Madrid, Spain
All work and no play makes William a dull boy... and we can't have that! Not when there's sunshine and excitement to be had away from the cold, grey disappointment of the British weather.
So a couple of days' work in Lisbon is easily extended to allow a weekend break, and with a bit of planning and swapping of flights Coman and I gain an unexpected trip away.
Having been to Lisbon exactly a year ago with Smashing Pumpkins, we decide that spending a few days here again would be repeating ourselves so settle on Madrid - a short hop for me, and a blast of sunshine for Coman who'll be flying in from a work trip to Dublin for our romantic rendezvous.
Having left London at a ridiculously early hour in pouring rain it's somewhat disappointing to find Lisbon overcast and windy on arrival. I'm here with my colleague Paul, photographer Danny and writer Nick, to cover the second date of Maiden's 2013 world tour, and my bags consist of sun cream, t-shirts and shorts, but it's jeans and jackets weather. Hmmm.
We have no choice but to sit in the main square and drink coffee while we wait for our rooms to be ready at our hotel, shivering slightly and desperately willing the sun to peek through the grey clouds.
It may only be 11.30am but we're already accosted by dealers on every street corner, trying to sell us knock-off sunglasses and then, when we decline, offering us a variety of drugs. Huge bags of narcotics are openly displayed, far more likely to be filled with crushed-up paracetamol or packets of oregano than the real thing.
The dealers get quite the hump when we tell them we're not in the market for their dodgy deals, seemingly unable to comprehend that a cup of coffee or a flagon of beer is quite enough for us. While I remember being offered drugs a fair few times last time I was here, it's almost inescapable this time round, no doubt because Danny and Nick look a lot more 'rock' than the suave and debonair Coman Kenny. Everywhere we go the same hissed refrain follows us; "weed, hash, cocaaaine!!"
Eschewing highs of an illegal nature we decide that altitude is the answer so take a trip up to Castello de Sao Jorge, the castle that affords glorious views of the city, and soak up the sun that has finally made an appearance. A lovely lunch and a walk round the Alfalma and Barrio Alto districts means that the first-time visitors amongst us get some sightseeing done but it's Iron Maiden we're here to see.
And so off we trot to meet them all, interviews to be done and shoots to be completed. It all goes without a hitch, washed down by the rather delicious Trooper beer that the band have developed. And no trip to Maiden-land would be complete without a gig, so at the ginormous Parque Altantique we fight our way through 18,000 roaring fans to clamber onto the mixing desk and watch anthem after anthem unleashed upon the adoring masses. As a warm-up to next weekend's Download Festival - where there'll be 100,000 fans going crazy - it's a pretty impressive sight.
Next morning, after Danny and I take a morning constitutional in blazing sunshine to Parque Eduardo VII, drinking in the magnificent views stretched before us, I grab breakfast and pack my bags, taking my leave of the boys who travel back to the UK later, and head off to the airport on my own.
When we'd decided on Madrid a couple of weeks ago, I'd not twigged that Maiden's next show is also in the Spanish capital so, anxious to avoid Coman's precious few days off being interrupted by a heavy metal concert, I've not told the band I'm following in their footsteps. It seems, however, that many of their fans are, as the Easyjet flight from Lisbon to Madrid is a sea of Maiden t-shirts.
It's not a particularly long flight and as it's still early and Coman's not due to arrive until late tonight I decide to give Madrid's Metro system a try, as it runs directly from the airport into the city and our hotel is right next to Santo Domingo station. I'd not banked on the fact that much of the network seems to lack escalators and I have a spectacularly heavy bag as I've brought not only my stuff but also most of Coman's clothes too as he's travelling with hand luggage only. Two gay men don't pack light for almost a week away.
It takes a good hour of dragging, hauling, cursing and sweating, having to change lines twice at stations that sprawl across many levels, before I emerge into the evening sunlight mere steps away from the Hotel Emperador, located slap bang on Gran Via, Madrid's main city thoroughfare. Groaning with relief I check in, and am so knackered I don't even complain when the receptionist informs me that using the wi-fi costs €15 per 24 hours - which is essentially daylight robbery and naked profiteering. I just want to get to our room and slump on the bed.
It's gone 8pm by the time I'm unpacked and as Coman still doesn't arrive for almost 3 hours yet I decide I'll head out for some food. I may be in the heart of one of the world's most exciting cuisines with tapas options all around but the first place that catches my eye is a Starbucks right opposite the hotel. Oooooh, free wifi by any chance? Indeed it is. Hurrah.
So for the price of a decaf Americano, I'm happily online and updating away, listening to Corinne Bailey Rae being played on the stereo. I think we could be breakfasting here most days to come - as long as they do a chai tea latte Coman will be happy...
