I know that I should work, I know I should show self discipline, I know that I should just sit down in front of the keyboard and do whatever the top thing on the huge to-do list is. I am well aware that I should spend my daylight hours doing something useful and constructive. Societal conventions and the logical part of my brain tell me all of these things.

There are days though when the more frivolous part of your brain, along with your heart, beats all of that logical stuff into submission. It’s good that there are such days, because what kind of life would it be without them.

It was on one of these days not too long ago that I first idled the afternoon away in the best of ways. Sitting on the decking of a little seaside shack. I ate, drank, dug holes in the sand, all whilst watching the waves and enjoying light but inspiring conversation. What more could someone want?

Where I live, the temperature is dropping now, but the autumn climate means that you still get a fair few days where you can sit on the beach. The sea is just as blue as it was in mid Summer, and the burning sand feels just as hot as well. If you are willing to put up with the occasional vastly overweight and disturbingly underdressed tourist strolling past then the view is spectacular as well.

We found this little place (cafe? bar? restaurant? shack?) by accident. All that it asked of me was a willingness to overlook the fact that the toilets were last cleaned, don’t even think about refurbished, when General Franco was sill alive and kicking. For this selective blindness, I was richly rewarded.

I was born by the sea, and every time that I have lived inland, I have found that I miss it horribly. Anywhere that offers me a bit of decking and a wonky bar right on the beach sand, where I can look out to the and see all the way to the point where the blues of the sea and sky merge, has a piece of my heart from the first moment. I also love Belgian beers, and old faded signs advertising a variety of different ones can only add to the allure of a place.

Settling in with a glass of Kriek, I surveyed the random components of a touristy beach: huts, parasols, discarded cigarette ends and crisp packets, red and freckly Northern Europeans. None of the components sounds overly appetising, but it shocking how quickly this activity makes a man hungry. This man got hungry, and had no choice but to send his more linguistically gifted companion to see what can be done about something to sate his emptiness.

It turns out that the lunch on offer is a platter of tapas. Partially due to a lack of other options, the decision for tapas is a simple one, and it is duly ordered. What arrives is a surprise, a huge platter, piled up with interesting goodies: Calamari and gambas, anchovies and tortilla, olives, pieces of fried chicken, and breaded pieces of succulent white fish that Emma likes to call “proper fish fingers”. Everything is fresh and well cooked, and yummy, and is perfect washed down with a bottle of local white wine. At the end the platter for two has fed three humans and the beautiful shiny beach cat, who had been letting her appetites and desires known in a discreet yet very persistent vocal manner throughout the meal.

I’ve since learned that the cat is the resident quality control expert in this part of the beach. She has a bed on the outer ledge of the kitchen window which she regular keeps watch through, and is regularly passed ingredients to test by the chef. Highly industrious, she also undertakes wandering patrols along the other bars in the area. This fish freshness expert is more than slightly picky, and you can test if your fish or seafood is fresh by offering a piece for inspection. If she deigns to eat it, then you can be sure that it is from today’s catch, and cooked only moments go.

After coffee for adults and ice cream for the child came the moment to head back to home and desk. I’d happily wasted away four and a half hours achieving nothing, except for some serious cleansing of the soul. I’d also learned to speak a bit of Spanish cat, and can now miaow ‘anchovy’ perfectly.

I’ve been back for similar afternoons a few times since, and I’ll make sure to find the time for plenty more of them. I suggest everyone else should do the same whenever they can.