Nerja, Spain — A Ladies' Sandal on the Balcón de Europa

Our Linda's cousin Marjorie had two spare tickets and a package already booked, and she said it would be a waste, so that were that. Manchester to Málaga, Jet2, Thursday morning. I hadn't flown since 2004. The carpet were patterned. I took a picture of the carpet. I don't know why.

The carpet. Red, blue and yellow. I don't know why I took this either.

We stayed at a small hotel just up from the front in Nerja. Two stars. The lift didn't work the whole week. Our Linda didn't mind. She'd brought a book by Joanna Trollope and a proper sun hat.

I had said, before we went, that I wouldn't be looking for shoes. That were the agreement. Our Linda had nodded and said, "right then Keith, we'll see."

The first three days

I didn't look. I want to say that clearly. I sat by the pool. I read three chapters of a Bernard Cornwell about the Vikings. I had a glass of white wine at lunch that I couldn't really get on with — it were cold but it tasted of nothing. The breakfast were fine. The fried rice were orange but it were fine. Our Linda had three cups of tea and a croissant and said the croissant were excellent.

The breakfast. 08:12. The fried rice were orange but it were fine. I will leave this photograph up. It were what it were.

On Saturday we went into the old town. Whitewashed everywhere. Hot on the eyes. I bought a postcard to send to our Gary even though he's forty-two.

Sunday

On Sunday evening Our Linda said she wanted to walk along the Balcón de Europa. That's the big viewpoint they have there, out over the sea. Whitewashed balustrade. Palm trees. A statue of a king pointing at something.

The Balcón. About seven o'clock. A lot of people but not too many.

It were about seven o'clock. The sun were going down. There were a lot of people but not too many. A man were playing the violin further along.

We walked about halfway along the balustrade and I stopped.

I'm going to try to describe this properly.

On the low wall, facing out to the sea, stood a single sandal. Upright. Tan leather, light-coloured, left foot, thin straps across the toes and one around the ankle. Slightly worn at the heel. A size six or thereabouts, at a guess. It were a lady's sandal.

I hadn't documented a lady's shoe before.

I want to say that again, because it matters.

In sixteen and a half years I have documented three hundred and seventeen shoes. Not one of them had been a lady's. I have wondered about it, from time to time. I never went looking. They just didn't turn up where I walked.

And then one did. Not in Huddersfield. Not on a moor. Not in a layby on the A640. On the Balcón de Europa, in Nerja, in the Spanish evening light, with a man playing a violin further along the balustrade.

Our Linda saw my face. She said, "oh for god's sake Keith." But she weren't cross. She said it the way she does.

I took my phone out. I didn't have my camera with me. I don't bring the camera on holiday. I took two photographs. One came out. The other were blurred.

A Spanish waiter from the café behind us had been watching. He didn't say anything. He nodded, sort of, and went back in.

We stood there a bit. The violin stopped and then started again. A woman walked past with an ice-cream. The sandal didn't move.

I didn't pick it up. You don't interfere.

We walked on.

Back at the hotel

The balcony. I wrote most of this here. Lemonade from the hotel bar. A notepad. It were warm.

I wrote most of this that evening, on the balcony of our room. The balcony were small. A plastic chair, a round table, a glass of lemonade the hotel bar had made me. I had a notepad with me. I always have a notepad.

Our Linda had gone in to watch the Spanish news. She didn't understand any of it but she said it were restful.

I sat a while. I could hear the town. It were warm.

I thought about what to do with the sandal, in terms of the website. I don't want to put it in the main sequence. The main sequence is Huddersfield and the surrounding areas — Brighouse, Holmfirth, Marsden, the moors, as far as Skipton at a push. A sandal in Spain isn't that. It's summat else.

I've had a similar problem before, with the wellington boot from Skipton, which I keep in a separate ledger because wellingtons are their own question. I'm going to do the same with this. A separate ledger. I'm calling it Away Fixtures. I don't know if there'll be any more in there. Probably not. But it's there now.

The matter of the ladies' shoe

I want to come back to this because I don't want to skip past it.

I don't know why I've never found one before. I have wondered. Our Linda says it's because I mostly walk in places where fellas leave their boots. Moors, towpaths, laybys. She might be right. She usually is.

It took me going abroad. That is the truth of it.

I don't know what to make of that. I'm not going to pretend I know.

Other things

Barry from Dewsbury texted on Friday about a possible shoe near the Tesco in Dewsbury. I had to tell him I were in Spain. He said "right you are Keith." He's a good lad. He said he'd hold off on the photograph until I were back, which I thought were considerate.

I bought a small fridge magnet shaped like a donkey for our Gary. It says NERJA on a little banner across its side. He'll put it on the fridge at work.

The donkey. For our Gary. He'll put it on the fridge at work.

I took another photograph from the steps down to the beach on the Monday but it didn't come out. The light weren't right. I'll not dwell on it.

Going home

We flew back Wednesday. The carpet on the return flight were the same pattern. Our Linda slept most of the way. She said it were the best holiday we've had.

She might be right about that too.

Aye. A lady's sandal, then. After all this time. On a sea wall in Spain. You don't see that coming.