There's a part of me knows, deep down inside, that it probably is possible, if you try really, really, really hard, to have a bad meal in Spain. Burger King exist there, for a start, and although they sell alcohol as a concession to their European location I somewhat doubt they also do an arròs negre special or platter of Iberico ham to keep local sensibilities happy. And I'm sure if you went to the nearest Tex Mex off the Plaça Catalunya in Barcelona or ordered fish and chips from Mike's Bar in Torremolinos it's possible you won't be served anything worth writing home about but then if you were the kind of person who wanted to eat burritos in Barcelona or fish and chips in Andalusia then perhaps that wouldn't bother you too much. But after a recent two-week trip to Catalonia where we didn't have one single meal less than very good, and most were in fact much better than that, I came away with the impression that this is a part of the world where eating well is as vital a part of normal everyday life as electricity or hot and cold running water, and that good food is something approaching a natural human right. In the first few days we would do our research, revisit reliable old haunts and Michelin-showered sure things, and it was all lovely. But after a while we realised that we could basically plonk ourselves down anywhere, order whatever seafood they had available with a few rounds of anchovy toast, and come away deliriously happy. Oh and having spent a pittance, too - that's another thing about Spain. Hardly a likely spot for one of the best lunches of the holiday, I know - but the first clue we were onto something good was that dotted amongst the usual family-friendly offerings of nachos and burgers appeared to be some rather well-selected seafood. First to arrive was a giant plate of clams, drowning in oil and garlic and parsley, which had that fantastic bouncy chew of the best fresh bivalves and a wonderful clean, meaty flavour. Razor clams were also top-notch, dressed in much the same way and presented just as simply and honestly. They arrived alongside pa amb tomàquet - delicate thin coca bread with just enough squishy summer tomato to let them keep their crisp and shape, and a bowl of patatas bravas, lovely crunchy little bites of fried potato draped in aioli. It was all far, far better than it needed to be for a little honeytrap bar operating out of a tourist information office. But if the clams and tapas had been great, these Palamós prawns were life-changing. I have gone on at length on this blog previously how these giant red prawns are some of the best protein of any kind it's possible to eat, and that they are a must-order if you ever see them on a menu. You do occasionally come across similar species in London at high-end places like Barrafina, where they're called Carabineros and are still lovely, except of course in the UK they cost about £16 each. This plate of six plump, salty, expertly grilled beasties that were probably flapping around happily in the Mediterranean sea a few hours previously, were a ludicrous €18 - the kind of seafood mega-bargain that only seems to happen in this part of the world. There were still concessions to the tourist-friendly stuff that keeps the rest of the family happy - burgers were decent (I tried a bit of the wagyu one) and a bowl of cheesy nachos had, well, plenty of cheese, and none of it was unreasonably priced, but the real story here was the seafood - incredible, fresh, cheap, expertly cooked seafood, for what in the end came to about €20 per person. After lunch we stopped by another local favourite - Gelat Artesà de Peratallada, an interesting little independent ice cream shop specialising in, shall we say, rather unusual flavours. Alongside classics like strawberry, mint chocolate chip and coffee you can try Roquefort, or gazpacho, or even l'Escala anchovy - certainly not the kind of varieties you can drag out of the freezer at your local corner shop. Not brave enough to try the anchovy I had a bit of olive oil, which was rather lovely, so maybe next time I should go full seafood. Certainly after the stilton ice cream at 8 I'm convinced that savoury/sweet ice creams are the way forward. Behind the ice cream cabinet at the back of the shop at Gelat Artesà was a new gin bar, where not only do they serve their own gin - Outer Gin (flavoured with various local fruits and herbs) - but will incorporate it into a quite elaborate gin and tonic where the aromatics and dried fruits are painstakingly tweezered in to a giant copa glass. This too, alongside the ice cream experience, comes very highly recommended. 9/10

OMG that moquette!

Bus Route Of The Day 138: Bromley North to Coney Hall Location: Outer London south Length of journey: 5 miles, 30 minutes Because it's 13th August I've been out riding the 138, because that's the Bus Route Of The Day. The 138 is one of several buses that serve the Bromley hinterland, funnelling suburbanfolk towards the shops and meatier transport options. It exists chiefly to serve an interwar estate to the south of Hayes, performing a loop around the back-avenues before returning to Bromley, and has been doing this mostly-uninterrupted since 1940. And because Coney Hall is an unseen mystery for the vast majority of Londoners I thought I'd spend half today's post on the bus and half exploring the near-rural hideaway at the far end. The 138 is operated by a fleet of single-door single-deckers and has recently been logistically shafted. It used to run every 20 minutes, or rather every 21-22 minutes because timetabling is a messy business, but in March was suddenly reduced to a half-hourly service. TfL argued this allowed them to run a more reliable service with the same number of vehicles, this because traffic conditions in Bromley are often somewhat congested. Local councillors argued the frequency reduction meant residents were concerned and angry yadda yadda ULEZ yadda yadda imposed without warning yadda yadda fundamental sense of unfairness yadda yadda but their petition had no effect so people now wait longer. I waited patiently. The weaving run through central Bromley always seems to take an age, this the inevitable consequence of high street pedestrianisation. All this manouvring did however provide optimum conditions for admiring the flower beds down the centre of Kentish Way, the blast of geraniums sponsored by local business Coutts (the electrical contractors not the bank). Our first true passengers board in the High Street, the early vanguard of shoppers returning home with bulging carriers, a bouquet of flowers and in one case a single bicycle tyre inside a bag for life. One lady grabs a Metro, not for the journey but for proper perusal when she gets home. And once we have a dozen on board we set off via Westmoreland Road, a gentle climb into instant suburbia. Superloop route SL5 also runs this way, now finally operated by double deckers, and it's noticeable that the first six passengers to alight our bus do so only at stops the express service skips. blogged), also the roundabout ahead is doubly special because the Greenwich meridian crosses it (as previously blogged) and it's the start of the A2022 (ditto). And so we reach Coney Hall. Coney Hall Farm, whose tenant had sole rights to catch rabbits (coneys) on a neighbouring patch of West Wickham Common. The estate was finally sold for housing in 1928 after the last owner died and was purchased by Morrell Brothers, housebuilders whose portfolio also included most of Petts Wood. They built avenues of white-fronted houses, also a single flat-roofed Art Deco house that's now part of the local health centre. Construction quality wasn't always great and in 1937 a Coney Hall resident called Elsy Borders led a mortgage strike citing 'slapdash workmanship', her default ultimately leading to an appeal heard in the House of Lords. If you have an hour spare, this Radio 4 drama tells the full story. London Transport initially refused to send buses onto the estate so a private 'luxury' coach service was provided to the nearest station at Hayes, but an ill-judged flotation on the stock market saw Morrells enter bankruptcy and the 138 arrived soon after. The Rabbit Hole Tavern. The loudest voice in Coney Hall belongs to the busybody who's slapped a huge banner opposite the Co-Op bemoaning a potential phone mast on the Green. Where is the integrity here, it screams, before urging everyone to fire off complaints to three separate email addresses because "4G is already adequate in our area". Perhaps if everyone had shouted louder, the public toilets the banner's attached to wouldn't have been closed forever. lumpen Greenwich Meridian marker by the changing rooms, although you won't remember the new bijou multi-use games area because the mayor of Bromley opened that just last month. The Loop also passes through the churchyard of St John The Baptist, by far the oldest church in West Wickham, now unhelpfully located on the brow of a steep paddock a mile out of town. The last bus stop before the Hail and Ride section is at Chestnut Avenue, this the 'hesitation point' where the driver always stops to flip the blind back to Bromley North even if nobody's waiting. And nobody was. Coney Hall's final houses butt up against Well Wood, a sizeable woodland left over from the original farmscape and opened up to the public in 1948. The paucity of public footpaths hereabouts mean it gets used to walk every dog in the district, and the provision of a small car park off Layhams Road makes getting here all too easy. The woods are lovely, just large enough to weave through and thick with oak, larch and holly, plus a slew of bluebells if you'd been here three months ago. Hunt carefully and you might find the plantation of Douglas fir planted for timber production in the war. And if you continue down the lane it suddenly gets really rural, a sheet of fields around the tiny hamlet of Nash which somehow is part of Greater London but where TfL have never sent a bus. The route that gets closest is the 138, but best alight the Bus of the Day in Coney Hall as intended. • Route 138: route map Route 138: live route map Route 138: route history Route 138: timetable Route 138: The Ladies Who Bus