Calahonda, 10.15 am, Friday. Pit Stop Sports Café.

Sitting outside this English-run café, watching pale-faced Brits eating their bacon sarnies and reading the Daily Mail and listening to accents ranging from Scouse to Sarf London, I began to wonder whether I'd been beamed back to Blighty during the night!

Then I realised I was doing just the same, eating a full English breakfast, drinking a mug of insipid coffee and reading the latest SUR in English and Costa del Sol News.  Well, it makes a change.  I was in good company, chatting to my mate, Paul, and I was enjoying myself. And the breakfast went down a treat!  And all for five euros!