Christian and I flew from Stansted again to Reus airport this time, on a Britannia plane. I was not impressed with the guy who was sitting in my seat. He highly resented having to move, and leave his two young sons next to me, although if he'd just organised his family's seating properly in the first place, he wouldn't have had any issues. As it was, his kids were quite nice, considering what a dickhead their father was!

Our transfer was quick, and we were met by Shaun, our Thomson rep, who pointed out our hotel, the El Cid, which was a much bigger and better place than I was expecting. Our room overlooked the pool, which could well have been surrounded by gorgeous bronze bodies at some point, but never really delivered its full potential. Such is life.

Our initial stroll along the coast showed us the great views to be had, and the beaches looked beautiful in the bright sun; the sea was very blue, the sand golden, the restaurants and bars lively and tempting. Sure enough, our first meal, lunch, was wonderful.

We spent the first few days in Sitges on the beach. Of course we had to shop around for a bit for suitable beachwear, which for me consisted of a pair of swimshorts to fit under my shorts, and which turned out to be a lot snugger than I had anticipated. Still, on the "gentlemen's beach" (as Christian described it in a postcard), what I was wearing was de rigeur, and what I lost in good taste I made up for in age, since most of the other gents on the beach were in their thirties or older. Never have I seen such a display of surreptitious glances, and cautious stares. It was like French & Saunders doing Dangerous Liaisons; all we needed was some elaborate fans to hide behind, but I guess my eyejacket style sunnies from the airport did the trick!

Despite two days with long stretches on the beach, I failed to get anything other than a "man-tan", i.e., just slightly browner arms, neck and face. Although I may have two splotches on my back where Christian failed to effectively apply my factor 15 sunscreen (which was probably mainly responsible for my ghostly skin tone), that's if they don't peel off straight away. Nice.

The rest of our time in Spain, we spent on day trips: one to Tarragona, and three to Barcelona, because there was just so much to do there. Every day we returned and had fantastic food - tapas, chicken, steak, pasta, salads, all cooked Español of course! And I'll do a bit of shameless advertising for La Oca - fantastic chicken! After dinner, we'd repair to the bars of Sitges (or "gentlemen's bars" as Christian would probably call them!), where we found nothing but older men most of the time.

On one of our first pub crawls, a barman treated us to a couple of shots on the house, and Christian chose tequila for his (which I think was probably the mistake). Later on, I came out of a bar to find his head in his hands over a puddle of vomit. I managed to get him moving again, but he only sank to the floor again, and began to throw up over his arm; and then, as if in slow motion, his head sank slowly and inexorably into the pool of fresh spew. Wonderful. I managed to get him back to our hotel, where he showered and went to bed. I, on the other hand, decided to hit the town again, and went out to Trailer, one of Sitges' clubs. I must have been plastered, because I was dancing on a platform like a maniac, and I remember very little else other than taking the scenic route home. The following day, Christian was fine (if a bit whiffy) and I had the hangover from hell. All day.

On another occasion, we took things a little slower, and managed to pace ourselves so that we both arrived at Trailer in a fairly good state. Christian went on to make the acquaintance of a nice German called Mick, and I spent the evening resisting the advances of various quintagenarians asking for a light.

Our venue of choice by the end of our stay was the Parrot Bar near the beach - a riotously decorated bar with seating outside from where we could watch the local talent arrive or walk by, while sipping our large G&Ts. Did you know that gin is originally a Spanish word? You do now.

On our last morning, I dragged Christian round the old town to take some last photos, before going to meet Shaun for our transfer. Our check-in was quick, and our last moments at Reus airport were brief, which was refreshing when you consider what a purgatory Reus departure lounge is. All in all, Spain was a holiday unlike any I've had before, since it included beach-lounging and clubbing, but after the desperate sprint around Barcelona to take in the sights, I could have done with another few days on the beach!