Malaga

About a year ago mother asked what I was doing in April 2017 as there was an idea to organise a family holiday to Spain, depending on dates. My diary happened to be free...

I flew into Malaga separately now that I've defected to the south and it didn't make sense to travel up to Manchester Airport. However on arrival I got a good dose of Manchester from a vodka fuelled Mancunian abroad who accosted me at the luggage carousel.

Her, shouting across the hall:
'Excuse me, can I feel your bum?'

Me:
'Err, no'

Her, now sidling alongside:
'Oh go on, let me feel it'.

'No you're alright. But I do like your accent'

'Go on mate, let me feel it and then you can feel my x&#€*.'

'Thing is it wouldn't do much for me.'

'I'm just gonna feel it anyway although I've done this before at someone's house and he got the police involved'.

This did not stop her doing it quite a few times.

Her mates were giving weary expressions as if this is a daily occurrence, and they verified the previous police charge. I beat a hasty retreat as she was somewhat of a force of nature. I this counts as sexual harassment in Malaga Airport, like the kind of unwanted advances hundreds of thousands of women receive from leery men at bars every weekend.

Caught the train into Malaga and walked around the centro historico, looking for my accommodation. Stark like a prison cell but located on one of those atmospheric Mediterranean alleyways around the corner from countless nice looking buildings. Completely restless sleep with the tiled surfaces echoing every door slam, snore, cough, tap use and nose blow happening in the entire block. But who doesn't love being in Southern Europe. Not living here one day is inconceivable.

I tried to spell the blip title phonetically in Mancunian but couldn't do it convincingly.