Rain and cloud were forecast for this week but it was another sunny warm day with not a cloud in the sky. The temperatures so far have been no hotter than 23c during the day and no cooler than 19c at night. Not bad for December. I had packed a fleece and jacket and had worn my leather jacket here as I’ve been here before at this time of year and know how cold it can get at night but it was still t shirt weather even at midnight.

I woke much too early again. It’s habit, I wake at around five at home but there’s no point in getting up too soon here as the sun doesn’t rise until around half past seven and nowhere opens before ten so you can’t go out for breakfast. I ate Weetabix on the patio and decided to go on another excursion while the weather was good in case it turned later. I wanted to take some photos so I headed for Puerto Azul where there is a good view of Puerto Rico’s beach and harbour.

From here there are seven hundred and fifty nine steps down to the beach. Yes I counted them. Surely I would get some good photos somewhere along the way down? Maybe I did but I was shooting into the sun so I couldn’t see what I was doing. After a while I started to climb up again onto a new piece of the coastal path that was still being laid. The view from here was stunning.

I continued down to the beach level and wandered around taking photos from various angles. After a while I went to buy a newspaper. There was no repeat of yesterday’s tantrums from the vendor, instead I chatted in Spanish to a charming young Canarian girl who noticed yet another story about Madeleine McCann on the front page. This time it was about a paedophile living in Malta who had been arrested there and was found to have been in Portugal around the time the poor girl disappeared. Why our British press are swallowing this bullshit they are being fed I don’t know. We all know who did it, the Portuguese police know who did it and our government know who did it so why they are being protected at the highest level I cannot understand. Sniffer dogs and DNA tests cannot lie unlike the tapas nine.

I took my newspaper and headed off to the Passarella commercial centre by Puerto Escala. There a fella called Phil from Watford runs Dolphin’s Bar with his missus Denise. They’ve not been there very long, they’d only just bought the place when I was here last in September and I was hoping business had picked up for them. It’s a tough game and they’d already put everything into buying Pickwicks Bar in the Europa centre before the landlord sold it to Spar for another supermercado. Phil and I talked football for a bit, both being supporters of the Golden Boys, then I ordered one of his medium breakfasts for five euros and sat in the sunshine overlooking the beach and harbour reading my paper. With sadness I saw that Bobby Keys had died. Bobby was the sax player with The Rolling Stones, his solo on Brown Sugar was part of the soundtrack to my youth and Sweet Virginia remains one of my favourite songs, blessed by his playing.

Again I spent the afternoon reading on the patio, this time disturbed by the noise of the children playing on the swings just feet away. I didn’t mind really and it struck me that the people here are really enjoying themselves at Stalag Blue Star. I suppose for a family on a budget it’s okay, all the children seemed to be under school age and they were all having a great time. Some younger welsh people spoke to me, I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. I believe they were from Pant y Girdl or some such place. A smiling young chap chatted to me in his Scouse accent, I understood him a little better. He told me he was from Liverpool. I’d never have guessed I told him but the sarcasm was wasted and later on he passed by again and called me mate so we must’ve bonded.

Once again I dined at Los Danieles, ensalada mixta tonight. I had a little walk around the centre but I couldn’t be arsed to hang around until nine o clock when the entertainment gets going so I was back in the apartment by half past seven. For something to do I went up to the reception desk and asked how I could get on the wifi that keeps popping up asking me to join every time I try to use the internet on my phone. I was told it wasn’t working and would be down for a week or so. How come it still keeps popping up annoying me then? I strolled up to the Europa Centre to buy some yoghurt, thought about stopping somewhere for a drink but realised I had plenty of Agua con gas in the apartment. So another early night then but things should get more exciting tomorrow for I’m off to Playa del Ingles and the Yumbo Centre!

Before turning in I read that Ian MacLagen, keyboard player with the Faces has died from a head injury at the age of sixty nine. After the Faces split Ronnie Wood joined the Stones, Rod Stewart became Rod Stewart, Kenny Jones joined the Who, Ronnie Lane, bless his cotton socks formed Slim Chance, and passed away far too young and Macca became a local musician in Austin Texas. I remembered an anecdote that a young band hired Macca as a session musician once because they wanted that honky tonk piano sound from the Faces’ records. They sat him at an expensive keyboard but they just couldn’t recreate the sound. Eventually Macca suggested using that old thing in the corner covered up by a dust sheet. It was an uptight piano. Bingo!