Our hotel is a positive menagerie. A few days ago there was a red-eared terrapin on the side of the pool. Now we find there are eight - at least - in a small fountain with a dozen or so nervous-looking fish, which keep themselves very must to themselves about as far away from the terrapins as they can get.

The top of the hotel is a mix of flat roofs, peaks and turrets, and on one of the flat roofs we found a lizard, three feet long and with toes of four inches each. His thick muscular tail is ringed brown and black, and as he sheds his skin his face is a mess of peeling scales. He spends his time sunbathing, shunning the more comfortable shade.

Unlike him, I prefer to retreat under an umbrella on the beach, which is where I spent the afternoon, working through my German after the customary drinks at Chiringuito.

Nudist beaches are strange places. On the one hand they are great levelers. Every scar, spot or tuft of hair is exposed for all to see, whether you like it or not.

At the same time, though, there is the off one or two that are the embodiment of perfection. Toned, tanned and without an ounce of fat, they are the focus of all attention, and usually know it. They cover up, and leave the ‘almost-there’ brigade to flaunt their less-than-perfect assets (and asses if you believe in American spellings).

It can be a very demoralising place when it comes to suntans, too, for while my tan may look great in isolation it pales significantly beside the polished chestnuts that prowl the sand. I am only glad there are others with skin the colour of expensive porcelain teasets, beside whom I look great.

I was tired today, though, and so did not do so well with the German. I dozed off several times and so put in an hour of learning back at the hotel between showering and heading out for drinks and dinner and drinks with Trevor and Jon.

Jon reckons I might find Spanish easier to learn than German. In inclined to agree. I am picking up a lot from the signs we pass and the conversations I overhear. I even managed to buy a pair of shoes this morning through a combination of the shop-girl’s limited English, my limited Spanish and copious finger signs from us both.

Anyhow, dinner … I can’t say the portions were particularly large when the food arrived, but they were tasty and the service was easy on the eye. At the other end of the restaurant a table of rowdy Brits acted out whole episodes of League of Gentlemen with perfect voices, and the more we drank the less we could help but laugh along.

By the time we left, after vodkas, wine and shots, barely balanced by the conservative quantities of food, we were in no fit state to go clambering around on the rocky breakwater, which is exactly what we did.

It started out well enough. We could see the deep black gaps between the rocks - wide enough to snap your legs if you slipped into them - in the light of a solitary land-locked floodlight, but as we reached the halfway point the light snapped out and plunged us all into darkness.

All around us we could hear the gentle breathing of the sea, its waves collapsing along the sides of the breakwater, but our eyes could only just make out the feint outlines of the rocks that even in the light had been precarious to say the least.

I sat down for a while, looking out at the invisible ocean until my eyes grew accustomed to the dark and then together we picked our way back across the crooked, mis-shapen rocks towards the beach.

It was perhaps a foolish thing to do, and wasn’t helped by the fact that I kept on getting distracted by the wild cats that lived among the rocks. This town seems to be a veritable haven for strays. There is a whole fenced-off garden full of cats of varying sizes and colours up by the church.

And so it was a relief when finally we made it back to the smooth concrete head of the breakwater where we could sit down and relax our shaking legs.

I took an arms-length photo of Jon and myself - intrepid explorers safely returned - which he forbade me to put on the web, and we marched on into the town for celebratory drinks. It was like a minor homecoming, celebrated only by ourselves.

1. Sitges: Drought
   We woke up to a town in darkness. Metaphorically speaking. The sun was blazing down and the pool was full of days-old water, but the...
   
   
2. Sitges: Final Day
   A very late state to our last day in Sitges. The alarm was set to go off at eleven, so of course we missed breakfast...
   
   
3. Sitges: Fireworks
   The flowers had been destroyed by the time we came out to eat last night, and when we got up this morning and walked through...