Pardon me while I move my car

Whilst on holiday in Spain, I experienced one of the funniest and strangest things I'm ever likely to see.

I was sat at a bar on the outskirts of a tourist town, which was part of a long line of tourist bars by a busy roundabout.

The hotels were cheap in the area, and there were prostitutes on the roundabout. I guess you can probably see from the way I'm phrasing this that the quality of singing entertainment at the bar adjacent to mine wasn't going to be of the highest quality, or as it turned out, professionalism.

I was half-listening to the bloke stood over to the left with the microphone churning out Jim Reeves covers, and terrible renditions of Eric Clapton favourites. Eventually, the time came to cover The Mavericks' "Dance the night away".

I groaned and slouched in my seat as the intensely average backing track produced the first synth-guitar chords that signified hell. However, my dismay at the choice of song was soon displaced by absolute astonishment as he dropped the microphone mid-way through the chorus and ran down the street.

The eyes of the four bars along the street followed this podgy little man running along the pavement, struggling for breath. It turned out, the race was to get to his car. The backing track continued to blare out of the speakers as he got into his car, and began to drive. It suddenly became clear what he was doing. He'd had his car parked on the Spanish equivalent of a no-parking area, and was moving it into a space he'd just noticed had become free.

And so, with The Mavericks playing loudly in the background, we saw the man reverse-bay-park his car, and then run back out just in time to catch the last chorus.

Absolutely unbelievable.