I should be in a suit.

The early morning plinky plonk music that preceded the flat tones of the tri-lingual lady have faded from memory. Shortly the memory of the stampede for the car decks will have faded as well. As we were last off and remarkably fast adopters of The Spanish Way it took little effort to allow those in pursuit of time to pass, albeit with some difficulty at the lift doors on each landing of the eight decks which we needed to descend.

Once settled in the car it was most amusing to observe the manoeuvring styles adopted by drivers attempting to extricate themselves from a corner in the bowels of Brittany Ferries' finest. Or one of them. Slowly and graciously we brought up the rear, set the position on the satnav to " home," flashed the passports and joined the arterial system of norther Spain. Easy enough, all I had to do was to listen to the two ladies, one told me where to go the other droned on helpfully telling me to keep to the right, keep right, the other right, that right, etc., etc..

All this before 0800 local and after only un cafe y no desunayo either. By 0900 the satnav had us parked between two rather large Mercs outside the hotel kindly offered to us by Brittany Ferries. A humble Jazz did look out of place admittedly but this was obviously a sign, although we didn't realise it the time. Maybe we should have realised that our hotel was a bit good as it has it's own signage from the motorway to the door. The fact that it's flags wave over the town was also a clue. We hoped for a nice room, we didn't expect to be under the Union Flag.

The reception lady suggested a wander and return in a couple of hours would see our room readied for us. A delightful stroll around Castro Urdinales, dos cafés y un sandwich, find the bus stop for tomorrow's bus to Bilbao and return along a sandy beach, still being swept and manicured and we're back. Nice place. Nothing special but nice. The Jazz still looks out of place.

The lady was sorry but there was a problem and there was only one room left, 502. What was the problem, then? It's not a room it's a suite. A full on suite. The lift told us that floors 1-3 have 18 rooms each, 4 had 15 and 5 had 5.

Enter through the door and a corridor leads to the bathroom complex, sharp left and there's a bed. It is wider than it is long and it is far longer than me. There's a telly that's bigger than would fit through our front door at home, a Grundig surround sound system than my iPod sits in, sadly it is so old that the iPad isn't catered for. Stroll past the fridge and kitchen area, detour around the bed and eventually you get to the balcony. Balcony? You could play tennis here. It overlooks the beach we'd wandered over a short while ago, the harbour entrance is in full view, too.

The wifi is like last year's F1 cars, fast and it lets you know it's fast too. Screaming, really. Once the coffee had been made I explored the bathroom and I shall now have to use all it's facilities just so I get to wear the pristine white towelling bath robes pressed in their plastic sleeves and hanging on their separate hooks. I shall only wear one, of course. It just has to be done.

We had thought we'd explore further this afternoon but we made our way to the nearest supermercado, purchased a bottle of red, three litres of San Miguel, un pain, un tin of olives (stuffed), un jar of allioli and a bar of Valor almond chocolate.

We are back.
The balcony.
The view.
The cuisine.
400 miles apart in space, coincidental in mind.
I love The Spanish Way.

It really doesn't get much better than this.
And, yes, I do feel that I ought to be in a suit.
Like all the people meeting down on the lower floors.

Oh, well, shorts, sandals and an only slightly soiled shirt will have to do.
Not that it matters.

I'm not going anywhere!