BENIDORMANT Elly and I didn't know what to expect when Alan dropped us off, probably with considerable relief, at Stansted Airport around midday on Thursday 10th December. The airport was a vast echoing space with nary a traveller to be seen anywhere. We had arrived early so, chatting and looking at the shops, we strolled around the vastness, or sat drinking coffee in magnificent isolation. At last a few travellers began to mill around and we boarded our aircraft. At take-off, Elly was apprehensive at the way the wings quivered like those of a wind-tossed grey butterfly. Elly, newly arrived from Australia, was delighted at the vista of cosy villages nestling in green countryside. On arrival in Alicante at dusk we were met by the tour bus and gazed out of the windows at the only-too-familiar urban landscape - expressways, cheap-eats joints and high-rise apartments sprinkled with lights. The real Spain soon manifested itself in a procession of huge jagged mountains looming out of the blackness. At our hotel we were regaled with what we more or less had every night - hot pork or other meat in gravy, hot vegetables, a selection of salads and cold meats. We were chagrined to have to pay for TV in our room although TV had been featured as standard in that hotel in the tour brochure. We were also somewhat miffed that there were no coffee- or tea-making facilities. Elly was disappointed that the breakfast fare contained no grilled tomato, bacon or eggs, only things she did not enjoy like hard toast, cold ham, meat loaf and cheese, croissants, butter and jam. There was, however, plenty of good hot coffee and tea. The next morning we booked up for three tours and arranged to see some cousins who had been living on the Costa Blanca for fifteen years, then had a look around the Benidorm shops. The clothes that appealed to us were astronomically priced and we consequently scorned them. We found some of our requirements, like shampoo, cigarettes, orange juice and sherry, reasonably priced in a little supermarket tucked away at the end of the town. Benidorm is a cluster of tall thin apartment blocks staked out around a nice half-moon bay, with a spectacular rock stuck out in the centre of it. The skyscrapers were wreathed in a light smog or mist in the coolish sunny air. We walked in search of the authentic Spain in the older area of the town but only found English-style pubs and clothes shops flaunting every sort of tempting luxury - silk, woollen, leather-trimmed sweaters, beaded and heavily embroidered, elegant suits and dresses at huge prices. Impassive Spanish women, large, solid and foursquare, stood on guard while we looked and touched, their hard brown-eyed disdain at our unwillingness or inability to purchase matched by our disgust at the expensiveness of everything. We visited cousins the next day and were picked up at Calpa station and driven around hairpin bends amid craggy mountains in fantastic and unexpected shapes. The drought-stricken terraced landscape appeared to sport only gorse and dried-up sticks which we understood were almond and citrus trees. The cousins' casa was of white stucco with small windows amid hundreds of others similar. Sitting on their hot sunny patio I wished, for the only time during the entire holiday, that I had worn one of the summer dresses I had brought with me, instead of jeans and sweater. On the way back to Benidorm on the train we struck up a conversation with an English foursome with Midland accents who had apparently been in one of the ubiquitous English pubs in Calpe partaking somewhat too freely of Spanish schnapps. They were fulsome in their praise of Benidorm which in their opinion rivalled Benny Hill in its ability to provide everything in the way of amusing entertainment. "We just loove the poob food, loovely steak, eggs and chips. We loove the beaches and the bingo too. We see the same loovely people twice a year. We've been 'ere nine times already." Hubby joined in with enthusiastic praise of the English footy on telly, and the karaoke. My compatriots, however, were not uniformly pleasant and predictable. Once the restaurant at the hotel was fuller than usual, and we were obliged to sit at a table which had a small handbag at one of the set places. We had just started eating when an irate plumpish middle-aged Englishwoman stormed up, snatching the paper serviette from beneath my plate for some reason and slamming it down on the table. "We've been sitting here for twenty minutes" she stormed illogically. "This table is booked. You have no right to sit here!" I snatched the crumpled serviette back and glared. "Excuse me! There aren't any booked seats here, for a start. I assure we would far rather have sat at a table on our own. You're being extremely rude!" At that she quietened down, but a glance at Elly's face revealed that she was now getting thoroughly steamed up. The woman looked at me. "I'm sorry", she murmured. "I've had this terrible headache all day, you see." Shoving her plate away from her, Elly stood suddenly, uttered a few well-chosen epithets and left stormily. I finished eating as quickly as possible then took her meal up to her room because I didn't see why the woman's unprovoked attack should result in Elly missing her meal. The next day we decided to despatch some postcards so went in search of postage stamps. After many enquiries as to the location of the 'estafeta' or 'telegrafos' we meandered around the streets trying to follow the confusing and contradictory directions we had been given. At last we reached a place labelled 'telegrafos' and mounted a dark, narrow flight of stairs. When our eyes became accustomed to the gloom we realised that the small room we were in was full of dark, silent Spaniards standing in a queue. We took our place in the queue only to be told, when reaching the counter, that we could purchase no stamps that day and would have to return 'maņana'. It was particularly irritating to know that stamps had been sold to those ahead of us in the queue. Although the postal service was a letdown, the hairdresser more than came up to scratch. Elly had a shampoo, trim, straighten and blow-dry. I had all that minus the straighten. The girls in the salon gave us prolonged and meticulous attention. Elly commented that they were perfectionists as they snipped away and fussed over our hair as if unwilling to let us go. The Calpe market was full of goods far cheaper than in the rash of shops in Benidorm's hub. Enthusiastic stall-holders pursued us from stall to stall, plying us with watches, wallets and other goodies, or shouting to us to inspect items of clothing. We rummaged happily through bargain stalls, attracted by the variety and cheapness of the goods. We did, however, resist buying some tempting tan suede shoes. Later we regretted not having succumbed, as we saw the same item ten times as dear in the UK. However, we had been warned about Spanish leather which was reputedly a synthesis of plastic and cardboard liable to disintegrate swiftly after purchase. After a light meal, we were astounded to see a huge sea of litter where the market had been. One of the highlights of our trip was the 'Lemon Express', primarily because it was the opposite of what it purported to be. For a start, there was no evidence of any lemons, although the dried stakes in the fields may well have once been lemon trees. 'Express', too, was a misnomer, as the train chugged along at a very modest speed. At the top of his voice, which was further amplified by a mike, a German tour guide commented on the trip as we ambled along, cracking corny jokes. We stopped to inspect a guitar and a basket factory and had coffee. The return trip was a real humdinger. We had old songs of the 'Roll out the Barrel' variety played with painful loudness - our pain partly anaesthetised by liberal draughts of champagne in plastic cups frequently recharged by a couple of Spanish guys who rocked and rolled up and down the swaying carriages. Slowly the stiffness and starchiness of the English tourists' expressions began to melt. They joined laughingly in singing the old favourites which blasted out, getting sillier as they got drunker. We smirked at each other as we saw what was happening but partook liberally of the bubbly going the rounds. The young English couple next to us refused the alcohol with an almost religious high-mindedness, no doubt stoically suppressing their agony of having no ecstasy. At last we tumbled out of the train at Benidorm station about two in the afternoon, silly as coots, absolutely starved and what could only be described as completely pissed. However we did not remain Benidormant for long and soon set out again from our hotel to check what the town had to offer besides English pubs, beer, egg and chips, meat pies and bingo.