There was a crispness to the strong breeze that blew away the remnants of sleep as I made my way to Aldi – my loyalty to Tesco not as strong as my desire for a lesser stroll – for some breakfast supplies. I have been breakfasting like the emperor of a country made of sausages and black pudding. I got all of this for 2.80:
Now, I am feeling like a stuffed sloth – the slowest mammal on earth, apparently – but I will bravely venture forth into the windy day and bask in the beauty of the park. These days, I find I get excited about the simplest things and last night I made a simple online reservation in the Lights Out Hostel on Calle Torre Gorda in my beloved spiritual home, Málaga. This morning I looked (online once more) at reasons why I might not go. There was no element of defiance in the booking; it was not a case of ‘fuck you, Corona. I’m going.’ It was more of an optimistic step. I’ve been there four of the last five Januarys and I think (hope) to be there in the new year. It seems a long way off, but it ain’t.
I always travel light, but not this time. I’m going to pay extra and stock up on my favourite Eu de Cologne – Agua Brava, that I’ve only ever purchased in Spain – and get some nice shoes. I’ve worn out the beautiful shoes I bought there last year. I liked them so much that I’m considering a repair attempt with lots and lots of superglue, although I’m sure I can get a similar pair (pairs, even) on my trip. I’m feeling all WOO HOO! I may buy some red shoes while I’m there, stand on a street corner, click my heels together saying, ‘There’s no place like Málaga, there’s no place like Málaga.’ The truth is, in my opinion, there is no place like Málaga, and I am missing it.
One of the best things about booking a trip is the sense of anticipation. It’s great to have something to look forward to. One of my flatmates greeted me earlier. He’s older than I am and when I enquired as to how he was, he said, ‘Still alive,’ and here it comes, it’s the first one of the blog – first one of the morning, perhaps – LOL.
There’s nothing quite like a near-death experience (I may have mentioned mine before) to up the appreciation levels for life, but right now my provisional booking for the Lights Out Hostel in Calle Torre Gorda in my beloved spiritual home, Málaga, is like a shot of adrenaline straight into my arse.
There’s nothing quite like a shot of adrenaline to the arse, I bet. I took the long way home from the shops the other day and passed the entrance to Tallaght Hospital. I pass it all the time, sometimes twenty times a day, but that’s in the car. I was on foot and couldn’t resist taking a selfie and then adding to it.
The guy on the left of the photo – as you look at it – well, he is my inspiration to enjoy each moment as much as possible, before the last one comes along, like.
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