Breakfast at 12, dunking churros into each other's thick hot chocolate, afterwards snooze in flowerbeds of Parque del Retiro. A mere 1.5 hours to Toledo. Don't know if I've arrived at a train station or a place of worship with its beautiful tiles and carved wood. The town is like an intricate sandcastle built by a group of precocious kids from a Catholic school. My most complex manoeuvre is where to put fairy cakes and toasted marzipan bought from nuns' baking stall in Convent Santo Domingo el Antiguo.
French tourists feed in some pesetas.
Several coins more. Disgruntled supplicants trudge away, bereft of electric piety. I peep to edge of candles and notice mains switch. French return jealously. Overnight to Barcelona is another bookshelf experience but with added bonus of new heart-throb's company.