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By Keith Floyd
Published 1992
Nursing a monstrous hangover, which was brought about not only by too much Málaga wine but also by the discordant jangling of ‘authentic’ Spanish flamenco dancing and music, the great guitarist John ‘Fingers’ Williams and I were painfully trying to come to terms with another splendid Spanish morning.
From a hotel terrace high above Málaga, we could see the Roman bullring and the busy port with lighters, cargo vessels, fishing boats and cruise ships. John was plucking away in between