I wish I could describe to you the beauty of the blue Mediterranean, reflecting the clear sky above it. I wish I could tell you of a balmy daytime and stunning sunsets.

Unfortunately, the sky and the seas have both been grey, and the waves have lashed against the shore in a tumble of angry foam, while a cold wind has whipped the palm trees – and all this while we get reports of a spring-like week in Scotland.

I am sure the previous paragraph will lift your hearts. There is something particularly satisfying in learning that people who have sought sunny climes during Scotland's dour winter months have been baulked of them.

Actually, we did not come here for the weather (although this was not what we expected), but to bring one of the knight's old cars down in readiness for a classic car rally in April.

David Pratt, energetic chairman of the Borders Vintage Automobile Club, and his wife, Daphne, bought an apartment on the Costa Del Sol at about the same time as we invested our little house in France. This will be the third Claret and Classics rally we've taken part in with them, and some months ago we all came to the conclusion it would be better to get the cars out here early on in order to save us a gruelling drive immediately before the Andalusian rally.

It's been a journey of more than 1,000 miles on the roads. First of all from the Borders to Portsmouth, where we caught the ferry to Bilbao on Spain's northern coast. Then another two days on the road. Our overnight stop was just south of Madrid, where we had been recommended to try the parador at Chinchon.

When we arrived in Chinchon, we thought there was a local fiesta on. The stunning little square, barricaded off to traffic, was full of cafe tables catching the sunshine, and children parading around on a train of donkeys. The houses surrounding the plaza all had balconies, and there were tables on many of these as well.

The locals sharing our table were friendly and expansive, especially once Daphne started using her excellent Spanish. They told us that this was not a special event, but happened every weekend, and that people came from far and near just to enjoy being in Chinchon's square (it's actually circular and is used for the town's bullfights).

The two old cars caused some appreciation as we made our way down the motorway. The Pratts went ahead in their eye-catching E-type coupe – we followed in more majestic fashion in the knight's black Mark II.

At one point an unmarked police car with plain clothes officers indicated that we should pull over into the side. I suspected that it would be a routine check on the equipment needed for driving on mainland Europe – triangles, reflective vests, spare bulbs and so on. As I'd insisted that the knight made up any deficiencies in this regard at the store on the ferry, I preened myself while he dealt with them. However, the police were carrying out a drugs check – but had rather a strange way of carrying it out.