In case anybody noticed (I know you didn’t) it’s been a bit quiet around here this week because I’ve spent a fabulous week up in Granada.

I love Granada. The GF’s family has a large flat in the centre, just off the Gran Via. Sadly, we couldn’t stay there as it’s currently infested with students and I’m past that stage of life where I think nothing of having to bleach the shower before stepping in there. My suggestion of sending in the exterminators having failed to clear the voting stage, I made alternate arrangements at my new favourite haunt, the AC Palacio de Santa Clara, also on the Gran Via.

I’ve never really been a fan of five star hotels. I usually find 4 stars to be just as comfortable and the service is usually better in a good 4 star than a bad 5 star. The AC was no different, although the rooms are sumptuous. It’s built around a series of Moorish courtyards, so all rooms have a patio view. It had good service in as much as when you frantically waved at a waiter for another drink they didn’t sigh too heavily as they stopped chatting to their friend before coming over. Great bunch of lads tho’. The GF suggested that me calling it the “Palacio de Santa Claus” probably didn’t help matters. That, and filling the room with a bunch of Jamones I picked up at a two for the price of one deal. De-licious.

I mainly selected the AC because it’s got the only wall in town without any graffiti on it. This is achieved thanks to some CCTV, a large stick, and two even larger gypsies, I was told. Seriously, the graffiti problem in Granada is out of control. Even the police station is graffitied. Idea: Any student caught writing his half baked philosophy idea on a wall looses twenty credits. That would solve the problem.

Granada is great fun. The GF spent her university years there, so she knows the place inside out. This time, she introduced me to a local delicacy – it’s a Jamón, but it’s not cured. Instead, they roast it, as if it were a chicken on a spit. There is no way to tell you how good it is. Jamón Asado, it’s called.

Granada is full of tapa bars. Everywhere you go, you get a tapa with your beer or wine. And it’s cheap. Damned cheap. Packed, too. Every night of the week we ate out in the Bodegas, every night of the week we had to squeeze through the masses to get to the bar. Crisis? What crisis? I dread to think what it’s like in a time of prosperity.

While pottering around, I brought the Samsung Omnia PDA. Sorry Chris Marshall, it knocks your Iphone into a cocked hat. 5mp camara. GPS. Wireless. 100% touch screen. See all specs here. http://es.samsungmobile.com/mobile/Omnia.

And I’m sure that once I figure out how to make a phone call on it, it’ll be a damn fine phone as well.

If you’re in Granada, don’t go to the Movistar shop on the Gran Via, as it’s populated by large snooty girls who refuse to stop gossiping to serve you. Go to the one round the corner, on Plaza Alhondigas, where Ana will, with a smile, shoo the smelly hippies away and serve you. 9 different calls she had to make to track down the Omnia.

Hippies? There’s a lot of hippies in Granada. Beggers, too. Pickpockets too I’m told, although this time of year they aren’t too bad and being a simple country lad I’m too distrustful to allow anyone close to me. I was going to buy an ivory topped cane to shoo them away, but it seems ivory isn’t in season at the moment. Much to the GF’s relief. Pity, I liked the vision of me in a top hat and three piece suit.