I spent a beautiful day at the little fishing village of El Cotillo yesterday. I walk briskly in a northerly direction, towards the old lighthouse, and install myself on the beach, where all that can be heard is the lashing of white waves and human chitter-chatter.
After lunch, I ambled up to the beach bar formerly called Torino's, though now La Concha. It was quiet and I ordered a Bacardi rum and cola.
I'm wondering if I'd have the will-power to "do a Peter Oborne"? Namely, to abstain from alcohol for an indefinite period.
I dislike the after-effects of drinking too much: The Hangover. I find it hard to stop drinking after, say, two drinks; and the measures are, shall we say, more generous here than at home in the UK.
None of my close pals have ever told me that I drink too much. When my parents were alive, we tended to adhere to two whiskies or gins on Friday and Saturday nights. This worked well. My father was really quite abstemious, in retrospect. Perhaps his army days taught him this.
LAST NIGHT I dined at The Temple restaurant, owned by my friends John and Sharon. I had his signature cod and chips, which was as splendid as ever. I think it cost about €10.
When I arrived, I sat up at the bar, where John poured me a large Gordon's gin, on the house.
We had a chin-wag about this and that. I asked him if he had horse-meat on the menu (!).
John told me that this is customarily a quiet month in the resort.
I imagine that many businesses must merely survive by cutting back on staff and cost-cutting perhaps in whatever way they can.
After lunch, I ambled up to the beach bar formerly called Torino's, though now La Concha. It was quiet and I ordered a Bacardi rum and cola.
I'm wondering if I'd have the will-power to "do a Peter Oborne"? Namely, to abstain from alcohol for an indefinite period.
I dislike the after-effects of drinking too much: The Hangover. I find it hard to stop drinking after, say, two drinks; and the measures are, shall we say, more generous here than at home in the UK.
None of my close pals have ever told me that I drink too much. When my parents were alive, we tended to adhere to two whiskies or gins on Friday and Saturday nights. This worked well. My father was really quite abstemious, in retrospect. Perhaps his army days taught him this.
LAST NIGHT I dined at The Temple restaurant, owned by my friends John and Sharon. I had his signature cod and chips, which was as splendid as ever. I think it cost about €10.
When I arrived, I sat up at the bar, where John poured me a large Gordon's gin, on the house.
We had a chin-wag about this and that. I asked him if he had horse-meat on the menu (!).
John told me that this is customarily a quiet month in the resort.
I imagine that many businesses must merely survive by cutting back on staff and cost-cutting perhaps in whatever way they can.
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