Day 1 in Malaga. 12:30, time for lunch. Well, obviously that’s breakfast time in Spain, where everyone eats their tea at lunchtime.
But the breakfast at B & B Hotel was a bit meagre, from the pastries and pate camp. Because we’d declined to have our room cleaned each night (Covid !) one breakfast was free but €7 euros for the other was no bargain.
I’d done some research on craft beer in Malaga, but it turned out Ale Hop was NOT a Stoke micro but rather a gift shop in the Flying Tiger mould, the elephant omnipresent on our Spanish trip.
If you can’t find Matthew Lawrenson a good gift, you can at least find him some classic weird fontage.
The old town is packed with specialist shops from the last century. And a serve yourself pizza shop next to the bank.
Some of the shops are plain disturbing.
After my failed attempt to order beer in the neighbourhood beer last night. I dragged Mrs RM back to Ep Parral for tapas.
This time I sat in the low seating to admire the aerial shot of Malaga (note bullring centre right where Brits who ask for Carling are thrown).
A nod of acknowledgement, possibly, two bottles of Astrella GALICUA, no glasses (peasant), and a free bowl of those potato croquettes you last had at school in 1976.
A couple of Tapas from the counter, lovely beef and salad, and I still couldn’t spent more than about £7.
Add Bass from the jug and I’ll move here once I’ve finished the Beer Guide.