I think I need to re-read Bruce Chatwin's In Patagonia, then shamelessly rip off its episodic, contemplative style. When my life became more settled and static shortly after moving to Spain, I gave up on my idea of becoming a travel writer. Though I fancied the idea of writing a book about Andorra, as it was the only place near - and small - enough to be manageable.

But we have since moved, and now the chunk of famed but unknown territory I have nearby is Benidorm. I see potential in it as a metaphor for misleading appearances and meaning very different things to different people.

We shall see...