Es storios de Nerja (may or not be be Spanish...)

Ok, so TDT and I have come to the land of Tapas, Flamenco, Dodgy English crooks and San Miguel (Oh, San Miguel, why do you make me drink you so...). After 3 hours sleep on Tuesday night, we left at the crack of dawn to head to the Costa Del Sol. We arrived at our apartment just after 2, and luckily Mr. Key Holder (no relation to Noddy) was still in the office, so we checked in. We had a quick shower, changed and went for a bite to eat, before ending up at a poolside bar run by the delightful Linda from Wolverhampton.
Ok, so by 6 we were getting 'there'. Where 'there' is, however, shouldn't involve 'happy hour' with BOGOF offers of alcohol in another bar called the Cave not 20 paces away. The arrival of 'there' was just before 9, and everything else is very hazy.
Then yesterday we decided to walk (yes, walk!) into town in the morning, have a spot of lunch and maybe a browse of the shops, before getting a taxi home. Oh, the best laid plans of mice and men, because we knew about the Spanish siesta time, but forgot. We found ourselves in the middle of the not unsubstantial town looking for a taxi. The map said there was a rank there, but there wasn't. Tumbleweed was bouncing down the sun-baked street and we were almost panicking about getting home. TDT admitted later she was close to tears, as the sun just got hotter, and hotter, and hotter. The air felt like being blasted with hot sand, and even breathing was becoming difficult. Then, our saviour! A nice taxi driver, with an airconditioned people carrier with blacked out windows appeared. We returned to the bar, but this time were prepared for the alcohol, so drank more slowly whilst sitting by the pool and catching rays.
Guess what we're going to do today? Yup, that's it. Sit by the pool, and catch some rays. I could get used to this.