When it comes time to pay the bill in the Rock Hotel restaurant, I find that I have left my wallet behind. We empty our pockets and finally manage to pay the bill with a mixture of Sterling and Euros but with no tip. That means we will have to go back to show we are not paupers. Ah, well.
A nice man comes to see us from England and later we give our long suffering poinsettia a severe haircut.
We drive to Ronda for no particular reason. On the way we stop at a bar and have rabbit and wild boar while the TV deafens us in the background. The Spanish seem impervious to noise.
The Market Hall used to be hidden behind some grotty shops but is now much more visible. Well done chaps.
This is not Photoshop but the effect of the sun rising in the east over the Rock and lighting up the
through a gap in the clouds.
In the evening we get stopped by Customs who tell us that our English car is not allowed into Gibraltar as we are Gibraltar residents. My love affair with Gibraltar is beginning to wear a little thin.
We eat in the Timeout Cafe but the noise is appalling - morons bellowing at the tops of their voices. Then we go to Morrisons and are subjected to even more indescribable racket as we get on the Number 4 bus. These people seem incapable of talking quietly. The women just bellow like bull-frogs on steroids.
We queue to get across the boder with people walking brazenly to the front of the queue. We are on our way to see our car
which is feeling lonely in Spain. My girlfriend goes to Primark while I sit in a cafe making a cup of coffee last for an
hour or so while people queue for tables. Normally I would feel guilty but I am beginning to be pissed off by the
incredibly thoughtless and selfish behaviour of people so fuck 'em.
If I read in the papers that 500 scooters, their riders and the entire clientelle of the Timeout Cafe had been swept away by a giant wave, I would just say "well, shit happens"