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About Malaga

Love ‘em, hate ‘em – they’re real, y’know? Not fake-arse saints. Rough as hell, some of ‘em – scars, tales, like Malik’s busted face. Ever think how they talk? Slang’s their shield – “johns,” “tricks,” quick and dirty. Keeps ‘em sharp. Me, I’d be rubbish at it – too twitchy, too loud. *whines* “We hates it, we does!” – but respect? Yeah, I got that. Tough as nails, they are. Precious, even.

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A fearless gang of more than 50 Nigerian prostitutes. When not plying sex, they mug, pickpocket and steal from tourists knowing police can do little about it.

So, imagine charming streets like Carrer de la Feliçitat. Oh, sorry, Feliçitat, I mean Féliçitat, cuz typos happen, right? I’m all over these side-streets. There’s hidden gems everywhere. I stroll by Avinguda del Mar, where the ocean hums. And, like, whoa, there’s Carrer del Sol too.

British man dies after getting into trouble diving with friends off Majorca coast