I just found out there are no advertising billboards within 150 metres of the highways in Spain. But there are bulls – very large black ones, all of them 14 metres high. About 90 are scattered around the country. They used to advertise Osbourne’s Sherry until the advertising ban meant Osbourne had to take their logo off the bulls. But the bulls stayed and everyone who cares to know what sherry is, knows what the bulls represent. And in a country like Spain, the significance of bulls is up there with the pope. Osbourne’s 1 authorities 0.

Before getting into the road trip we need to consider Madrid, a truly magnificent city. But when we arrived, something was amiss (and amister). It took me approximately two minutes to be struck by the prevalence of crutch hugging cut away shorts and tiny, tight tank-tops. Sure, it’s summer but then I realised it’s also Gay Pride Week. There were stereotypes everywhere. And the straight girls were doing their best to compete in the skimpyness stakes.

Incidentally, and I digress (again), does Gay Pride Week only cater for the “G” in LGBTQ etc etc?

Now I’m as heterosexual as they come and I have absolutely nothing against homosexuals but opportunities to take the piss were everywhere. And I come from the Ricky Gervais School so if there is an opportunity to make a joke about anything, the default position is to do it and bugger the consequences. There is nothing quite as pathetic as a woke comedian whose alternative (to my and Ricky’s) default position is to abuse straight, white conservatives and ignore the absolute treasure trove that is the ridiculously idiotic green left (witness the current Democratic primaries in the US). If you’ll excuse my mixing my metaphors, this theme is not a minefield, it is a veritable goldmine.

In some virtue signalling quarters this would get me labelled homophobic and every other “phobic” under the sun. But I’m not the least bit scared of homosexuals which is what the word “homophobic” actually means (think arachnophobic or agoraphobic but not islamophobic, another stupid word which doesn’t mean what it purports to mean).

Anyway, the Spanish government would have been pleased to see an influx of big-spending, rainbow flag waving gays. Spaniards have this thing about electing socialists and obviously didn’t learn the hard lessons of 1936-1939 when this predilection with the left precipitated decades of fascist dictatorship under Franco. A rather extreme response to an exercise in democratic self-determination it has to be said. So instead of a vicious civil war with contributions from various scumbags from across the globe, now we have destruction of the economy via renewable energy. But this week we have seen a cocktail-led recovery.

What we most definitely haven’t seen is a hat-led recovery. It’s been stinking hot in Madrid with no cloud cover. My head would explode if I didn’t wear a hat in these conditions. So tell me why the current gay fashion of shaved head and 70’s porn star mo or beard alternative, with no hat, won’t result in an explosion of cranial melanomas in a few years that will make the AIDS epidemic look like a paper cut.

We can’t go to a new place without considering the food. Tapas has to be the best dining invention since barbecued mammoth. The CB and I sampled a few of the thousands here in Madrid. A bit of this and a bit of that interspersed with ice cold beers or lightly chilled Rioja (room temperature is for coffee and tea in this climate). The dining experience on this trip may result in a new gastronomic methodology in our household.

Well the child bride and I are sitting in one of the more depressing airports we’ve ever passed through – Manchester – waiting for our Ryanair flight to Madrid. The airport’s teeming with my fellow north-countrymen (and women – my fellow north-country people sounds silly). I say “fellow” because I was born here sometime back in a more innocent era when airports like this one weren’t full of people looking forward to their annual week of debauchery on the Costa del Sol. We’ve seen two brides and their entourages so far. We know they’re brides to be because the headdresses give them away. They’ll all be having a wild old time I’ll wager before settling into a life of wedded bliss. That’s the theory anyway.

The clusters of youngsters scattered round the bar area all seem animatedly happy and the old ones appear as miserable as the weather. To be fair, the weather was exceptional for the three days we spent here but it’s now raining – a perfect mood predictor it seems.

We’ve just had a day in Hong Kong and the aforementioned three days with Cuz1 and Cuz2 of Rheinube River Ramble fame. We gave our respective livers a thorough caning so the next few days will be relatively quiet. But back to Hong Kong. We arrived the day after a very large mob of protesters trashed the parliament so figured it would be prudent to stay on Kowloon side as I didn’t fancy a tear gas sandwich. The highlight of our Hong Kong stopover was sitting in a restaurant at the Ocean Terminal watching a wizened old man exercising with one hand against the guide rail while the other hand clutched a cigarette. Actually, that’s unfair. I love Hong Kong and just looking at that harbour (which I have previously reported is getting narrower) is always a highlight.

After Hong Kong it was Manchester then a day in Chester followed by a day in Liverpool. God knows what the Liverpudlians would do if the Beatles hadn’t originated there because their influence is everywhere. Revert back to what it was like pre-Beatles I guess – a stepping off point for Irish immigrants because the slave trade had been abolished about a century and a half before. Restaurants, buildings, streets, taxi companies and pretty much every other going concern are named after a Beatles song. The local landmarks that feature in numerous Beatles songs are now treated like the shrine at Lourdes.

The authorities have done a great job tarting the place up. Pity they can’t convince the Scousers to pick up after themselves. The amount of rubbish in some of the parks would put a Philippino rubbish dump to shame.

Chester has a city wall. We walked round it. It also has a lot of great old pubs. We went to one of them. We also had lunch at an American franchise restaurant which we wouldn’t normally do in the holiday-mode circumstances but the beer was ice cold, the food was great and the view was pleasant. And we got there at lunchtime which was rather fortuitous.

Chester also has a first century BC version of UFC. The ampitheatre’s contestant variety was somewhat more eclectic in the Roman version however.

Now it’s time to hit the cervesas.