Mysteries of the Deep

I left work and took photos of drunk people.

It seemed perfect – a free 48 hour test drive of a car. I happened upon the offer two weeks ago. Ideal, I thought, for getting me from London to and from Glastonbury festival, picking up a few random hitch-hikers on the way. But the picky gits at Vauxhall are still catching up with their

“Mas buenas chicas,” said Auntie M, our sprightly septuagenarian hostess in Spain, “playa…fuego grande…” My conversational Spanish is limited to picking out the odd word from conversation, and maybe adding an, “Oiyoiyoi! Que calor?” I gathered from the words ‘fire’, ‘beach’,’nice young girls’, and a few translations from Ramon, that the Spaniards in Punta were