I’d forgotten just how easy-going and helpful Andalucians are. I don’t mean Spaniards in general - although I do have a huge soft spot for this country and its people - but very specifically the inhabitants of that vast swathe of (mostly) olive-groves bordering the Med. Having just spent a week down that way, this time focussed on the province of Cadiz and holed up in the delightful little pueblo blanco of Vejer de la Frontera, I’m convinced that Andalucians have a unique genetic disposition. One man even devoted 5 minutes of his life to getting change and operating a parking-meter in Jerez to get us off a diabolical parking-fine. This was just a genuine human gesture for two frantic English-people late for the airport - nothing more. Here’s a pic of what had delayed us - an 11th century mosque inside the beautifully restored Alcazar of Jerez.

It’s hard to beat those Andalucians for energy. The last few days went in a blish (that’s shorter than a flash, marginally longer than a blip) from a rainy Malaga through a misty Carmona to end - at last - in the clear autumnal light of Seville. Instead of my usual solo or duet travel, I found myself in a heaving group of over 30 nationalities, most of whom had never been to Andalucia before. In between being bussed and guided around we were force-fed vast quantities of excellent food and drink. At times it felt like being a goose en route to foie gras status. It’s a while since I’ve been on a press-trip to Spain and I had forgotten just how much this goes on - whiling away an entire afternoon in a restaurant is just for starters as dinner only seriously kicks in around 11pm. Luckily there are quite a few cafés around for recovery, with or without a Virgin Mary poster for company on slow days.