As the plane began its descent, I suddenly became acutely aware of my fifty-seven years and of my mortality. I wondered how many more times I would make this trip. You know you are getting old when you have thoughts like that. I once asked my da, in jovial fashion, how many World Cups he had left. He thought about it and said … 5. It was a question I’d never ask anyone again in case there was an element of jinx; unknown to my da, or me, he had already seen his last. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder how many more trips time/God would allow me to make to my beloved Malaga. I wasn’t thinking about this when I booked another trip while I was there. When as a very, very young boy I’d say goodnight to my parents and tell them I’d see them in the morning, they’d answer ‘Please God.’ So, please God, I’ll be going back to my beloved Malaga again next week.
I don’t think I’ll take Hetti with me on the coming trip. She did make a very nice pillow on the journey home, but my flights are at very convenient hours and hopefully I won’t be in need of sleep on either journey. I don’t know how many more trips I will make, but if I don’t drop dead in the next six days I’ll be there again and I’ll be savouring the Malaga Moments.