In the eleven years I’ve lived in Spain I’ve been back to UK just a handful of times. For the first seven years I didn’t go back at all, and since then I’ve limited my stays to just a few days. I don’t know why. So when my sisters, one from UK and one from Australia decided to come here for ten days it was both the first time together in Spain and the longest amount of time we’d spent together since childhood.

We had a great time, but what was interesting was the way we behaved. Doing the dance of the gathered siblings was fine for a while, but then it was as if the choreographer took a coffee break.

In the first few days we fascinated in the differences in ourselves, our homes, our lives. It was a pride fest. I know that sounds cheesy but I think we are all proud of the people we’ve grown to be. Maybe we crammed too much into the first days, maybe it was because the choreographer took a break or maybe somebody switched the music off I don’t know, but by half way through the first week the air started to change colour. It wasn’t anything major, infact the other Mr. Andaloo didn’t notice at this point that the dynamics were moving in another direction. There were sideways glances, body language which spoke volumes and comments. Comments between siblings can be delivered with missile accuracy.

By the time they left we’d reverted to behaving like children. Arms folded we jibed, sneered and pushed the buttons we knew would have best impact. We all saw the funny side of what we were doing but couldn’t help doing it, we were the kids we used to be scoring points from each other.

Airport goodbyes are always sad, but we spent their last hour here laughing at ourselves. I’m sure that today, like me, they’ll be looking back at the antics of the past ten days with a wry smile and looking forward to the next time we meet.

Quote of the holiday; “I went to a sex shop in Sydney. What are you supposed to do with a gas mask anyway?”