We had landed at Malaga airport,
For a fortnight (we hoped) in the sun.
It was there that I mislaid my hoodie,
And our trip, it had barely begun.
Quite clearly I hadn't been thinking,
When I'd done all my holiday packing:
The tops in my case were all skimpy,
And sleeves were decidedly lacking.
No cardigans, sweaters or jackets...
Their absence began to seem silly
When early next day on our terrace,
The climate seemed really quite chilly.
In a village nearby was a clothes' shop.
We'd nicknamed it "Madame Louise".
We should see what she sold, I decided -
To protect from that cool mountain breeze.
The boutique was stuffed full of strange garments -
Brightly coloured and covered in bling.
The owner extolled all their virtues.
I said, "Sequins are not quite 'my thing'.
Nor rhinestones, nor transfers, nor slogans.
Swirls of glitter are not to be relished."
Then I spotted a black jersey item,
And hoped that it wasn't embellished.
It was long. It had very big pockets...
Was three sizes too big, but it draped
And was PLAIN with not even a button.
We paid what it cost and escaped.
"You won't wear it again," said my husband.
"Yes I will!" (I was keen to convince.)
And that desperate "Hobson's choice" purchase,
Is something I've worn ever since.
It's the first thing that goes in my suitcase.
It is lightweight - a traveller's dream.
It's good-tempered - shows scarcely a crinkle.
And I wish I could find one in cream.