Easter in Benidorm can be a bit of a hit and miss affair. You can never be sure whether you’ll bake peacefylly at the beach or soak under gelid pouring rain. This time, it was neither.
I arrived there Friday night. It was a bit of a chilly night and, after a spot of dinner at home, it turned out to be a great night out. Not too late, not too crowded, not too drunk. Just perfect.
Saturday slipped away unnoticed and I didn’t hit the street until the Sun had hid away. So much for the beach… Dinner at the argentine restaurant (where else?). The night looked like was a bit more of the same, but it wasn’t. I love going back to a place I left over 10 years ago and still feel like I live there: you meet this guy, meet this other guy, and by 5 am you’re in a hughe group heading up to the discos with guaranteed free entry and free drinks until way after the Sun comes up.
Just great.
Sunday slipped even faster and suddenly it was Monday and I was aboard my easyJet flight back to Stansted.
Back at work, they’ve made me switch desks to sit along reporting lines. The result: my peers and I spend so much longer walking towards each other and wondering where we may be when we need to say something to each other. And in my new location, right next to the window, I can not only hear but feel the planes taxiing away towards the runway. Helicopters are the worse. Here comes the next…
