Well, there was no car on the pavement outside the new Irish bar today. Possibly just a coincidence.

Several hundred more Africans stormed the fences around one of Spain’s enclaves last night, prompting the EU to release funds designed to help Morocco implement preventative measures. These had apparently been held up by ‘bureaucratic delays’. Hard as it is to believe, things have now reached the farcical point where the successful entrants, once on Spanish soil, race to the nearest police station to seek the appropriate form. Once this is done, they are part of a long process and can’t be sent back before they’ve had a chance to disappear in mainland Spain. Anxious to prevent this, the forces of order are now in the bizarre position of trying to stop people getting to the police station.

When I went to change my newspaper in the café this morning, I left my pen, a notepad, a plastic bag and my half-finished glass of wine on the bar counter. Enough, you'd have thought, to secure possession of the stool. But when I came back, a man was sitting on it. What made this even more extraordinary was there were 5 other empty stools he could have chosen. As I approached, he looked at me, glanced at the things on the counter, switched on his brain and got off the stool. Naturally, he apologised profusely. Naturally, I said it didn’t matter.

I see that Mick Jagger’s latest squeeze is called L’Wren. I suppose this is a would-be witty version of Lauren. As in L’Wren B’Call. I guess it’s better than Frou Frou. I am reminded of that famous jockey – L’Ster Piggot.

And here’s a picture of the Opus Dei house down the hill, with the miracle palm trees.