Desperate for exercise and excitement, I convinced Chris it would be a good idea to go on the gorge walk from Frigiliana to neighbouring Nerja (Southern Spain). He wasn’t too keen at first as it was an exceedingly hot day and it was the hottest part of the day when we set out. Of course he was right – “Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun” – but I was yearning to go and he didn’t have the heart to ruin my pleasure.

Before long the sweat streamed off our brows. The bottles of cold water I carried in my rucksack became tepid; the can of Lidl’s fake Coke was never going to be as good as ‘The real thing’, even straight from the fridge, and it proved to be much worse than anticipated in its warm state; and the sandwiches went limp and lifeless. The thing that kept us going was the memory of an ice-cold beer, served in a frosty cold glass, from the old taverna at El Molino de Acette (or “Antonio’s bar” as we call it). As we made our way down the gorge we talked with relish about that cold beer… and I don’t even drink! Not normally, unless it’s boiling, and then I like the first glug from a glass or bottle of ice cold beer.

“If Antonio invites you into the shed to see his avocados again, what will you do?” Chris asked.

“I won’t fall for that old trick again,” I assured him, “just don’t leave me alone with him”.

“I won’t, but he did serve good beer – didn’t he?” Chris salivated.

We didn’t follow the dry riverbed all the way down to the sea – Antonio’s Bar is about a mile and a half from the outskirts of the hillside village, but it is a long way up. Hot and thirsty we trudged up to the bar by the roadside and a pretty young woman brought us two cold beers served in two cold glasses. Antonio must have retired. The glasses were not quite as cold, nor was the beer quite as good as Antonio’s; nevertheless we had that “Ice Cold in Alex” moment… (hope you remember the film with John Mills and Silva Simms, and the long awaited beer they had promised themselves at the end of their gruelling wartime adventure in the desert) and I was spared having to inspect the former owner’s avocados.

Chris should have been a travel agent. He knows all the tweaks and loves finding bargain fares and excellent accommodation at the best value for money prices, which is why I always leave the arrangements to him. This trip was no exception.

Our cheap Ryanair flight from Bournemouth to Malaga was absolutely fine (and who really needs more than ten kilos of luggage anyway?). Incidentally, my new lightweight case was so lightweight that the zip broke but, fingers crossed, it will remain steadfast on the flight back (so long as it doesn’t have to be put into the hold with other cases pressing against it!). Our friend and neighbour Alan, who is with us on holiday, was met off the plane by a fit Spanish lady who invited him aboard her wheelchair and speed-walked him (and us – we jogged along beside them) through Passport Control, Baggage Reclaim and Customs. She carried on to the “On the Record” (or something like that) car rental counter where we had to pick up the car Chris had pre-booked. He had been so thrilled that he found car hire for under fifty pounds… The unexpected excess insurance was nearly three times the amount of the car hire!

But never mind, now we’re here on the outskirts of the beautiful white village of Frigiliana, just three miles from Nerja and the sea. A local goatherd takes his goats past our cortijo twice a day and it’s rather pleasant to hear the tinkling bells around their necks – very countrified and quaint. Roses grow on the walls and ripe lemons hang from trees in the garden… why don’t I just post some photos?