Heart FM’s Kev Bach on the joys of flying and Spanish sunshine
I AM writing this week's column high up in the clouds on a delayed flight back to Liverpool from Alicante after a week in the hot Spanish sun.
I have been staying for the past week at Tracey my youngest daughter's apartment in Santa Pola near Alicante. I am wearing, to travel home, a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to show off my tan (what a wally I hear you say!)
I quite agree with you, but I am not the only one dressed in this way on the flight, but I will probably regret it when I land back home.
As I take my seat, squashed between a middle aged lady and a young lad with more tattoos than Robbie Williams, the captain welcomes us on board and explains that the two hour delay was due to a strike by air traffic controllers in France (isn't it always?).
I don't know if you've noticed, but doesn't every captain of an aircraft sound posh, well spoken, and sexy with a soft intelligent voice. This hasn't gone unnoticed by the gang of girls sitting behind me on their way back from 'sexy Maggie's hen weekend' in Benidorm.
Maggie reckons he sounds like Hugh Grant, and the others all say Daniel Craig. The girls are all dressed as witches, by the way (I didn't like to ask, but maybe Halloween is celebrated earlier in Benidorm).
They say travel broadens the mind and I have learnt quite a few facts during my week away in the sun.
One is, never dare mention to anybody that I have never been delayed at all on my last half dozen or so visits to and from Alicante, as because of it I jinxed myself and am now writing this on a delayed flight.
Another fact I learnt, was that food for some unknown reason is very cheap out in Spain. You can eat a “Menu Del dia” as they call it for next to nothing. And, if you are ever hungry or peckish in Spain, go for a drink or a coffee in a Spanish bar because to accompany your drink they feed you with tapas while you drink, free of charge.
Tracey takes me to Angels Bar on the marina in Santa Pola. Angel, the owner, was a thinner version of Zack from Emmerdale and very pleasant. Every time we had a drink with him, we would return from there full, as the free Tapas was as if it was on a conveyer belt, appearing plate after plate from behind the bar.
Angel remembers my last visit to his bar, it was the night Spain won the World Cup. I watched the final at his bar so maybe he thinks I was Spain's lucky mascot, and that's why he is so eager to feed me for nothing.
He also made excellent spaghetti bolognese, and in his broken English, which was much better than my Spanish, he told me the secret was to put some sugar or chocolate in the mix. He also told me that a fork was first used in Britain to eat spaghetti.
While I was there having one of his excellent three course meals and being entertained by his facts, a certain Spanish mosquito was having a three course meal of its own on my little body. According to Angel (this man is full of knowledge) I was to put some ice on it immediately. I took his advice. He also told me that mosquitos tend to bite people who have a sweet tooth, and I had one of those once, but that tooth is now with my dentist!
While spending so much time in many Spanish bars and coffee shops during my visit, one other fact I did realise was that I now know why Spain never win the Eurovision. Their music is so boring and repetitive, every song sounds the same (I didn't share my opinion with Angel).
Hugh Grant or Daniel Craig sound-a-like or whatever we are going to call him, has just informed me and all the other passengers in his posh voice that we have landed at Liverpool, and the outside temperature is a wet and cold 9 degrees. I now do feel a cold wally dressed in my shorts. I can feel my goosepimples rising as I write.
Talk about down to earth with a bang. I have also just realised I have left my hoody at Tracey's apartment, and in its pocket, the telephone number of where my car is parked half a mile away from the airport.
A cold and wet walk for me then as I only have euros in my pocket. My next column might be about how I got a cold after returning back to wet Wales, oh how I long for the Spanish sun and Angel's tapas and wisdom. I would even try and sing along to those terrible Spanish songs.
Keep Smiling Kev Bach