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About Malaga

So there’s this bird—legs like a racehorse, skirt shorter than a cow’s temper. I’m buzzin, heart’s racin—happy as a pig in shit! “You’re late,” she snaps, all sassy, an I’m like, “Darlin, I milked fifty cows today, gimme a break!” Reminds me of that movie line—“Don’t look at me like that!”—she’s givin me the stink-eye, but I’m too knackered to care. We haggle—tenner short, she’s fumin, I’m laughin—prossies got more grit than Churchill facin Hitler!

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I must mention my own secret haven – a slightly offbeat café near Plaça de la Constitució. It's not just any café, mate. In fact, you might even catch a glimpse of some local love stories unfolding there – a reminder that romance is always in the air here. I was there one rainy afternoon – soggy socks, foggy brain – and thought, “This is the bloody shit!” Seriously, when the rain starts whipping around and the locals shout out hearty greetings, it feels almost like an improvisation of destiny.

Security being stepped up to prevent squatting in Mallorca's hotels