After an exhausting afternoon in the Prado, I needed to start packing – the voyage home is tomorrow.

My big sack was 8kg overweight. Don’t giggle. I’m a eunuch. My day bag was stuffed full of toy train for the nephews. I needed to repack and distribute the books and gifts better. I seem to have bought rather a lot!

Once the bags were balanced, I needed to find some food, so it was back into Chueca.

It’s Friday, the party which started on Wednesday is escalating considerably. The fancy dress and fancy undress are getting better/worse* (*delete as applicable).

After wandering for a while and staring at menus and men for an hour, I selected a real restaurant for a real sit down posh grub dinner. Which I was going to eat all by my lonesome!

I’ve not mentioned it before, but dining alone is… difficult. Most evenings I just couldn’t bring myself to walk into a restaurant and ask for “una mesa para uno”. Instead I’d eat things I could carry around. Somehow it felt less lonely to sit on a bench or in a square eating by myself than to occupy a table intended for company.

However, this was the last night, so I was going to treat myself. Yes, I know, this whole trip has been one long “treat”.

The waitress looked sad and struggled to find me a table in the empty restaurant. Maybe they had bookings coming in soon, or maybe she hoped I’d give up and go away.

She offered me a quiet corner and let be browse the drinks menu before leaving me for a bit to look at the food.

When she came back, I had a beer and a seafood paella. I really should be brave and risk being teased and go for the paella para senorita because they take all the shells off for you and its much more civilised!

While I was eating I looked around the still almost empty restaurant. There were a few couples with a mix of same and different sexes. I can’t assume that any of them are acually partners though.

Then I realised that, more than at any other point during the holiday, I missed my husband. I miss him most at mealtimes – even though he’s a fussy pain in the arse. He was my pain the arse. And I love him.