María Dolores de Cospedal is the Vice-Secretary of the governing PP party and the President of the region of Castilla y La Mancha. A career politician, she's being touted by some as the next State President, after Sr Rajoy. First, though, she'll have to extricate herself from the corruption scandal over illegal payments to senior members of the party, including herself. And then she'll have to beat off Esperanza Aguirre, her one-time mentor and, more recently, a harsh critic of her management of the corruption issue. According to IberoSphere - “Cospedal is taking the classic PP approach to the affair: deny everything and sit tight. . . The Spanish Electorate has a very low opinion of its institutions, increasingly tending to see all politicians as self-serving. Cospedal’s hope now will be that the courts fail to find anything solid to accuse her or Rajoy of, and that between now and the general elections of 2015, no further scandals emerge within the PP.” More here.

Esperanza, of course, means 'Hope'. And I noticed it today in an odd, if not amusing, context. Nerja's funeral home is called La Esperanza. Which I suppose it is. A logically longer name might be The Funeral Home of Hope over as yet Untold Experience.

My new car has a camera which comes on when I'm reversing. It's useful but not infallible. Low walls seem to be out of its purview. As is the barrier in the Malaga airport that comes down behind you as you stop before the second barrier to insert your ticket. So, should you decide to reverse because you've forgotten to pay the fee, the result is predictable. Happily, the barrier is rather flimsy and attached by cords which come loose quite easily. But it makes an interesting noise as it breaks up into its constituent pieces. And bounces off your car.

Talking of the airport . . . As you approach it from the East, all the signs to it on the A7 are ruled through with double black lines. Which makes it something of a lottery as to whether you leave the autopista at anything like the right exit. No explanation is given and Google throws up no clues. For what it's worth, my suggestion is to come off at the Torremolinos exit and then follow the un-ruled-through signs, back towards Malaga.

Today I was asked the most flattering question possible in Andalucia - ¿Etá uteth epañol? “Are you Spanish”? And I learned – on behalf of my sister – that a very milky coffee here is una sombra and that a cup of milk which has had a few grains of coffee waved at it is una nube. As to why, you're on your own.

The oddest question I was asked today was - "Were you kidnapped when you were young?" This was the opening gambit of what turned out to be a tramp-cum-beggar who could say this not just in English but also in French and Spanish. A bit old to be an unemployed joven but too young to be a career beggar. I was surprised when the young Spanish lady at the next table answered his query as to whether there was anyone in the café who spoke French. And then spent 10 minutes talking to him in both Spanish and French. An odd listening experience.

Africa may well, as the French cruelly insist, begin at the Pyrenees but we have far fewer Africans up north than there. Scarcely a quarter hour passes without one being offered the ambulatory equivalent of a stall in any large Spanish market. With much the same range and variety of African goods. If they ever come round with shoes, I fear my sister will bankrupt myself. She studied under Imelda Marcos for 3 years. And 5 thousand shoes.

Finally . . . Click here for a program which reveals that Liz 2 is not Britain's real monarch. And then tracks down the real king and his family. As I've said before, this is not what we had in mind when we introduced DNA testing to the world in the mid 80s.