Detox…

Sigh.

Yes. It does say detox. After 16 days of boozing it up and eating like it was my last ever day, my body has finally begged me to please let it have at least a day off and maybe just one full glass of water.

Spain, Spain, Spain. I love it. Ibiza was a blast. Whilst I didn’t go quite so far as to be in some uber-now club with a clingy vest on and a whistle every night, I did stay out late drinking in cool bars and eating my own body weight in …, well, whatever came closest to either of my hands really. Ibiza was also very relaxing as our villa had a HUGE terrace with pool, plus the most spectacular views of the sea and the sunset. Days were generally lazy and involved bobbing about on a lilo whilst soaking up as much sunlight as is humanly possible. After an afternoon sharpener from the drinks trolley a little disco nap often followed before evening activities commenced.

After a week of glorious sunshine and fun in Ibiza we flew to mainland Spain for a week of more glorious sunshine and fun.

Tapas with extra sides of tapas, day after day, all washed down with about 200 gallons of Cruzcampo beer (unless in Granada where it’s all Alhambra beer!) have left me with the constant sound of straining stitches and the panic that unexpected and embarrassing seam-splitting could occur at any given moment.

I think my new fave tapas are croquettas caseras, broad bean & bacon stew and squid. The other half and a friend were obsessed with anchovies for the whole time, which kinda made me heave a bit. The small, fresh ones that have been prepared in vinegar are ok but the bigger ones that are deep fried whole gave me the heebie-jeebies – especially when the other half pulled out a whole spine and bones combo and ate it separately to demonstrate how soft the bones were. I nearly revisited a whole plate of super tasty croquettes over that…

Other scary offerings worthy of note were the pigs’ trotters that the other half ordered whilst at a fiesta in Ronda (where everyone should visit as it’s beautiful!). We all looked at them as they glistened wetly on the plate. I instantly decided that they would never be on my ‘must try’ list (not that they ever were) and plunged gladly into the huge plate of ‘Jamon y Queso’ that was at the other end of our table. The other half, having ordered the feet struggled bravely on, much to the horror of the rest of us. I’ve got a pic of them somewhere so I’ll attach once I find it. It ain’t pretty so I may have to pop another pic along with it too, to take away the nasty taste.

I’ve decided that I’d like to live in Seville for a little while. The city is so warm and exciting. It has character, charm, and history and did I mention they practically invented tapas there? Even working in a smoky little bar there would make me very happy. I’d be able to learn Spanish and drink little beers all day long. Actually, that would lead to an enormous belly, which wouldn’t do, as Sevillanos mostly seem svelte with fabulous skin and attractive features.

Heavens. I should have been Spanish. It would have made everything so much easier…