Cold comfort

First, hot chocolate with churros. Whatever the Starland Vocal Band may have claimed in 1976, this is the only afternoon delight worthy of the name.

Nothing says winter in Malaga like being huddled in the corner of a café (usually with the doors inexplicably left open) next to the one you love, both of you wearing daft woolly hats, munching on warm, crispy churros, recently dunked unceremoniously into steaming cups of hot chocolate. The only drawback here is that you might have to take your mittens off for dunking purposes.

Next, you can actually think straight when it's cold and therefore make plans and come up with brilliant - or not so brilliant - ideas. Compare and contrast with July and August when each of your befuddled neurons is drowning in its own individual puddle of perspiration and it's all you can do to put your flip-flops on the correct feet before shuffling off to the shop to buy ten gallons of dandelion and burdock only to realise that you've forgotten your wallet because, well, you weren't thinking straight.

Cold weather is also perfect for sporting activity. After the initial shock of seeing your legs turn into an extraordinary mass of purple goose pimples, running about a bit quickly becomes a wholly pleasurable experience, your profound joy further exacerbated by the knowledge that you'll soon be plunging into a hot, soapy bath. These are the moments that make life worth living, chilblains notwithstanding.

Finally, caldito de pintarroja. I've extolled the virtues of this magical potion (it's a spicy fish soup thing), on these hallowed pages on a number of occasions but, suffice to say, if you've never tried it, your life has been little more than a peripheral, hollow existence thus far.

Good, now what shall I do this afternoon? A bit of sport and a warm bath or hot chocolate and churros? Decisions, decisions.

Oh, look - a daft woolly hat with my name on it.