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When the sun clocked in late and I clocked out early

Dear Diary (aka my blog),

Spain woke up today and chose light cloud blanket. Rude. I didn’t get my usual “blue sky meets blue sea” postcard moment until about 10am. The sea breeze also decided to audition for the role of Surprisingly Chilly Villain, so the beach and I mutually agreed to see other people this morning.

Luckily, my balcony on the 8th floor remains undefeated. With the window bays flung wide open and the wind politely minding its own business, I lay there like a well-fed cat, basking in the sun, staring at the beach and the sea, and letting my favorite music soundtrack my very serious job of doing absolutely nothing. Honestly, is there anything better? Don’t answer that. There isn’t.

Lunch arrived faster than my willpower disappeared. A quick wardrobe change (goodbye dignity, hello shorts and T-shirt), and off we went to the nearest beach restaurant for—surprise—yet another paella. At this point, the local rice farmers and I are basically on a first-name basis.

The afternoon beach attempt was… ambitious. The wind was technically “feeble,” but emotionally “icy.” After a brief and dramatic surrender, I retreated to my balcony fortress, where the setting sun and I resumed our long-term relationship. Protected, warm, and smug.

Evening followed its familiar, comforting ritual: aperitif, a bit of TV, and for me, the final episode of Drive to Survive on Netflix. High-speed drama on screen, low-speed living in real life. Balance.

Somewhere between sips and screen time, we also did the responsible adult thing and organized the apartment for the imminent arrival of the two grandchildren and their parents. The calm before the toy-strewn storm.

I polished off the bottle of whisky like a hero completing a quest, climbed into bed feeling absurdly content, and realized: another day, another month, wrapped up neatly with sunshine, seafood, streaming, and spirits.

Spain, you’re doing great. Keep it up.

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