Now, I'm not a great footie fan - as any fule no - but half the point, if not more than half the point, of going to Malaga was to be in Spain for the World Cup Final, Husband having correctly predicted that Spain was likely to be in it. So it would have been daft not to go to watch it last Sunday evening.
We had been expecting to watch it in a bar, but asking at the tourist office we were told that there was going to be a giant screen erected in the bull ring. Not being Birmingham, the bull ring in Malaga is a proper bull ring. So there we were, in the blazing sun (knowing locals had filled the shaded half) - the five of us, four Dutch fans and 5,000 Spaniards.
The mood was jubilant and confident to start with; gradually things got more tense and, as we lurched into the second half of extra time with the score still 0-0, Spain having failed to put the ball away despite numerous good chances, it was positively quiet. You could almost hear 5,000 Spaniards chewing their nails.
You couldn't hear yourself think when they finally scored. Absolute bedlam. Shouting, stamping, cheering, hooters, horns, flares, firecrackers and scarlet smoke bombs. Absolutely amazing. And the party went on all night although we, lily-livered tourists that we were, crept into bed about 1 o'clock.
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