The 3 'M's (Me, Mrs. S. and Monty) left Álora at the crack of dawn on December 5th. rumbo al norte (heading north), first stop 'El Capricho' on the autovia to Granada for our traditional Back to Britain Breakfast -tostada con aceite de oliva (y tomate for me)´, y café.
Probably the best thing about the motorways of Spain is that there are good places to stop for coffee and something to eat every few kilometres. The newer roads, such as the A45 to Córdoba have hardly any and so should be avoided if possible.
Some motorway cafeterías and restaurantes are disappointing, so a long journey can be made more interesting by trying to pick somewhere good to stop. (what used to be called 'a good pull-in' in the early days of British motoring).
The ones to avoid are petrol stations with just a shop and a coffee machine. The best ones are hotels with restaurants and are nearly always visible from the road. Look out for the 'bed' sign and NEVER follow signs for one that you can't see from the road - you may end up driving miles to a run-down bar or the Spanish equivalent of The Bates Motel.
I hope my readers in Ireland, Singapore and the Turks and Caicos Islands will find that information helpful. Good morning to you all and 'Happy motoring!'
Our first overnight stop is nearly always in Aranda de Duero, south of Burgos where there is a cheap, dog-friendly hotel, cheap diesel and lots of good Ribera del Duero wine if you've got any room for it in your car. (there's always room for a few more bottles).
After breakfast and Burgos black pudding bulk buying at Sotopalacios we headed for the snow-capped Cantabrian mountains and Santander.
After two more nights in the cosy luxury of a hotel room, little Monty was ill-prepared for a night and day banged up in a stainless steel cell on the wind-and-seaspray-lashed top deck of the Cap Finisterre, Brittany Ferries' second-string and second-hand ferry boat, especially after his triumph in the Pont Aven International Dog Show on the way down in September.
As usual there was a problem with the pet passport. The computer rejected it in Plymouth on the way down but they let him through anyway (how could you resist a look like that?). This time I got them to check the passport the day before, all OK, but once again the computer went 'ding' and bounced it back as we checked in. Apparently there are only 30 days in June.
They let him through again ('We're being much more relaxed about pet passports because of Brexit') but he has to have a new passport before we go back in March. (I hope this vet knows there are 31 days in December).
We landed at Portsmouth and drove in the dark up to Birmingham - slap bang into the Brexit/General Election nightmare which dear old Albion has wished upon itself and which mystifies all our Spanish friends in Álora - even Maria Gracia, the camarera (waitress) at Cafe-Bar Madrugón can´t believe it.
How to ruin Christmas
Back in rain-drenched Brum everyone was even more depressed and downbeat than usual. Every news broadcast began with the words 'Boris Johnson' and all but two of our national newspapers screamed Corbyn-directed hatred from their front pages every day. This was not a happy place. And it still isn't. Everyone I have met so far has asked me why we don't live in Spain permanently ('Why don't you f*ck off back to Spain, then?') and for the first time in 20 years it's worth considering. The National Health Service is our most powerful reason for staying.
One of the first things we do when we get back to our Winter Residence in the Merry Midlands, as I like to call them, is to get things fixed, and so this inevitably means a visit to the doctor, the optician, the dentist and the garage. In my case I had to follow up a course of vitamin B12 tablets 'prescribed' (8.45€ a packet) by a doctor in Álora. (see Man in Álora 21/7/19).
I decided to play 'Appointment Challenge' - a game which you can play if you have 'the app' (The Birmingham & Solihull Health App') and which you are obliged to play unless you want to play 'In The Phone Queue' which is a test of endurance involving listening to a distorted version of a vaguely familiar old pop hit for about three quarters of an hour, punctuated periodically by a pleasant person informing you that you are 'number 34/33/32, and so on, in the queue', and you don't mind being told, at the end of all that aural GBH, that 'all appointments have been taken, please try again tomorrow.'
'The app', which is the very latest thing in IA (Artificial Intelligence) can be lots of fun, unless, of course, you're feeling a a bit under the weather, and you have to be up before 7.30 am. to play. This is the time that the NHS Gaming Centre opens its website. Then it's a mad rush to see if you can snap up any of the juicy appointments that flash momentarily onto the screen. It's a thrilling 'head to head' with all the other thousands of desperate patients playing at the same time. (Watch your blood pressure! ). You've got to be in it to win it!
It's very unusual for your own GP's name to appear on this list because you have to win at 'Level One' before you can progress to 'Level Two' which is also called 'Names You May Recognise'. (Tip: It's worth checking the Practice website to see an up-to-date list of doctors.)
I thought I'd won at my first attempt but the two appointments that I thought I'd bagged both turned out to be fake. I expect someone was just having a laugh. Honestly, some people!
I went down to the 'Practice' but it was closed for lunch.
On my next visit I bagged an appointment for 8.15 am. two days into the future. Result!
As I sat in the waiting area (after checking myself in on the interactive TV screen) I had lots of time (45 minutes) to read all the interesting posters and instructions that are blu-tacked to every available wall space.
It took me a bit of time to work out
'DON'T BE A CHLAM-IDIOT!' though.
As I was sitting there, losing the will to live, my thoughts drifted back to the 'good old days' when a visit to the doctor's meant sitting for hours in a humid, smoky room (it was usually raining and everyone was wet and/or smoking cigarettes) trying to work out who was before you as there were no appointments and the seating was random. There was usually a lot of coughing, mainly from the gang of likely lads hoping to get a few days off work 'on the sick'. Any lucky winner would strut out of the surgery, grinning broadly and waving his 'sick note'.
Those were the days!
The Band That Never Was
I don't think I've mentioned this before in this venereal organ but I have two pianos (one of them is electric and in Álora), 4 guitars, a banjo, 5 mouth organs, a bugle and a flute in the loft.
I'm not trying to sell them. Not all of them work properly or I might be open to offers.
Owning musical instruments does not make you a musician, just like owning 5 or more Spanish language course books does not make you fluent in Spanish or owning an Olympic-size swimming pool makes you an Olympic swimmer.
I dabble a bit on the piano and guitar when I'm in the mood.
Imagine my delight and surprise, then, when I was invited in September by two other owners of instruments to join them and play some songs.
The drummer lives a few houses down from us in Calle Benito Suarez and my electric piano is portable, so our first 'practice' was in his house. (Beer provided.)
I was introduced to the piano by a man called Brian Ingram who played in the pubs round Oldham under stage names of 'Rockin' Brian and Brian 'Teddy Boy' Lewis. (If you follow the link he's about 10 minutes in.) I believe he's still performing although the last time I saw him he was running a successful Tattoo Parlour in Ashton-under-Lyne.
Brian's piano style was violently percussive along the lines of Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis and his singing 'voice' was more of a loud snarl. He assured me that it took very little skill and no musical knowledge at all to master the technique and by the end of half an hour I could bang out 'Great Balls of Fire' like a good 'un. Since that day I've never looked forwards.
Anyway, Terry and Arthur (not their real names, which have been changed to protect the innocent) were keen to get going on some 'tunes'. Terry is a big Hollies fan and knew the chords to some of their songs. Unfortunately none of us could sing as high as Graham Nash and seeing as how the Hollies relied heavily on two or three part harmonies we were handicapped from the 'get go' as we musos put it.
The Hollies (Graham Nash in the front)
The same went for Beatles songs although we did manage to get through 'The Ballad of John and Yoko' which isn't noted for its high notes nor its harmonies. I had to do all the singing. Sadly, no recording was made of this session. It was cut short by a text I received from Mastercard telling me my credit card had been robbed to the 'tune' (!) of 8,000 pounds.
Our second practice went quite well as I just banged out all the Rock and Roll and Blues tunes I know in easy keys and they played along.
I think 'Arthur' the drummer was getting a bit fed up with helping me to carry my heavy piano up the street to his house and back or perhaps we had necked all his beer. Anyway he got an offer from another band and that was that.
It was good while it lasted. Well, it was fun.
I never made it to the big time, but I have started to taste what fame tastes like. Two, yes Two people have approached me to ask if I am THE 'Man in Álora'!!!
It's not got to the stage, yet, when I can't go out for fear of being mobbed by people wanting my autograph and trying to rip off pieces of my clothing, but who knows?
Pie News
Comillas. A beautiful town west of Santander.
There were no pies to be found.
It means 'footpath'.
It tastes even better than it looks.
¡Feliz año nuevo! (Happy New Year)
Juanito Sánchez
December 29th. 2019
