This cafe is bright and light and sells a range of bakery goods. I sit watching the mother and daughter eating lunch at the next table. I am in Marbella alone and am recalling how in a previous incarnation of this cafe years before I was locked in the toilet with my daughter. I had to shout ¡ socorro! and eventually we were rescued by a passing gentleman. Returning to our table, which was roughly where I am sitting to paint, my partner and son were oblivious to our having been missing even though we were locked in for what felt like half and hour. The cafe then was traditional a Spanish affair, full of smokers with a casino next door and toilets with a handle that came off in your hand. I finish the painting and head straight to the toilet to see how far the refurbishment goes. They are no longer up the rickety staircase behind the kitchens.
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