Do You Know the Way to San Jose?

Dionne Warwick may have been a great singer but even now, at the age of 79, she really hasn't got much excuse for not being able to find her way to San Jose. A mere 340 miles north west of Los Angeles, she would just need to take US Highway One out of L.A. and in around six hours, which includes a couple of wee stops (she is 79 after all) she'd be there. Bingo! Nothing to it. But if she were contemplating a road trip from the UK to San Jose in Spain, then we could forgive her for being a tad nervous about the prospect of going wrong and losing her way. So, in the absence of trains and boats and planes as a travel option, we at El Real Thing will help her make it easy on herself because, after all, that's what friends are for.  

Driving to Spain is an adventure. It's not for everyone but we love it, even though the French bit is boring. For us, France is there just to get through. That is not to say that we haven't found some wonderful overnight stops whilst driving through the country but France is basically the stick through which to get to the carrot that is Spain. Driving through Spain is just wonderful. And as this blog is about Spain, we shall condense the French bit into the following short paragraph;

Calais (via tunnel), toll road tourist route heading Rouen, Le Mans, Tours, Poitiers, Bordeaux but then we deviate from the main tourist route heading to Pau and then Zaragoza (signed Saragosse in France) to enter Spain through the Somport Tunnel. Total distance 720 miles. Toll charge total €109.70. Tip: use french-toll-tags on the French toll roads to avoid queues, frustration and possible divorce. 

Taking the Somport Tunnel route through the Pyrenees allows for a toll-free route through Spain right down to the Region of Murcia and one which we think a typical crow would be proud. Once in Spain, we aim for Zaragoza, Teruel, Cuenca (but see next paragraph), Albacete, Murcia and Cartagena then we're pretty much there after 480 miles. Dionne, bless her, would still have another 130 miles beyond Murcia to get to San Jose, near Almeria and she's probably wishin' and hopin' that she was there but hang on in there girl, another couple of hours and one more wee stop should do it.  

Cuenca, by all accounts, is a beautiful city and well worth a visit although with that crow in mind, whilst we initially head to Cuenca from Teruel on the N420 we turn off at Carboneras and do a little cross-country to pick up the N320 which is the road from Cuenca heading to Albacete. Don't worry, it will make sense when you look at a map.

So that's the bare bones of the route but what about the adventure itself? Well, we have done the trip non-stop on one occasion (didn't enjoy it - my ankles swelled up!), more typically with two overnight stops and most recently, last summer, returning to the UK on a very leisurely three overnight stop schedule. On the Spanish part of the above route we have stopped over in Zaragoza and Teruel, and on previous route variations we've stayed in Pamplona and San Sebastian, all of which offer spectacular, very Spanishy city centre bars, restaurants and facilities. Two years ago we travelled through France on the E1 route as we decided to stop over for a couple of nights in Barcelona. However that does of course bring the Spanish toll roads into play and these, aside from depriving you of more money, can also get very busy.

Whilst it may be sensible to book ahead during the main six-week summer holiday season, we prefer to play the overnight stops by ear. Setting off to drive, say, 400 miles in one day to reach your booked destination is fine if the weather, the traffic, your ankles and a general feeling of (both driver's and passenger's) healthy well-being all combine to behave themselves. But what if they don't? Last summer, we were gearing ourselves up to stop at around 5.00 p.m. in Rouen so that we could do justice to exploration of the historic city centre there but then the heavens opened and the forecast was for same all night. So we spent another four hours in the car and got as far as Le Mans, utilised booking.com to find an overnight stop where we could get a meal, a comfy bed and an early getaway. A four hour headstart the next morning got us all the way down to Teruel that evening where booking.com again came up trumps with a lovely 4-star hotel in the city centre at a ridiculously cheap room rate. And it wasn't raining. We do find that Spanish hotels typically offer substantially better value for money than the French ones en-route and they generally offer better weather too.

Obviously one learns from experience. Over the last 12 years, we have learnt that;

• you must always sing "Under the Sea" (from The Little Mermaid) once the Eurotunnel train goes into the tunnel.
• sleeping in the car isn't great - not when there's four of you.
• sleeping in the car in the foothills of the Pyrenees, even in late August, is bloody cold.
• calling it "an adventure" won't wash with the family a second time.
• parking up at night, adjacent to an airport (whether knowingly or otherwise), should guarantee that early morning start you wanted.
• the inside of your car windscreen will never not be foggy once you have slept in it.
• hotels are generally a better idea.
• quirky, town centre, bed & breakfast type hotels in France will have pungent, chemical toilets in what were previously bedroom cupboards thus providing intense aromas with notes of contortionism.  
• French motorway service station croissants and their vending-machine coffees are life savers.
• French motorway service station pre-packed sandwiches may as well be eaten with the packaging still in place because they taste like plastic.
• Learn to count beyond ten in French (or cue panic when you realise you've just filled up at pump no. 13 at the motorway service station).
• After a long day in the car, aim to get to your hotel by 7.00 p.m. latest, freshen up, go straight out, have a couple of beers and a meal. You will be back at your hotel by 9.00 p.m., in bed fifteen minutes later and up with the larks for a 7.00 a.m. departure.
• French beer is expensive but you only need two for the magic to work.
• The Somport Tunnel, between France and Spain is 5.3 miles long.
• Driving in Spain is a million times better than driving through France
• All the spectacular scenery is in Spain
• Petrol is cheaper in Spain than in France
• France sucks

So then, that is our not-very-detailed, hardly worth it, bit of a guide to driving from the UK to Spain. You need to sort out your car headlights beforehand (although you can buy the headlamp converters at the Eurotunnel terminal), make sure that you have a GB sticker displayed and all legal accessories easily accessible inside the car, not the boot (just google requirements for France and add in an extra hi-viz vest for each passenger which is the additional requirement for Spain). 

One final bit of advice.............bacon sandwiches! 

If you're aiming to do the journey quickly and don't want to waste time stopping for non-essentials such as food, the best thing you can take with you is two days' worth of bacon sandwiches made with Warburton's Toasty sliced white bread. It has been scientifically proven* that the Toasty bread is the right thickness ro retain the bacon flavour without going too soggy over 24/48 hours, thus ensuring that the sandwich is even tastier on Day 2**.

* Scientifically proven by me

** Unfortunately it doesn't work for Day 3  

   

Our Mate Trevor

We didn't want subsequent blog posts to push Trevor out of sight or mind so he's now got
his own page - see menu for Our Mate Trevor. 

A Healthy Dose of Scepticism?

These legs are rapidly losing their tan after
14 days of isolation living in a cave somewhere
in the wilds of East Lancashire (probably). 

As that well known football chant goes - It's all gone quiet over there! 

Where have we been at El Real Thing over the last three weeks? No blogs. No tweets. It's almost as if we've given up on Spain. What on earth has been going on?

They didn't teach the art of being permanently offended when I was at school but in an age of political correctness, the old joke that Irish medical experts have invented a cure for which there is no known illness is obviously now racist, undoubtedly bigoted, probably offensive to cross-dressers and most definitely not funny. But it does provide an excellent metaphor for the current times we are living through as governments worldwide come up with new and ambiguous ways to control the spread of a supposedly deadly virus whilst simultaneously crashing the world economy. If an evil genius somewhere had been working on a plan to dismantle capitalism, control the population and encourage complete reliance on the state, then he would have been hard-pressed to come up with something more outrageous, devious and downright brilliant than Covid-19 as a means to carry out his fiendish plan.
So, I hear you ask, what's all this got to do with El Real Thing where we like to concentrate on real beer in Spain, real football in Spain and real Spain itself? Well, I'll tell you what it's got to do with El Real Thing. El Real Thing's plans for world domination have been completely scuppered by all this Covidiocy over the last three weeks and we're not happy. Okay, world domination might be pushing it a bit but popping back home to the UK for five weeks, to prepare for another several-week stint in Spain thereafter, was all part of the master plan. With the 14-day quarantine restrictions lifted for travellers returning to the UK from overseas our Ryanair flight back to Blighty was duly booked for 30 July. But by the time 30 July arrived, the UK government had decided to reimpose the 14-day quarantine restrictions for travellers returning to the UK........but only those returning from Spain. Bastards! And then, within four hours of actually arriving home, the UK government double-whammied us with the announcement that our home town was to face additional restrictions of individual liberties because of an Islamic holiday. Double bastards! 
I mean, we none of us advocate irresponsible behaviour in times of such (choose which applicable) crisis/ concern/ mess/ plight/ drama/ hardship/ scare-the-population-so-that-they-do-what-we-tell-them but ordering me (do they not know who I am?) to lock myself away for 14 days having travelled from the safest part of Spain to one of the (apparently) unsafest parts of England is the equivalent of telling me to wipe my feet as I leave the house. 
I confess that I am a mask-sceptic. The merits of a chocolate teapot comes to mind so I am not altogether chuffed with the Spanish government and their current edict on mask-wearing but as a guest in that country, I (reluctanty) accepted that I had to act the good guest. But honestly, it doesn't take a genius (evil or otherwise) to see that many people in Spain and the UK have been scared witless by a constant bombardment from both government and a slavering media intent on over-stating all scare stories and under-stating any good Covid-related news. Did you know the recovery rate for Covid infections is actually 99.9%? Here at El Real Thing we don't pretend to know all the answers, we just fear that not enough of the decision makers actually know the right questions and it's almost certainly not their fault. We reckon that if you laid all the so-called medical experts, head to foot, in a straight line they still wouldn't reach a conclusion. So the situation calls for a bit more common sense in dealing with a virus which is producing fewer fatalities per infection than previous outbreaks of seasonal flu. We can't protect ourselves from everything and we don't want to live in glass cases. Chocolate teapots, restrictions on the liberty of healthy people and a broken world economy do not add up to a common sense approach. As a well known President of the USA has said, "we cannot let the cure be worse than the problem". 

Forty eight cans of Brewdog helped keep us
sane during isolation. Our cave hideaway
enjoyed some nice views of Burnley. The town
hall can just be seen in the image background.

Unsurprisingly, we are still as fit as the proverbial fiddles and we could have spent the last 14 days saving the UK economy by supporting the hostelry sector and utilising the Eat Out to Help Out Scheme (we're very public spirited in that way) but instead we've spent this time rotting away in solitary confinement with only a mail-order 48-can Brewdog pack  to keep us company. And now that we have been released back in to society, is our early September return to Spain in jeopardy? Our 3-night research trip to Palma vulnerable? Our whole El Real Thing raison d'etre in peril? Mrs C is a tad concerned I can tell you.
Now, whilst it is feasible that a sliver of tongue-in-cheek has infiltrated some of the above, we fear that much of what we are currently seeing in terms of restrictions on individual liberties, including rights and freedoms to travel, could become norms if we are not careful, sacrificed on the altar of public health and nanny state knows best. Within reason and common sense, free spirits need to remain free spirits. We look to you our fellow travellers to keep the free spirit flame flickering. Bon voyage (very soon we hope).

Going Dutch

Neighbours. As the song goes; everybody needs good neighbours. And short of getting Kylie to move in next door to you, what more could a person ask than to share the delights of Spain with like-minded hispanophiles from across Europe?

Of all our mainland European neighbours I have long felt that the Dutch are closest to the Brits in terms of personality, character and sense of humour. To be fair, that's maybe not too difficult with the French and Germans as the main competition but, even so, your typical Hollander speaks excellent English, they actually like the Brits and (I rest my case m'lud)........they play cricket.

I have always liked the Dutch. As a child I remember we hosted a couple from our twin-town Cuijk who travelled with members of the town band to help celebrate Maldon's (my home town in Essex) 800 years as a Borough. We made them repay the compliment a year or two later by turning up, unannounced, at their front door in Cuijk where they graciously fed the four of us and their eldest boy gave me a football magazine about the then European Cup champions AFC Ajax. The magazine was in Dutch so I couldn't decipher a word of it but it was probably over 40 years before I eventually parted company with it as part of the "you're-fifty-odd-you-never-look-at-them-they-take-up-too-much-room" final reckoning for my football programme collection. Anyway, it's funny how little acts of kindness and generosity stick with you. The meal by the way was excellent although they wouldn't tell us what it was we had eaten. Later we twigged it was probably horse steak which actually wouldn't have fazed us but they probably felt best to keep schtum, just in case.

More latterly I have enjoyed professional dealings over several years with the Dutch staff at the European base of a US company based near Kerkrade in the little testicle that is South East Holland (check it out on a map, near Maastricht and you'll see what I mean). They are lovely people. So you get what I'm saying. We like the Dutch and therefore it was a pleasure to invite round our Dutch neighbours Jason and Kylie last night for some beer tasting. 

Now, it turns out that wherever I go in Europe the beers generally are stronger than we might typically find back home in the UK so the 3.8% to 6.6% range of ABV's we had in store for Jason and Kylie were never likely to faze them. In fact, with Jason having only recently fallen off his boat into the marina and with both of them needing rescuing from the sea by lifeguards three days earlier, I was beginning to suspect that our beer tasting session might actually help sober them up. So, we started off with Mahou IPA (4.5%) and worked our way through Cruzcampo IPA (5.5%), San Miguel's Yakima Valley American IPA (6.1%), Tyris VIPA (3.8%), Damm Inedit (4.8%) and Damm's Complot IPA (6.6%), all of which accompanied by a very acceptable selection of tapas produced by Kylie and Mrs C. 

Of the six different beers we tasted, only two have not previously been pronounced upon by this blog, they being the Damm Inedit and Yakima Valley. The Inedit is a malt and wheat beer brewed with spices and apparently created by Ferran Adria, the world's most award winning chef. Well, I've never heard of the bloke before but if he likes creating tasty beer then that's okay by me and the Inedit is indeed a very tasty and enjoyable beer. The tasting notes describe it as intense and complex on the nose....its sweet spices and fruity notes combine with fresh yeastiness and flowery sensations....the infusion of coriander, liquorice and orange peel permeates the impression on the palate....its subtle, well-integrated carbonation perfectly highlights these tastes in the mouth....it is creamy, soft and versatile in food pairings....long pleasant aftertaste. And you know what? It's all that. Maybe not one to throw down your neck in a session but rather one to bring out to complement a fine dining experience. So you would think (hope possibly?) that an offering from the brewing giant that is San Miguel might rather pale by comparison but you would be wrong. For me, the Yakima Valley IPA is the find of our four month Covid-enabled Spanish sojourn. Already on my second can as I write this and with google translate apparently on a break, all I can tell you from the San Miguel website notes is that they describe Yakima Valley as refrescante y aromatica. Well, trust me, they are doing it a huge injustice. It is bloody delicious.

And what of Jason and Kylie I hear you ask. Well, they just sank everything we threw at them. The Inedit went down particularly well with Kylie and Mrs C but, to be fair, so did everything else. And as suggested above, we were probably doing them a favour anyway by sobering them up . Anyway, the beer and conversation flowed and by the end of the evening, it was clear that the Brits and the Dutch are indeed European cousins whereas the French and Germans probably only qualify as second cousins (twice removed?). Herman (he from Calblanque - see previous blog) misses the cut completely.

Less than 24 hours after our rather splendid evening came to an end, Jason reported in that his techfoon is kapot. Allow me to translate. Jason is probably back on his 9% Affligem beer and has fallen off his boat again but this time his i-phone has gone with him. The Dutch eh? You just gotta love 'em.

Just Not Cricket!

Tasty IPA  beers in Spain make me happy. Sad
pervy inadequates on Calblanque beaches do not.

Calblanque Regional Park is an area of outstanding natural beauty which just happens to be pretty much on my doorstep. The park boasts stunning landscapes and a wonderful array of unspoilt coves and beaches. The area is of "high ecological and naturalistic interest....with interesting plant communities and a remarkable wildlife value, as well as diverse ecosystems". Read that carefully. It says "naturalistic", not "naturistic". But somewhere along the line someone decided that the beaches also present a "wonderful opportunity to doff off, get your todger out and march around like a bit of a dick". Hmmm. I mean, it's just not cricket is it?

Now, I may be a Brit - stiff upper lip and all that - but I have no particular problem with naturism. I know that some of the Calblanque beaches attract nude sunbathers and it doesn't take a great deal of effort or initiative to find your own space, away from the often middle-aged, flabby enthusiasts and closer to those more inclined to keep their pads on and private bits private. In fact, even without current social distancing considerations, it is perfectly possible to locate a suitable position in the outfield on a Calblanque beach, well away from the inner ring, with sufficient distance  to warrant a good pair of binoculars if you really, really want to be offended. So, what exactly is my beef (perhaps not the best expression)? Well, I'll tell you........it's the sad, weirdy-beardy inadequates that make a point of marching up and down the full length of the beach, wearing nothing but a hat, a pair of sandals and a rucksack, making sure that you don't miss out on their tiny set of bales. 

I remember a saying from many years ago that "nude women look better with clothes on". I will leave it up to the reader to determine whether or not they agree with this statement but I will add just two things. One; it is only ever men that feel the need to march naked up and down those beaches occupied by the more circumspect amongst us and two; nude men absolutely definitely look better with clothes on.

On one particular day last week, we were treated to four Dick Dastardlys in two hours. Dick no.1 was mid-60's, beard/hat/sandals/rucksack and he even said "hola" to us as he passed, turning slightly towards us as he did so thus ensuring that there was no chance we would miss the show. Dick's nos. 2 and 3 were marching on together (to Leeds perhaps?), a generation younger than Dick no.1, both a little hunched in stature but with the obligatory beard/hat/sandals/rucksacks and, to be fair, looking a bit like your typical real ale geeks (maybe they can't be all bad?) shuffling past us looking a bit sheepish whilst pretending unconvincingly that this was the most natural thing in the world for them to be doing. Dick no.4 was (for I have named him) Herman who was early 60's (?); most disturbingly not only did Herman have no beard on his face but Herman had no beard anywhere else. There it was, Herman's bat swinging freely, unencumbered. It was very off-putting I can tell you.  Surprisingly, Herman then abandoned the beach, clambering up the rocks to then continue his mission, still swinging, on one of the marked Calblanque trails. One can only hope that a dog walker with a hungry pooch was somewhere close-by. We actually saw Herman a few days later, walking along the beach........fully clothed. Maybe he doesn't like dogs? I would bet my mortgage that he doesn't like cricket.

Whilst googling Calblanque, I came across a review of one of the Calblanque beaches on a "nakation" website which, it transpires (it took me a few seconds), means naked vacation. Perhaps an enthusiastic advocate of beach nakedness might take a different view on such matters? "The beach was gorgeous........however stay clear of the cove to the right of this beach........it was here that I saw two men having sex and then got wanked at by a lone male. Honestly, what is it with some people!"

It isn't just me then. My faith in naturists in general is restored. Your genuine naturist likes to doff off and sunbathe. And that's it. Some of 'em might even like cricket. It is the sad little pervy inadequates who like to show off that give the genuine naturists a bad name.

So then Dick's 1,2,3 and 4. We all agree. You really are sad little full tossers. And the next time you want to take a beach hike, put on your budgie smugglers. That way, we'll still all know that you're inadequate saddo's but at least you can shove your socks down the front to pretend you've got something worth showing off down there. Remember, there are Brits out there and we don't want to see your middle wicket. Remember too that we play cricket. And with a suitable batting implement to hand one of us might just treat you to an aggressive cover drive. Be warned.

Ghosts of Spain

As a child I first visited Spain in the late 1960's. General Franco was Caudillo (Leader) and I recall that travel reps' advice to British tourists would include warnings not to mess with the Guardia Civil, not to joke about the tricornio - their three-cornered hat - and absolutely do not be rude or disrespectful about Franco himself. I returned to Spain as a teenager in 1977, two years after Franco's death and the gift shop shelves still full of plastic bulls, flamenco dancer dolls, sombreros and donkeys were now joined by gaudy souvenirs such as playing cards featuring topless women and little rubber toys which, when you squeezed them, would produce an oversized phallus. Even then, to a dumb British teenager, it was clear that Franco's death had been the catalyst for breakneck change in the national psyche. So why, in a country where history confronts you around almost every corner, do we know so little about Spain under Franco's dictatorship and the Civil War which put him in power four decades earlier?

Ghosts of Spain - Travels Through a Country's Hidden Past is a book, published in 2006, by Giles Tremlett, historian, author and journalist based in Madrid and provides a fascinating insight into the country post-Franco. If, like me, you want to learn more about Spain then I would venture that the book is essential and enjoyable reading.

Federico Garcia Lorca - Spanish poet (1898 to 1936): In Spain the dead are more alive than the dead of any other place in the world: their profile wounds like the edge of a barber's razor.

As Tremlett says, "Spain has a wealth of stories to tell....the story does not go stale either, for Spain changes at breakneck speed". Certainly the transicion from dictatorship to democracy in just three years was nothing short of remarkable. "The Spanish people, relieved, embraced democracy in record time, consciously fleeing their own brutal past and burying it in silence....which it did by smothering the past, an unwritten el pacto de olvido, the pact of forgetting. But scratch beneath the surface and this silence hid more than just fear or shame, it hid the fact that Spaniards did not, still do not, agree on the past. The argument disguised by this silence remains that Spain has two versions of who was to blame for the Civil War. There remains two Spains. If the transicion was a success, it was because Spaniards made a supreme effort to find consensus. That effort was driven, to a large degree, by the Civil War ghosts still haunting so many Spanish households".

The book covers, amongst other things, How the Bikini Saved Spain (the development of tourism), the characteristics and claims of the peoples of Catalonia, Euskadi (Basque Country) and Galicia, the Mean Streets of Flamenco and the art of enchufe (being "plugged in"). It is a great read and offers Brits an insight into Spanish national and regional characteristics and differences and how Franco's unwitting legacy was to ensure that current generations understand old conflicts are best resolved with words, not violence.

Some Like it Hot!

This is what you should be doing in June and July. Kenny putting at the
Footballers Golf Classic, La Manga. Another great image by Will Knight.

Following that unfortunate fridge door incident in Wuhan last January and the resultant freeze on life as we know it since, at least some of the important things in life are de-frosting and getting ready for consumption. Yes, football is back, albeit not quite as we know it. And Spanish football is no exception and by "Spanish football" I mean real Spanish football. Yes, Segunda B and Tercera divisions are back, at least for 88 of the total 440 teams who are now to be involved in the play-offs following the premature ending of their season back in March. At the cessation of this season's play-offs, four Segunda B teams from the four Segunda B Grupos will have been promoted to Spanish football's Segunda division, just the one division below La Liga. Sound straightforward enough? Yeah.

For those of you old enough to remember Soap, a night time American sitcom series which ran 1977 to 1981 and basically parodied other daytime soaps, each episode opened with a brief summary of the convoluted storyline ending, "Confused? you won't be, after this week's episode of Soap". Well trust me, as far as Segunda B play-offs are concerned once you have read this you will be confused. So this is how the four promotions will be determined.

The top 4 teams from each of the 4 Grupos qualify for the play-offs, i.e. 16 teams in total. This year, courtesy of the Chinese, the usual two-legged affairs are replaced by single-leg games which will be played behind closed doors at five neutral grounds in the region of Andalucia (southern Spain) between the 18th and the 26th of July. Yes, that is indeed the hottest part of Spain at the hottest time of the year when anyone with half a grain of sense should be on their sun loungers or playing golf with Kenny or sat in the shade enjoying a tasty beer or in fact doing anything else other than playing or watching football. 

The "nerve centre" of the Segunda B play-off competition is to be Marbella where three of the five neutral grounds are based, the other two being in Malaga and Algeciras. One of the 16 teams competing in this year's play-offs is, wait for it, Marbella FC and all their games will be held in (have you guessed it yet?) Marbella!. Hmm. One can only rue the apparent absence of any other suitable stadiums, in the Andalucia region, in which to host a behind-closed-doors match and avoid the potential for charges of favoritism and/or unfair advantage. Anyway.........

The 4 Grupo winners are drawn against each other and the winners from these two games are promoted. Our local team FC Cartagena is one such Grupo winner so they have the chance to gain promotion with just the one match. Two of the four promotion places are now sorted.

The 4 Grupo runners-up (including Marbella FC - booooo ) are drawn against three of the 4 Grupo fourth placed teams (to prevent a runner-up and fourth place from the same Grupo playing each other) to provide a total of four matches.

The 4 Grupo third-places teams are drawn against each other in another two matches.

The winners of the above six matches then go into a draw with the 2 losing Grupo winners (remember them?) to produce another four matches, the winners of which are then drawn against each other for two final matches, the winners of which take the remaining two of the original four promotion places.

Confused? You will be! And I haven't even started yet to look at how the 72 play-off contenders from the Tercera division are supposed to get promoted to Segunda B's Grupos.

Locally we are of course rooting for FC Cartagena to reclaim a place back in the Segunda division which, if they succeed, will probably mean that I have to extend my definition of real football in Spain to now include the second tier. At the end of the day, it is my blog!

Covid-related protocols for the total 14 Segunda B behind-closed-doors play-off matches will include a minute's silence before kick-off in memory of Covid victims and their families, presumably followed by another 90 minutes' silence as the matches are being played behind closed doors. The ball will be sanitized before kick-off and then re-sanitized before every throw-in although not after the goalkeeper has touched the ball because he will have his gloves on. Deliberate handball will be deemed an automatic red card offence and the offending player made to self-isolate for 14 days thereafter. And finally, congratulations to Marbella FC on their upcoming promotion.

I need a beer after that and I only have 28 days to now get my head around the Tercera divisions play-offs involving 72 teams! Wish me luck.