On a warm, sunny, February day Granada is its usual varied mix of humanity. Each person has his own business, her own purpose, their own pace.

Old men in faded jackets and berets sit around the fountain watching the bustle with world-weary atonishment.

Mothers hurry past with small children, dragging bags on wheels laden with educational aids.

Businessmen in suits and ties talk into mobile phones as they stroll home for lunch with their families.

Tourists hunt for souvenirs and authenitic Spanish cuisine.

On a stone bench opposite the fountain, two girls discuss a drawing. Both adorned with piercings, they appear to be discussing a tattoo for one girl's back. They are soon joined by several other "grungy" teenagers and laugh and joke together.

The street-cleaner passes, standing out in his flourescent uniform. He studiously avoids eye-contact with any of his fellow members of the human race, while he maintains their surroundings for them.

Tables crowd one half of the plaza as restaurants vie for the varied trade. Two well-dressed Spanish men chat over lunch while their young dog wanders around, chasing birds and socialising with the wide variety of other canines in the sqaure. A round faced European with a large moustache enjoys his coffee after his meal while under his table a battle between two pidgeons over a crust of bread is ended by the lightening smash and grab of a tiny sparrow.

A young oriental couple are closely studying guide and phrase books as they pick through a Paella they have ordered while on the next table a bronzed, well-toned retired British couple persuade their waitress to photograph them with their Spanish meal.