Take Tuesday morning for example. On Tuesday I woke up in the countryside, drove to the nearest city (Tarragona, where Pontius Pilate went after washing his hands of things on the other side of the Mediterranean), took a few snaps of the cathedral, visited a friend's new apartment, went to the market to buy fresh fish and fruit and had a short walk along the rambla. On the way home we stopped in a village to buy fresh pastries, which we then enjoyed with a cup of coffee on the terrace. Then I had a swim, a long bask in the sunshine, I helped make a paella and then sat down for lunch at about 2pm.
This morning, back in Blighty, I got up, had a cup of coffee, cleaned out the cat's loo, had a chat with my sister, got on a bus to Pimlico and by then it was time for lunch. So there we have it. Spanish hours stretch further than British ones.