force of storm Gloria I imagined the havoc in long stay sites near Benidorm, like the place in Altea we once stayed in briefly. Just think of the chaos wrought among all those neat, chintzy Dutch bungaloid pitches: the portable cactus gardens wrecked, fairy lights un-strung from awnings and keeled-over beside each upturned picnic table - a thunderstruck prone gnome. Hmm, tragic the way every cloud has a silver lining.

Seville - city of flamenco and tendinitis.

We think this is our fourth visit to Seville. It's an interesting city with a rich and complicated history so we always manage to do something different every time we have been here; it's not a place you become easily bored with. 

This being said, in some respects there are distinct similarities between all our visits - every time we have stumbled upon an example authentic flamenco somewhere among the dozens of flouncy skirted wannabes that inhabit the tourist hotspots. Also we seem doomed to end the day weary and footsore.

I think the reason for the latter malaise is the result of where we stay. The nearest secure place to the centre to park a moho overnight is in Seville's dock area near the Ponte Delicias. 

It really is as unromantic a spot as the location implies. The area autocaravanas is a sideline for a major vehicle distribution outfit. Every day dozens of articulated car transporters roll up with shrink wrapped shiny motors of all descriptions straight off the world's assembly lines. The place specialises in getting them showroom ready, whereupon empty transporters turn up to whisk them off to Iberia's forecourts. As you might appreciate, this is not a relaxing place to be. Luckily activities come to a close around 6pm. Sadly the docks across the river don't, a cacophony of metallic crashes, screeches and clanks continue until tennish, occasionally joined by a high pitched whine that sounds like a gigantic Dyson vacuum cleaner. 

This may explain our weariness, but not why we are pill-popping ibuprofen to stave off the effects of tendinitis. Our aching feet is due to the fact that although the towers of Seville's centre are clearly visible from where we are staying it's a longer trek than it appears. In fact I've just checked on Google maps, from here to the cathedral is 3.5kms. a tad short of a five mile return walk I figure. Factor-in that Seville's old centre is extensive, the narrow streets a maze in which you are sure to get lost - then over the course of a half day visit you can easily clock-up a 10 mile hike. It's a great city to wander around,  but exhausting.

I imagine a native of Andalucia might object to me calling Seville the city of flamenco, for the dance's roots are complicated and subject of much debate. 

What is certain in terms of it being danced in the street it seems more prevalent here than anywhere else we have been.  Also it happens that in Seville you are more likely to stumble upon ensembles that transcend the flouncy cartoon version of the dance on offer by most street performers.

At times the group we watched in Plaza España achieved a level of intensity that was spine-chilling.

I became slightly entranced by the dancer's foot movements, how at times they made slow geometric patterns, then at other times became percussive instruments.

Her skill was breathtaking. I realise we could book a show in one of the places in Seville that specialises in flamenco, but I prefer just to happen upon it, to come across something marvelous while 'just dully walking along', as Auden put it .

In some ways I think perhaps this was the highlight of the day. The small place just past the cathedral where we have had really good tapas previously this time did not seem quite on point.

Part of the restaurant was being refurbished and our meal was disturbed from time to time by the sound of an angle grinder next door. The staff behind the bar had the bright idea to turn-up Lady Gaga to full volume to drown-out the builders. We left as quick as possible to find another place to have coffee. Though Gill ordered an espresso with a dash of milk what arrived was a small cappuccino. This displeased her greatly.

One site we had never seen in the city is the redevelopment of Plaza de la Encarnación. In the late noughties the German architect Jürgen Mayer redesigned this workaday square to the north of the city centre by installing the biggest wooden structure in the world right in the middle of it.

It is arresting. Sevillians likened it to a giant waffle or enormous mushrooms. The latter name stuck and now the  ediface, originally dubbed 'Metropol Parasol', has been renamed 'Las Sentas de la Encarnación'.

We've seen a few of these high profile pieces of post-modern urban theatrics on our travels - Valencia's 'Cuidad de las Artes y las Ciencas', Singapore's redevelopment of Marina Bay and closer to home 'The Shard'.  In terms of being jaw-dropping each of them achieves the 'wow factor' they crave. The question remains how will they be regarded in two or three decades? Examples of millennial folly or visions of a brave new urbanism...who knows.

Like most of these projects the one in Seville divided local opinion, took twice as long to complete than planned and ended up €25 million over budget. Articles about 'Las Sentas de la Encarnación' are a bit vague about the final cost, some quote a figure of €85 million, others €100 million. On the face of it that does seem a lot of money for a big pile of wood. 

However, everything is relative, at least the monument has a social function, the ground floor contains a market and an archaeological museum, the upper floor an indoor children's play area and the roof is a tourist attraction with walkways giving a spectacular vista across the rooftops of the ancient city. Not that we were able to experience these delights, for some reason access to it was fenced off.

Compare that to our home town's over budget project. The restoration of Buxton's grade one listed Regency crescent has taken well over a decade, cost in excess of £65 million. It will have no benefit to the community whatsoever aside from looking nice - it is destined to become an up-market spa hotel. How is that value for money given the millions ploughed into the project by English Heritage and the National Lottery? Buxton has a population of about 28,000, Greater Seville's is well over one million. This surely makes 'La Sentas' a bargain, even if the thing does look like an enormous waffle.

With that thought in mind we limped back to the van. Halfway through the night the rain started. We have three wet days to look forward to. Not great, you can change many aspects of your journey, but not the weather