Little Britain, Will the Dragon Slayer Be Revealed.

Whilst sitting in doctors waiting room, trying to figure out if I was in fact in the right queue, as one side are waiting to see the nurse, and the other side to see the doctor, only as in most things in Spain, there are no signs, so you really have to take pot luck. I usually try to see if anyone is wearing a sling or a bandage or an eye patch at least, then that’s usually a sign which queue I should join. Today I was lucky as an English nurse was on duty, highly unusual.

I got talking to a middle aged man, who had moved to Spain over 12 months ago, he asked if hubby and me fancied a game of darts in the tennis club, the following Thursday. He had bought one of the new houses, in the small village not too far from where I lived. ‘Little Britain’, me and hubby called it. Why not we thought, although we did stress, we would just call for a drink, as darts are definitely not my forte, unless someone was looking to be impaled, by a loose flying dart, as targets are just not me. Darts in my hands seem to turn into rubber and bounce. I don’t care how big the dart board is.

Little Britain, or Wisteria Lane, as I call it, was initially a small farm, it was granted permission, to change the original ‘Rustica’ land surrounding the farm, or ‘cortijo’, as they are called here, into an ‘urbanization’ and building soon began. Initially building was slow, with only three plots completed, and the rest of the land, left swampy, piles of bricks all over, but no building in progress. We soon discovered the original builders had gone bust, the recession, as with many other European countries had hit them hard. Unfortunately, one of our neighbors, a local kitchen contractor, who was responsible for installing some of the kitchens, prior to the slump, had not been paid, and he himself, is now facing financial hardship.

Building has now resumed, although I understand various different builders are involved. Also houses are only been built once a deposit has been received, and contracts signed. To be perfectly honest, I cannot understand why anyone, would want to come live their dream, in Spain, which offers, stunning scenery, beautiful views, lashings of fresh air and tranquility only to be surrounded by other British people ,why not move to Milton Keynes? The space between the houses, is minimal, you could shake hands with the man next door, and not leave your front door. There would be no point in trying to swing your cat; it would be slapped like a cartoon character against the neighbor’s front porch, no room to swing that even.

The first indication that another fellow countryman has joined the community, is the proverbial satellite dish, strategically pitched on the roof, god forbid anyone would miss Eastenders. Over here the dish is the size as a small island and quite impossible to hide. Then the St Georges flag is draped from the roof terrace, which fortunately are now not so abundant, after the disastrous show in the World cup.

My German neighbors just cannot understand it, ‘How do English people live’, they say, which I have no answer for, as I cannot understand it either. Anyway, Thursday came and off we went to the tennis club, we expected to see a couple of people, but were amazed to see the car park full of GB registered cars, the club was packed, all English , throwing darts. It made me wonder just how many times in the UK, these affluent, middle aged ex pats had ever been into the tap room, of their local Brewers Fare, let alone actually joined a darts team.

In fairness, they did all seem to be enjoying themselves, but it is in my opinion inevitable, that this new found comradely will break down, and the rifts appear and someone will offend someone else etc and then the dragon slayer will surface. People will complain that the English papers, are too expensive, and why don’t you get the Sunday supplements, despite the paper been printed in Spain, or why do people talk Spanish and not English , why does everywhere close at 2pm, or the classic, ‘It’s too hot’, we will see .

I will be keeping a close eye on this one, watch this space.

Mum's Passing.

It has been a while since I have had a chance to write anything on here, as I have been back in the U.K, sorting out the funeral arrangements for my mum.

Sadly my mum passed away on 10th July. She was 84, and very independent. She was found by my brother, sat in her favorite chair, in the conservatory, and had suffered a heart attack, just after finishing her breakfast

The police came, and asked if she had been planning to go abroad recently, and if she held a fire arms certificate, I did not realize that these are the types of questions asked when someone passes, but I suppose they are necessary. I think mum would have found them funny as well.

I was quite overwhelmed, by a feeling of loss, and I admit relief as well, I had always been worried, that mum may have a fall, or suffer a stroke, and be in pain until someone found her, I would have hated that. I was concerned for her welfare, as almost two years ago she had a serious fire, whilst lighting an aromatherapy oil candle, the oil spilt from the holder, and dripped onto an electric radio that was on, sparks followed , and the blinds caught fire, quickly spreading to the rest of the house. She was seen by a neighbor, trying to rescue some cushions, but her feet had caught fire, to say she was lucky not to have tripped and burned to death then, was an understatement.

Hubby & I spent four months, following the fire in the U.K, clearing through the debris, and sorting out the Insurance Company, who was excellent, the house was virtually rebuilt, and the contents replaced. We did not let mum go in the house until it was finished, and when she did, she said it was like winning the lottery, or appearing on one of those makeover programs. She was especially pleased with her new bed, as at 82 was the only new bed she ever had, she had spent many years trying to dodge a spring, that kept sticking in her back on the old one. She also loved her 42 inch plasma TV, as she could now see the picture, as before she had bought some glasses from an ad in one of the Sunday papers, she resembled Cosmo Smallpiece in them, but she assured me they helped.

The worst thing at the moment, is not been able to talk to mum, she was politics mad, which used to drive me insane, especially as she would not listen to anyone else’s opinion, or point of view.

I miss not been able to ask her what she thought of the latest series of big brother, which she, unlike me, loved. ‘I like to see the way the people connect with each other’ she used to say, ‘why don’t you watch The Apprentice’, I would say, ‘Oh no it’s far too competitive for me’, which again I could never understand, as she even watched big brother first thing in the morning when they were all asleep.

I miss all the catalogues, she got through the post, all aimed at the older lady, and charging a fortune for their goods, but they always sent her a free gift, she loved that, thinking she had got one over on them, getting something for nothing, or so she thought. And my poor hubby who had to put all the plastic stuff she bought together as best he could, bearing in mind that 9 times out of 10, a crucial piece would be missing.

I miss the talks about family, past & present, and the way she loved all her great grandchildren, and how much she was looking forward to my brother Stephen becoming a grandparent for the first time. She would have been very proud of that.

My own son, made me laugh, when he reflected on his grandma, telling me how he had called up to her house unexpectedly, and found her dancing away to Bob Marley singing Jamming. Priceless.

Still I guess life goes on, mums’ passing has made me realize, just how quickly time does fly, and to treasure the moments you have with your loved ones, it is as they say not a rehearsal.

On a lighter note, at the funeral parlor, I happened to mentioned, that I was disappointed not to have received my Dad’s ashes when he passed away over 9 years ago. “Just a minute”, she said and trotted off to the back of the premises, which were used jointly as a joiners shop, and in she came carrying an urn, clearly marked with my Dad’s name on it. We couldn’t believe it. I can just imagine, my Dad saying about bloody time. Typical he had to wait for mum to be ready, no change there.

So we laid both mum and Dad to rest, in the rose garden, overlooking the sea, close to the bandstand. A perfectly beautiful resting place, for such a wonderful couple.

R.I.P Mum & Dad & Thank you for everything.

Toads in the Home

"I can hear something moving", I said with alarm, as I reached over to wake hubby, as there was no way I could look, not knowing what it might be. I had been in bed for a couple of hours, not wanting to watch the football, as Germany was playing, and I knew for sure they would win. I had left the front door open a while, as, it was warm, and I wanted some fresh air, but I was not about, to admit this to hubby.

Grumpily, he reached for the light, and peered across the bed to my side, "nothing there", he said, switching the light off and returning to bed, a few more minutes went by, and I heard it again. "Honey there is something there", pulling the sheets tight around my head, in case whatever it was decided to jump on me, and eat me alive. I was not terribly good with wildlife. I do not mind them outside, or in a park, but I draw a line to them invading my bedroom.

"Oh for goodness sake", he said as, I refused to turn on the light, as it was at my side of the bed, and was convinced that my hand would be slowly nibbled off by the unknown monster.He grabbed the torch, which we left for emergencies at the side of his bed,namely the many power cuts we have here in Spain, and he shone it towards the scuttling noice. By this time my imagination was running wild, was it a snake a rat,what !!. Hubby laughed, it's a toad, have a look, I slowly opened my eyes to see a big creamy coloured toad,at the side of my bed.

Maybe if I had kissed it, it could have turned into a handsome prince, but Knowing my luck it would probably be the artist formally known as... so I decided to give it a miss.

The toad was carefully picked up and put outside, and I finally got some sleep.

The Germans & The Mole

I awoke this morning to the sounds of 'Got It'

' Got what ' I said curiously.
 'The Mole' hubby said. He was referring to the mole that had been furrowing away in the garden, chewing the roots of the vegetables, completely ruining the crop. I looked outside, to see him happily shaking the garden fork in the air in triumph. Shouting 'No more Mario Mole', MMm well for now I thought, thinking it was a sure thing that Mario would have siblings perhaps a whole family tree would be there somewhere. Still I did not want to spoil hubby’s thunder, so I kept quiet.

For weeks now, he had tried everything to catch the annoying thing. He had tried smoking him out; he had borrowed a professional looking sound vibrator from my next-door neighbour, who being German had a garage full of all gardening mod cons. He blocked all the mole holes up with paper. Almost everything, it is nice to know that his dedication, paid off in the end, still I think it is only a temporary triumph, and this will be an ongoing adventure for him, but for now it is a gardening victory.

Our next-door neighbour’s garden is perfect. Which is only what we have come to expect from the German people, they seem so dedicated to any task they do. They are so efficient and precise. Unlike us they do not walk around their garden in sawn off jeans and flip-flops; they wear green garden overalls, and knee protectors. They wear goggles when clipping their trees, facemasks when spraying their crops, and jockstraps when weeding. They have all their gardening equipment, up on shelves, which looks like something from the VW factory, unlike ourselves, which is more of a whereabouts in the garden did I leave that rake?

We have to laugh though, every time we do something in the garden, or in the house, my neighbours peer over the garden fence, not knowing that we can see them. They pretend to water the plants or they will use their rotavator that they call Bobby, and if all that fails, they will pop round, with a bowl of sauerkraut to ask what we are doing, they do not miss a thing. Still they are good neighbours and lovely people.

This year has been a particularly bad one on the snail front. They are everywhere, munching their way through the trees, the plants, hauling their hunch-backed little bodies, up my freshly painted walls, over my neighbour’s fence happily eating their way round there garden also. It seems hubby and I am singularly responsible for the snail epidemic in Southern Spain, because we refuse to use pesticide or weed killer, well sorry but that is just too bad. We plan to stay organic, so unfortunately, for now we will have to keep picking them off the plants, unless someone out there has a better solution.

The Orthopaedic Bed.

SOMETIMES, strange things happen here in Spain. Today has been one of those days. Hubby and I were working in the garden, trying to decide on the companion planting, an essential role in organic gardening, and the best way to promote healthy predators, to confuse the destructive ones. Tomatoes with basil, peppers with aubergines, sweet corn with beans, peas and potatoes, and many sunflowers ,to make me smile.

The doorbell rang, peeking up the drive, I saw two Spanish women, obvious by the Spanish red hair, and Seat car. Scrambling, for my pocked sized, Spanish-English dictionary. ‘Hola’, I said quietly, after lots of arm flapping, and many turns of the pages of the dictionary, I discovered that they were cousins of the people we had bought the house off over 6 years ago. They asked us if we still had the orthopaedic bed, left in the house, when we bought it. Apparently, one of the woman’s husbands had chronic back pain and needed it.

My memory of buying the house, after all the signing and dignitaries, was standing on the Notary steps, with the three beneficiaries of the sale, the children of the vendors, who had suddenly inherited wealth, as mum was in a care home where she could be looked after properly. These three people could have been Olympic sprinters, given chance. I had not seen anyone move so fast, to put their cheques into the bank, before it closed. It was 1.45 and closed at 2pm. They almost threw the keys for the house, at us, as they ran anxiously shouting,' Banco, Banco, Banco'.

When we finally viewed our new Spanish property, we found that the only thing the vendors had taken was the wood-burning stove, and the washing machine, which was unexpected, as these two items were the only things we wanted. They had left everything else; there were clothes in the wardrobe, food in the cupboards, wines and spirits, furniture, family photographs, first communion trinkets, and an unfortunate infestation of cockroaches, which my hubby discovered as he peered into a dark cupboard, to see them all staring at him from the ceiling. The orthopaedic bed was in the “gloomy room” as we called it, as the room was then quite dark and unwelcoming.

As six years had now passed, and the house had finally, been cleared, and all the unwanted items skipped, and the cockroaches fumigated. I was surprised when hubby said, “I still have the bed it is in the garage covered in lots of items, which would of course come in handy one day. The two women were delighted and said they would come back on Sunday to collect the bed, armed with wine in exchange for the bed. They went away happy.

Hubby spent the next three days fighting his way to the back of the garage, to retrieve the item, when his back went, he had suffered from sciatica for many years, but had been fine recently, in agony; he crawled in the house, and spent the next two days flat on his back.

The two women came back on Sunday, without the wine, but an English speaker on the other end of their mobile phone, who asked if we still had the automatic hoist to lift someone in and out of bed. They were sure it was in the house six years ago. Unfortunately, we had no recollection of this item; the two women who were obviously disappointed, grunted a little, but thanked us and reluctantly put the bed in the back of their car and drove off, maybe they will come back later, looking for something else. We will see.

Lazy Sunday Afternoon.

I sit here in my warm deck chair, watching as the hot sun blazes down intensely on the unprotected mountains. The sunlight lighting up the copses of the terrain. Brilliant colours of rich amber, copper, and a subtle hint of rust that once was, lush greenery of the mountain shrubbery. Once tended, and sadly now forgotten orange and almond trees, dotted randomly amongst the backdrop.

Pathways deeply ridged clearly embedded in the mountain slopes timelessly carved in history by the dedicated trackers, who painfully climbed the steep mountain slopes, testing their own determination, 'just because it was there'.

The scattering of whitewashed houses, once full of energy from persevering people; who survived by planting fruit and vegetables, raising pigs and cattle, to market; chickens and rabbits to eat; and scrimping and scraping, just to make ends meet. Sadly, their houses now crumbling and dilapidated, the roofs, raided and collapsing, a deteriorated property no longer fashionable to any family member who may have been lucky enough to inherit them, the repairs been far beyond any potential resale value.

The shade of the old apricot tree was thankfully keeping the sun off me. I watch the snails slowly climbing the tree, clinging on with experience, to the old, weathered bark, the juice from many years of producing fruit seeping out of the old tree; it was far too precious to be cut down. If only the tree could talk what tales it could tell, it would certainly make fascinating reading.

When I sit here and drink up my surroundings, contemplating what to make for dinner, I think it was, for us  the right choice for us to move abroad, I know it would not suit everybody.

Our grasp of the Spanish language, is not good, we are OK until someone talks back to us, then it is a mad scramble for the pocket size Spanish-English dictionary, trying to get the correct response, without looking as we have come straight from the Jeremy Kyle studio. We are trying our best to learn, and have even resorted to hourly episodes of learning with the benefit of You Tube.

My immediate neighbours are German, and speak both Spanish and English, which is particularly useful, although slightly embarrassing. Whilst there are ex pats around us who speak our language, I know we would integrate much more, if we tried a little harder, Tomorrow, we will make a start, that should be fun.