I’m exhausted. We’ve been in Madrid for three nights and done LOADS. I took my daughter, her boyfriend and my youngest son much to the annoyance of my first born who was most put out to not be there (revising for finals was the idea)…
We stayed in downtown Madrid in the old part next door to my friend’s son who is living in Madrid for a year of his degree course. A whole gaggle of us flew over together, very spontaneously, prompted by the appeal of going to see George Ezra play in a very intimate venue, so finding tapas bars that fitted 12 of us was a challenge. Given that I wasn’t going to get a better Valentine’s Day offer from anyone else I decided that hanging out with my children was going to be the next best thing.
Look at the view from our room:-
The square where we had our first course of tapas on the first night out:-
Walking around the busy streets:-
Not entirely sure that sharing a room with my 14 year old was ideal. I bounced out of bed on morning one, flung open the curtains and he shrieked in pain “OW THAT REALLY HURTS”. “What hurts?” I queried. “THAT LIGHT! IT’S SO BRIGHT, SHUT THE CURTAINS IMMEDIATELY IT’S FAR TOO EARLY”.
“It’s 9.30am and we’ve got to have breakfast and then walk to The Prado”.
What’s The Prado?” he asks. Imagine how well that went down when I told him it was an art gallery full of splendid Spanish artist.
“I’d rather have the entrance money and stay in bed” he said.
“It’s free to get in for under 25’s” I told him. Ha ha. No response.
Welcome to being on a city break with a teenage son. Meanwhile my daughter was having a lovely time next door (in a much bigger room) with her boyfriend. What has happened to my life?
