Spanish stroll an idyllic interlude

FROM PURPLE woods to purple plains. Last week, I was in a West Cork wood, marvelling at the almost overnight transformation as, suddenly, all together, the bluebells opened in flower.

Today, driving south from Seville to Algeciras in the south of Spain, I can hardly keep my eyes on the road, so captivating are the swathes of colour thrown over the hills, huge carpets of purple, red or gold. The wild flowers of Andalucia are again in bloom and, as always, I cannot help but marvel.

Knee-deep in fields of lavender, between the shady cork oaks and old olive trees, slow, russet-brown cattle graze. They seem unperturbed by the hot sun. It is already hotting up, albeit only early May, and it would be madness to go abroad without a hat — to do so would surely invite madness, as the brains baste in their psychic juices under the Andalucian sun.