I have just got back from a nice short break in Las Fuentes (in between Valencia and Barcelona) with my friend Ray, his son Mark, and his son’s mate also Mark. I like my trips down there, it is my 6th visit now (Ray owns a villa) and it is always fun, and despite never feeling any older, a holiday with two fit footballing (they are both Semi Pro) lads makes you realise your six pack stomach days are behind you.

Las Fuentes is essentially a Spanish resort made up of middle class Spaniards from Madrid and Barcelona etc etc but it is also home to an obligatory group of middle aged ex pats who are not unpleasant, but a bit sad, and apparently ravaged by the demons of alcohol and tooth decay. They are an advert for staying in Britain despite our problems and expanding under class, which is typified by the Ryan Air clientele at Barcelona who are quite frankly an embarrassment.

Our days were spent meandering around in the sunshine, and the evenings scoffing Tapas and wandering around the beach side bars, and whilst a few more days would have been nice, I was more than happy to get back, get some work done, and see my kids and Diane. A couple of days keeps me keen to go back, any longer and tedium would set in. We left Mark and Mark behind for a few more days, and though Ray didn’t see it, I sensed that they, understandably, were looking forward to being let off the leash to go and find some action more suited to their age group, I hope they find it.


So now it is back home, work done and an evening of World Cup “entertainment” as England take on the might of Algeria. Defeats this week for the French the Spanish and the Germans suggested that despite England’s poor start, this World Cup is there to be won by whoever puts a decent run together.