Europeans, Reptiles and a Seafaring Man with One Leg. It's All Here in Alora.

Europeans, Reptiles, and a Seafaring Man with One Leg. It's All Here in Alora.

                                    The Battle of Vinegar Hill

 It's a beautiful sunny Sunday morning here in Alora, but clouds are gathering back in the UK as the dreadful never-ending painful  BREXIT saga staggers to yet another stage with this month's elections to the European Parliament.

Serial readers of this fine venereal organ will have noticed that I try to maintain a light-hearted uncontroversial, yet thought-provoking tone - free from  political polemic or partisan propaganda. With that in mind here's a true story about European goings-on back in the olden days to take our minds off all this unpleasantness.

I'm hoping to have it made into a musical by Tim Rice and Andrew Llloyd Webber.  It's a story of death, betrayal and bizarre coincidence. Could happen. Here it is:

A Simple Twist of Fate 

In 1798 there was a big bloody battle in County Wexford, Ireland, near the town of Enniscorthy. It became known as 'The Battle of Vinegar Hill'. Over 13,000 British soldiers equipped with modern weapons and artillery delivered a severe thrashing to a similar number of poorly equipped Irish 'rebels' who went under the name of 'The United Irishmen' They were armed mainly with 'pikes' and didn't really have a hope in hell after the French army that was coming to help them, ran into a bit of rough weather in Bantry Bay, thought better of it, and cleared off back to 'Gay Paree'. 

 

 Gay Paree circa 1798 

Ah do 'ope zat it's not raining outside, cherie. Zeese trazzers were clean on today.

 'This left the 'United' side up Vinegar Hill without a fish supper'. (Winston Churchill. 'An Upper-class history of the World')

  

United Irishmen aim their loaded pikes at England's finest.

The British were determined to teach the Irish another lesson (Oliver Cromwell did much the same with even more brutality and bloodshed in 1649).

Lord Andrew Blayney, from Castleblaney was a very rich gentleman soldier who commanded the 89th. Regiment of Foot, known as 'Blayney's Bloodhounds' ; a fierce bunch of bloodthirsty bullies who were evidently not named for their humanitarian and charitable works. Blayney's Bloodhounds had a field day at Vinegar Hill, biffing, bashing and slashing their way through the helpless stick-wielding Irish volunteers. After roughly routing the retreating rebels, they then opened fire using cannons loaded with grapeshot, which was not made from grapes at all, but balls of lead designed to kill and maim as many people as possible.
Lord Blayney then enjoyed  a meteoric rise through the officer ranks and became a Major General.

 Perhaps surprisingly, The United Irishmen  was a mainly Protestant organisation led by Theobold Wolfe Tone, who is known as 'The Father of Irish Republicanism'. 

                                                               Wolfe Tone.

He wasn't very popular with the British authorities who wanted to lock him up, so he spent a lot of time in America and France drumming up support for an Irish rebellion. He even joined the French army and was aboard a French ship when he was captured a few months after Vinegar Hill at The Battle of Tory Island. (which, curiously, is a real place).
Even though he was wearing the uniform of a French fusilier and  feigned a fondness for  frogs' legs, onions and garlic he was soon recognised and arrested.

At his trial he made a stirring speech demanding Irish Independence and asked if he could be shot, not hanged like his brother Matthew. The request was refused but he died anyway a few hours before execution time from either a self-administered knife wound to the neck or a bullet wound. He was 35 years old.

And that was the end of Irish rebellion for a few years at least..

                                      The Death of Wolfe Tone by William C Mills

                     (possibly copied from 'The Death of Chatterton' by Henry Wallis)')

You may be wondering what The Battle of Vinegar Hill has to do with  Alora or even Spain, well here it comes.... 

12 years later, in 1810, Spain was under the control of France, and Napoleon's brother, Joseph ('the bottle') had been made King of Spain.

After giving the Irish a good hiding at Vinegar Hill, Britain had been  able to concentrate on what it liked doing best - fighting the French. The British Navy ruled the waves but their land armies, I've got to be honest, were a bit crap.

Down on the Costa Del Sol, about 150 Polish soldiers had volunteered to help out the French by  'defending ' the castle at Fuengirola. At this time Fuengirola (pronounced Fwen he roller) was just a small fishing village, but the decrepit, long abandoned Moorish castle there held a commanding position on the Mediterranean coast, just down from Gibraltar, which was bristling with British ships, sailors, soldiers and English pubs. 
Joseph Bonaparte had decided to kill two birds with one stone by sending a few Polish lads down there to do up the castle, fix the plumbing and see off any attempts to invade southern Spain. (that's 3 birds, I suppose).

                                               Sohail Castle, Fuengirola in 1810

The man in charge of the Poles was Captain Franciszeck Mlokosiewicz. There were some more Polish chaps up in Mijas too (they're still there). The job was to try and stop the Brits in Gibraltar, led by Sergeant Richard Sharpe, from smuggling arms, cigarettes and duty free brandy to Spanish dissidents in Malaga.

The Spanish call this war ,'The War of Independence' (from the French). British History books and online scources call it 'The Peninsular War'.

On a warm Gibraltar October evening in 1810 Major General Andrew Blayney,  still Commander-in-Chief of the 89th. Regiment of Foot (Blayney's Bulldogs)  sat sipping a creme de menthe in The Star Bar on Parliament Street when he was approached by a sea-faring man with one leg who introduced himself as 'Captain Cutler, lately of HMS.Hispaniola'.
Under normal circumstances British Army officers did not speak to sailors in bars,
but Blayney liked the cut of this chap's jib and invited him to a cocktail as it was still 'happy hour'  in the Star. Cutler had heard that Blayney was looking for a new gig to boost his waning rep. and so when Cutler told him about the weak defences along the coast and the fine sandy beaches, Blayney imagined  this headline in 'The Gentleman's Magazine' ' Blayney's Bulldogs Ride Again.' and he was on the hook.

He had little difficulty in convincing 'someone' in London that he could easily invade Spain by landing 2,500 troops and a few French deserters near Malaga and then, after marching 35 kilometres (21 miles) down the N340, they could effect a successful surprise attack on Malaga.

Next thing you know he's got two frigates, five gunboats, 24 brigs, 34 troop carriers and assorted commandeered pleasure boats crammed full of armed 'bulldogs' , cannons, ladders and grappling hooks and he's off to Fuengirola beach, which everyone in the Star agreed was the best place to land 2500 men for a surprise invasion of Malaga.

To increase the element of surprise, Blayney arranged to land all his men on the beach below Sohail Castle at 2.00pm. when all Spaniards would normally be having a big lunch, followed by a siesta. He had overlooked the fact that the defenders were Polish, had just finished their 'second breakast', had already got wind of the surprise attack and were ready for 'the off.'
The plucky Poles pasted Blayney's Bulldogs and even sank one of the gunboats with a small cannon.

The next day two more ships arrived with another 1000 soldiers but Mlokosiewicz outsmarted them by leaving only wounded men to defend the castle and all the fit chaps set out to biff the Brits once again.
By this time Blayney was wishing he'd stayed in bed.
Just when he thought matters couldn't get worse he was captured by the sailor from the Star Bar in Gib. , but this time he was a French colonel with an Irish accent.

 Colonel O'Callaghan, now a French officer and ex-member of The United Irishmen had fought against Blayney at Vinegar Hill in 1798. After escaping from Ireland , he fled to France and joined up to fight the English. You can just imagine how pleased they were to see each other after all those years. O'Callaghan was so overcome he kept Blayney prisoner for four years, while they waited for someone to come up with the ransom money. During this time O'Callaghan and Blayney toured Spain and France and eventually became firm friends. (everyone likes a happy ending).

Blayney subsequently made his fortune by publishing an account of their wanderings. It's still available from Amazon for £25.30.

 By another amazing coincidence Mrs. Sanchez and I found ourselves, last Saturday night,  in the very same castle where the battle of Fuenguirola took place

Well, they've done the castle up now and they put on concerts. It looks very smart and last Saturday Mrs. Sanchez and I went to see Bob Dylan there. He's 78 this month and still standing, with a little help from his piano. He performed for two hours and every minute was a gas, as people used to say in the sixties.

                                          Bob Dylan and his band last Saturday

                                                   Sohail Castle, Fuengirola

I hope you are still awake. All the above was aimed at readers with an abnormally long attention span, Bob Dylan fans and my friends in Ireland who are always up for a bit of Irish history.

It's very hot here in Alora at the moment, which is very nice. We've got the local elections next Sunday so we'll have a new alcalde  (mayor) soon.

The new mirador up at the castle is all finished now but we have to wait for the official opening before we can use it. Perhaps it will be the new mayor's first official engagement.

                                                        The New Mirador

The PSOE (socialist) Party are expected to win again this time after putting on two days of free entertainment with free beer, free sandwiches  and a big paella. It works for me.

                                              Joseli y Los Compadres de Alora

One of Epi's achievements has been the 'remodelling' of the arrabal (poor areas) of the town, which are all up by the castle around Calle Ancha. I was very sceptical about the new steps that they built and which lead nowhere.

..until the warmer weather came along and I started taking  the dogs for an evening stroll round the castle.

It's the perfect shady place for the vecinos (locals ) to meet and have a bingo session!
Well done Epi! We'll miss you.

The other day I was watering the bougainvillea when a snake shot out from behind the container and disappeared behind some arum lilies. Monty spotted it too but wasn't quick enough to get a bite on the nose. I haven't seen the snake for a few years - it might be a different one. I managed to get a few photos of the last one which was a Horseshoe Whip Snake. They're not poisonous but bite if cornered (who doesn't?).

                                               Our Horseshoe Whip Snake (2011)

Here's a few more creatures that live in our garden;

Geckos

These little reptiles are everywhere now that the weather is warming up. Everyone seems to like them. They are completely harmless and shin up the white walls when we water the plants. Tommy caught and scoffed one once. I didn't get there in time. Not a pleasant sight.

Chameleon

We don't see this one very often, perhaps because it's camouflaged. They move very slowly and those big beady swivelling eyes are a bit worrying.

Praying Mantis ( The European Mantis)

 I never knew these lived in Spain until I saw one in the garden. They're quite big (up to 9 cm, (3.5 inches)) and eat other insects including grasshoppers. Mrs. Sanchez is very fond of them because they eat garden pests but I don't like the look of them at all. The ones we have here just sit and look at you but I've heard they can bite you too.
They certainly bite male mantises. They are 'sexual cannibals'
Sorry, but they give me the creeps.

Bar News 

Bar El Taller opened last week on Calle La Rampa, where Lo D'Antonio's' used to be.

It's run by Paco and Maria. We went for a glass of wine and a tapa there last night. It was very busy. The food is good and the menu is 'creative'. I had Callos a mi Manera' which was Callos.
It's always good to see a new bar open. I get the feeling that things are starting to look up again in Spain.

Before El Taller we had a helado (ice cream) in another new place, 'Morry's' Cafeteria'.
Our friends Antonio and Antonia were there with their grandsons. Antonio brought up the subject of Brexit so we left,

 
                                                       Morry's Cafeteria

The Garrison

 I still haven't been to The Garrison yet - it never seems to be open when I'm passing.  I was puzzled by the name, but I have been unreliably informed by a usually unreliable scource that it's named after The Garrison pub in Bordesley, Birmingham! 
The same scource says it's all about 'Peaky Blinders', the very popular crime series set in Birmingham and filmed in Liverpool.

Here are Cristobal and Salvador with a couple of mates in the new Birmingham themed pub in Alora. All roight bab?

Here's The Garrison Pub in Birmingham before it closed and became derelict. It's been sold for £183,000.

Pie News

I can't wait to tuck into this Chicken and Mushroom empananda (pie) from Mercadona.
On the wrapper it says it 'may contain traces of shellfish and molluscs'.
Hmm.

TTFN

Juanito Sanchez May12th. 2019

Fake facts, one-armed bandits, Moors and Less. Help me Ronda!!!

Fake facts, one-armed bandits, Moors and Less. Help Me Ronda!!

                 
                                El Tempranillo. Knife Crime - 18th. Century Style

On Thursday evening the house phone rang. The only person who intentionally calls us on the 'landline' is Ana Molina. We get a lot of wrong numbers too. I think Ana is the only person who has our house phone number.

'Buenas tardes Ana. Que tal?

'I'm just ringing to tell Mowree (which is what she calls Mrs. Sánchez) that we're meeting at las ocho y quince, tomorrow morning.

'Mowree's here do you want to talk to her?'
(Mrs. S. is shaking her head frantically).

'The coach leaves at  las ocho y veinte but we're meeting at the Roundabout of the the Guitar at 8.15.'

'Vale. I'll tell her. Where are you going?

'To Ronda with the ayuntamiento, remember?' We talked about it.'

' You're going on a trip to Ronda tomorrow with Ana'
( Astonished look from Mrs.S.)

Semana Santa (Easter Week) kicked off today, Domingo Ramos (Palm Sunday) with two processions. They both came past our door. The first was La Pollinica , which features Jesus on a donkey, a band, and a few soldiers from Alhaurin el Grande.

The second one, which has just gone by, was Jesús Atado a la Columna (Jesus tied to the pillar).

I was out on the street with my camera for the second one because Javier told me that he was Lo del martillo (on the hammer). Being 'on the hammer' is a very important job in a procession and he asked me to photograph him bashing the bell on the front of the trono (throne) with a mallet.  This tells the chaps carrying the heavy throne when to pick it up and when to put it down for their very frequent 'rest periods'. I'm not saying that carrying one of those things is a doddle, far from it, but If they don't all lift it up and put it down at the same time, all manner of disasters could ensue. It doesn't bear thinking about. That's what the bell is for.

                                             Who's that with the hammer?

The problem was that everybody was wearing capirotes (hoods), some with pointed hats. The hooded figure bashing the bell looked a bit small for Javier and showed no sign of recognising me. Nevertheless, I braved the clouds of incense and dirty looks from the 'nazarenos' (penitents) as I elbowed my way in to get a few good shots. I am beginning to think Javier was taking the piss....not a nice thing to do on Palm Sunday, I think you'll agree.

Javier runs Bar Madrugón in the top square with his wife, María Gracia and his dad, our old pal Manolo who has appeared many times in this venerable organ. Just wait till I get up there tomorrow.

'Want a light?'

'Thanks very much'








The thrones they carry round in Málaga are massive. It takes about 300 lusty lads to carry one of these big boys.

 In Málaga they carry on carrying virgins and sons all through the week but it goes a bit quiet here until the big processions of Jueves Santo (Holy Thursday) and Viernes Santo (Good Friday) so, as the weather was warm and sunny, I decided to paint our back wall.

                
                        Our back wall (the white one with nasturtiums under it)

                     
                                  Our back wall with Mrs. Sánchez in a straw hat.

There is an unavoidable high risk of death and/or multiple injury involved in painting our back wall. Equipment includes two strong ropes, two ladders, paint, a brush on a long pole and no safety net. It's a long way down to the bottom of the tajo (cliff) and as far as I know, no-one has ever survived a deadly accidental descent in the 3000 years of this town's history.

 Ronda

Mrs. Sánchez enjoyed her visit to Ronda on Friday. The trip was only for women and cost 6 euros which included return travel on a luxury coach, breakfast and lunch. Needless to say, at that price, the coach was full. The highlight of the trip was a visit to the Museum of the Bandaleros. 
Bandaleros were bandits who used to roam the Serranía de Ronda (the mountains), killing and robbing travellers. One of the most famous was called El Tempranillo, which is also the name of a grape and, indeed, he was known to be a bit of a one for the bottle. He only had one hand which did not impair his bouts of brutal but benevolent banditry much and he revelled in the sobriquet. 'The One-armed Bandalero'. He ended up as the Police Chief in Ronda.

                                Jose María 'El Tempranillo', A 'Spanish Robin Hood'.

These days all the bandits own souvenir and top end leather shops in Calle Espinel (also known as Calle de la Bola, which means 'The Street of the lie').

                                                 Ronda, La Ciudad del Tajo

Ronda is called 'The City on the Cliff', and you must admit it bears an uncanny resemblance to our back wall. It's a very very popular place for day trips up from the coast and from Sevilla. On an average day you can't move for coachloads of tourists being shepherded around by tour guides with folded umbrellas or flags on sticks. They are probably on their way to the Bandalero Museum or the Plaza de Toros, Ronda's other famous building.

The main attraction, in Ronda, is El Puente Nuevo (The New Bridge) (opened in 1794) which joins the old town (La Cuidad) to the New Town (El Mercadillo). (see picture above). It spans the 120 metre deep (390ft,) chasm, which splits the town and is much deeper than the cliff behind our back wall.  There already were two smaller bridges;  the 17th. Century 'Roman Bridge', also called 'The Arabic Bridge' and the Old Bridge (built in 1616). The first 'New Bridge' was built in 1741 but it fell down soon after. Got it?

.

The Old Bridge (with people on it) and The Roman and/or Arabic Bridge below it.

The confusion over the 'old, but not very old' bridges in Ronda continues with other historic sites in the town. The tour guides tell people that the famous bullring is the oldest in Spain. It's a very pretty building and is the only bullring in the world that has all-weather seating, but it's not the oldest, which is in Sevilla. There used to be an even older one in Birmingham but they knocked it down.

                                               La Plaza de Toros, Ronda

Other interesting facts you will be told about Ronda usually begin with:

Local legend has it that.... or

It is said that...or

I may be making all this up but...

Here's a few to be going on with:

The Church of Santa Maria La Mayor is a cathedral. Nope.

La Casa del Rey Moro (The House of the Moorish King) was built in the 18th. century, over 200 years after the Moors were booted out of Spain as part of the ethnic cleansing programme carried out by 'Los Reyes Católicos' (Ferdinand and Isabella)) in the 16th. century.

There is no proof that prisoners were thrown off the Puente Nuevo during the Spanish Civil War, except in Ernest Hemingway's novel 'For Whom the Bell Tolls'. Mind you, at least one person every year throws themselves off it anyway- never the same person twice.

The architect who designed the Puente Nuevo, Jose Martín de Aldehuela did not throw himself off his own bridge when someone told him it was 'too archy', but died peacefully in Malaga in 1802.

La Casa del Rey Moro really was built on the the ruins of an old moorish building. Honest.
Legend has it that Emir Badis lived there. It is said that he used to drink wine from the skulls of victims he had beheaded. It must have tasted pretty awful.

                                                          La MIna de Agua.

If you pay your entrance fee to go in La Casa del Rey Moro you can go down the 300 secret stone steps of La Mina ( It is said that there were 365 originally) to the bottom of the gorge. Local legend has it that 'Christian prisoners' had to pass buckets of water from the  Guadalevin River hand to hand up the steps all day long. There must have been a lot of competition to get a place on the steps near the top. The prisoners near the bottom had to lift heavy full buckets, which would be half empty by the time the got to the top and, if that wasn't bad enough, they had to climb up all the 365 steps to go home at teatime.


Most of Ronda's historical treasures have disappeared. It was a Roman city while Julius Caesar was chatting up Cleopatra, and during the 'Moorish' rule of Andalucía (711 AD. to 1492 AD.) it was a major regional capital called 'Arunda'.

In the sixties Ronda was struggling a bit. There were lots of people there with impressive pedigrees (a duke, a marquis, a count and countless 'senoritos') and no cash, who tended to live in the old 'Ciudad'. Foreign tourism was taking off down on the coast around Torremolinos and Marbella, about 60km. (36 miles) away,and rumours of easy money drifted up to the Ronda Serranía along with the aroma of fish and chips, Ambre Solaire and Watneys Red Barrel.

The Ronda Ayuntamiento sent a fact-finding delegation down to Fuengirola to see what was going on and to bring back some ideas to develop Ronda into a modern tourist destination. The Rondenian party returned looking a little worse for wear and told stories of rich foreigners, sun, sea, sangria and sex. The Ronda Ayuntamiento didn't want any of that 'how's your father' in their town, so they concentrated on 'day trippers'.

Ronda's main obstacle is the lack of sea. It also believes itself to be 'cultured.' (Alastair Boyd. The Road from Ronda)

A popular legendary 'couplet' goes:

'Si Ronda tuviera mar...Que mar sería!
('If Ronda had a sea, what a sea it would be.')

The implication being that the sea itself would benefit from Ronda, rather than the other way round.

Greedy for tourism, but with no sea within 30 odd miles, the Ayuntamiento knocked down the grand old market and built a posh new Parador hotel for people with real money, created a few legends, invented some historic places of interest and pestered the regional government for a new road from the Costa to Ronda to bring up coaches full of tourists who could spend the day there, buy lots of junk, have a few drinks and then clear off back to the Sodom and Gomorrah of the coastal strip before nightfall. To be honest, four or five hours in Ronda are more than enough time to take in all the 'sights', have some grub and a drink or two and long for the bright lights.

They got the road and the old formula still works....unless it's a coachload of women from 'lora. Mrs. Sánchez didn't see anyone on the trip  spend any money at all apart from their 6 euros. That's what I call a good day out.

                         Mrs. Sanchez and the Álora mujeres 'shopping' on Calle La Bola.

Bar News

Good news and bad news. Local legend has it that Bar Mocho in La Plaza Baja de la Despedía (The Bottom Square) is going to close. A 'Se Vende' has gone up, so it may be true. Bar Mocho has managed to survive all through 'La Crisis' and is the last remaining bar on the bottom square. At one time there were three and a local club for vecinos (local residents. What a shame. The group of Brits who have their Sunday lunch there every week will be devastated.

The good news is that a new bar, called ....Zentral is opening just down from Cafe-Bar Madrugón. The jolly chap who owns it is going to open on Jueves Santo for the Easter weekend and then open again officially in May, which is not too far off. It's always pleasing to see a bar open in the Top Square, which is really a triangle and called La Plaza de la Fuente Arriba. He's got some apartments to let above the bar too, but I can't see those being finished until the end of the year.  The important questions are:

1. Will it be open in the evenings?
2. Will the tapas be good?
3. Will it last more than 6 months?
Good luck Jesus!

An  'Irish Bar' is opening at El Fuente de la Mania which the Brits call 'the Island with the arch on it'. It's called 'The Garrison' .
What small Andaluz town could do without an 'Irish Bar'?

Answers on a postcard, please, avoiding the words 'shite', 'naff' and 'Guinness'

Tomorrow is Jueves Santo and rain is forecast. Bad news for all procession fans, bar owners and people with guests for Easter. If anyone can think of ideas in and around Álora to amuse two boys aged 4 and 8 and their parents during a wet Easter weekend please contact Man in Álora.

Juanito Sanchez 17th. April 2019

The Lamps are Going Out All Over Europe...

"The lamps are going out all over Europe. We shall not see them lit again in our life-time"

                                                           Sir Edward Grey

On a warm summer evening in August 1914, Brirtish Foreign Secretary Sir Edward Grey stood by his office window at the Foreign Office with his old Balliol College pal, John Spender. As they sipped their creme de menthes they watched the sun setting over St. James's Park. After a long silence Edward turned to his friend and remarked;

'Well, Johnny boy, looks like we're well and truly f-----d'.

Britain declared war on Germany the next day.

Three nights ago, as, we watched Theresa May give her ''I am on Your Side"  speech from a USA-style lectern and using  a Union Flag as backdrop, Mrs. Sanchez turned to me and uttered those exact words.

Once again we are at war with a European power, but this time our government is taking on 27 of them all at once. It's all the foreigners' fault, of course, and it's what 'our country' voted for.

Nearly three years ago, by an overwhelming majority of 52 to 48, a bewildered and largely misinformed public marched into makeshift voting booths and plunged this, and future generations, into a risky and dangerous future without any ideas or plans.

Nobody gave any thought how it would affect LosSanchez either!

We were due to return to Spain on March 31st. but we were warned that if no withdrawal agreement could be reached by March 29th. Tommy's and Monty's Pet Passports would be invalid and we wouldn't be allowed in Spain (or the other 26 countries).

So we changed our ferry crossing to 27th. March, allowing us to leave the UK and enter Spain even if there is 'no deal'.  (which began as a highly unlikely event but now looks inevitable). It remains to be seen if we can get back in England again in June. Meanwhile we'll be sending food parcels, and medical supplies back to Blighty to help you lot out.

 At the moment I feel like Jack Nicholson in 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' -- trapped inside a lunatic asylum (can one say that?) with no escape plan.

                               Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over th Cuckoo's Nest

It's not all bad news though -- those hardworking and deserving people who run Eurotunnel have just had a £33m. handout from Transport Secretary Chris Grayling. There's lots of money in the Grayling Bank.

Speaking of tunnels, Man not in Alora took a trip to Liverpool a couple of weeks ago and, as part of my itinerary I was determined to revisit the scene of one of my most embarrassing moments of all time --- the day I broke down in the Mersey Tunnel.
My first surprise was that there are three Mersey Tunnels - two road tunnels and a rail tunnel. My Vespa scooter packed up in the Queensway Tunnel which is 2 miles long and was opened by Queen Victoria in 1934-hence the name.

                                         The Opening of the Queensway Tunnel 
                                          (The other opening is in Birkenhead)

It was 33 years later that my scooter conked out about a mile from Liverpool. It's amazing how much disruption you can cause by blocking one of the lanes in the tunnel. I was rescued by a jeep with a trailer and charged several shillings (in old money)  for the inconvenience caused, which I considered a bargain.

The Mersey Tunnels were built so that posh Liverpudlians could get to their houses on the Wirral Peninsula (it used to be part of Cheshire) without having to go by passenger ferry or via Chester. The tunnel comes out in Birkenhead which most people would avoid if they had a choice, and is where the poor people of the Wirral live. In fact, Birkenhead has a long and interesting history and Hamilton Square is well worth seeing. All I can remember of it is pushing my Vespa through the streets looking for a garage. (I'd not been told that you couldn't use ordinary petrol with a two-stroke engine.)

The new tunnel, called The Kingsway Tunnel (you've got to hand it to the person who thought that one up), brings you out at Wallasey which is much easier on the eye than Birkenhead.
Just before you reach the Birkenhead end of the Queensway Tunnel there is a long bendy bit which may strike you as  a bit odd when you remember that you are under a river. The story goes that the Mayor of Birkenhead wouldn't let them dig under the Town Hall in case it fell down. It's a fine granite building but Birkehead doesn't merit a town hall these days so it's up for sale and may become a 'boutique hotel', whatever that is.

                                                     Birkenhead Town Hall

The Wirral, which rhymes with squirrel, is a bit of land that sticks out into the sea between the River Mersey and the River Dee. It rains a lot there, well it did when I was there.
The Royal Liverpool Golf Club is in Hoylake and is veeeeery posh. I called it 'home' for a couple of years until they discovered my dug-out on the 14th. fairway.

 My second surprise was that they've built a motorway on the Wirral. The M53. Why?

Mean Bastards award of the Month Award

Just down the road from our winter and summer residence here in Birmingam, England is a piece of open parkland running alongside the River Cole which contains  Sarehole Mill, an old functioning watermill where the writer of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, J R R Tolkien used to play as a child.
Nobody cared much about this fact until Hobbits hit the headlines and the Big Screen.

Birmingham City Council renamed the area 'The Shire Country Park', shamelessly taking advantage of the new-found popularity of the long dead writer and academic who lived just across the way on Wake Green Rd.

Five years ago I mentioned Tolkien in this venereal organ under the title;
Man not in Alora takes a top deck trip and makes a considerable saving. (February 2014)


The nearby Hungry Hobbit Cafe also jumped on the bandwagon and is still doing well. It serves a good, cheap, full English Breakfast and is a popular meeting point for many aspiring local writers, poets, interesting bohemian brummies and minor local  celebrities.

                                                 The Hungry Hobb-- today.

But Spot the Difference...

It appears that the word 'hobbit' is copyrighted by Warner Bros. who have demanded that their word be removed under threat of legal action.
Honestly, what harm were they doing?

British PIe Week

 
I
The first week of March is British Pie Week. It came and went largely unnoticed.
All the Brexit shinnanigans have overshadowed most of the news round here for the last three years. I managed to have a pie on every day of the week (and sometimes two). The highlight was a grand Cheese and Onion Pie made by Mrs. Sanchez.

And finally...

How's this for good service and customer care.
We finished this 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle last week but there were only 997 pieces. If I hadn't prised one out of Monty's jaws it would have been 996. (Dogs and jigsaw puzzles - bad idea). I mentioned this to Graham and Mary Gosling of Gosling Gifts and Games (and included a photo of the 'uncompleted' puzzle). Within days a  parcel arrived from Clonakilty, Ireland with the three missing pieces!!!

Thanks!






Juanito Sanchez March 23rd. 2019

The Walk of the Living Dead and Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells.

                      Mr. and Mrs. Sánchez leave Portsmouth on The MV Cap Finisterre

Only 5 weeks to go before we are due to go back to Álora for our Spring Sojourn. Also only 5 weeks before Good Old Great Britain gives two fingers to the European Union, lights the blue touch paper and f****s off into the unknown.

We have no idea what will be waiting for us when we come back, if, indeed, we can get back. I went to the Post Office last week to buy two 'International Driving Permits' so that we can drive in Spain legally after Brexit.
I dread to think how the Guardia Civil will treat British drivers in Spain- most of this fine body of men (I suppose they have women 'civiles' too, although I've never seen one) don't even know what the current regulations are.
We have been advised to leave before Brexit so that the dogs' passports will be valid. I actually spoke to a very nice and civil civil servant at the Department of the Environment last week who assured me that the dogs will be allowed back whatever happens, but only to the UK, so if we have to drive through France we could be turned back at the border. Hey ho.

As Man Not in Álora at the moment, I like to keep an eye on the goings-on down there in sunny Ándalucía and for this  information I depend on Peggy, who lives in a two-man tent in North Wales, to keep me al día ( up to date) via her Facebook group 'Tips for Living in and Around Álora'.
I was sorry to miss the annual Fiesta de la Matanza (the Slaughter Festival) again in Ardales, a  village up the road.

                                            How`s this for a big porky stew?

The current fashion for veganism in the UK hasn't reached Ardales yet. The Ardaleans are known (by some) for their enormous appetites, bad table manners and poor personal hygiene. Indeed, when a Perote (Aloranean) sees somebody with food on their face they immediately exclaim 'Ardales!' The messy culprit wipes off the mess and everyone has a good laugh. (except in Ardales.)  I asked a chap once, who admitted to being of the Ardales persuasion, if he knew of this custom and HE HAD NO IDEA! He added that his village called all Perotes 'Brutos' (ignorant louts). Flipping nerve!

When we were in Álora a few weeks ago to do a bit of pruning, all the talk was of the presence of a film crew from  'A Place in the Sun', the popular English daytime TV blockbuster which has done so much to persuade gullible Brits to buy properties in Spain which they can't afford. I watched the programme a couple of weeks ago and recognised the houses featured in Álora. The very nice,  featured couple bought a house on Calle Zapata just round the corner from us, so I would like to apologise for what I have just written and look forward to meeting them very soon.
Perhaps you are  even actually reading this tripe. I'm from Lancashire too, so I hope we can be pals.

It looks like there are going to be more elections in Spain- a General one in April and  the Álora local elections in May. For reasons I can not establish, Mrs. Sánchez and I are eligible to vote in the local elections even if we leave the EU. Beats me.

There's so much going on down there. The annual Álora Painting and Sculpture Competition (we'll miss that). The Annual Cockerel Competion (we'll miss that- no regrets, the pong in there is dreadful), Carnival (we'll miss that too).

Back here in Brum, Mrs.S. and I have been busy doing a bit of decorating, dancing and discovering England. I'm happy to say that her indoors's broken leg is as good as new, if not better. She goes to a yoga class twice a week and tries to go for an early morning swim two or three times a week. She did 50 lengths of the pool today and would have done more but the Park Keeper blew his whistle and made her get out. Apparently there's a pair of great crested grebes nesting on the island.
The downside to this brilliant recovery is that we've started to go dancing again,

It all started years ago when I had a bad back and, during a particularly agonising spasm, I foolishly swore that 'if this back ever gets better I'll agree to having dancing lessons'. I must say that I'd imagined myself cutting a bit of a dash doing the Rumba, Salsa, Cha Cha Cha and Tango. And I've always believed that  I have 'natural perfect rhythm'.

   Mr.and Mrs, Sánchez doing the Tango  (in my imagination)

After two or three years of expensive lessons we could get round the room without having to stop too many times (which messes all the other hoofers up as they have to get round you, like avoiding a rusty exhaust pipe on the M6). But these days we've forgotten most of our 'moves' and 'Strictly Balloom' has killed off many of the old dance venues because it all looks too difficult on the telly and those frocks cost an arm and a leg..

Any road up, we went, a week last Saturday, to a Dance in Solihull. They don't do those sexy Latin dances much now- it's all Sequence Dancing, which is a like a mixture of The Barn Dance, The Minuet and Line Dancing (but in a circle). Everybody does the same thing at the same time, which mainly involves walking, turning round, clapping and shouting 'Oi' from time to time. Nobody smiles much and the only thing that appeals to me is the unusual names they give to these 'Walks of the Living Dead'. Here's a few of my favourites:

The Saunter Together
The Autumn Foxtrot
The Oriental Cha Cha Cha
The Fish Supper Foxtrot
The Alamein Saunter
The Crematorium Shuffle
The Dunkirk Stroll
The Anzac Tango
The Rumba Andalusia!!!
and that old Yorkshire favourite The Owmuch Waltz.

If you think I'm making these up, Google them.

Discovering England

I heard the other week that Edinburgh is going to have a Tourist Tax. Everyone will have to pay £3.00 to visit this very interesting and historic Scottish City. I think it's taking a bit of a liberty, even for the Scots, so I've decided to visit as many interesting English towns as I can before they start charging too!

Interesting English Towns of England .

1, Royal Tunbridge Wells

Royal Tunbridge Wells is in Kent, where our daughter lives, and a long way from anywhere I have lived. Coming from The North of England I've always imagined that rural towns in The South are full of historic half-timbered buildings, posh cafés, delicatessens and traditional English shops like Ironmongers, Greengrocers, Bakers and Confectioners, Family Butchers and old pubs selling local ales.
(Author's note: This is what a lot of people who voted to leave Europe in our Great Referendum dream of too).

                                       How I imagined Royal Tunbridge Wells

Royal Tunbridge Wells is  a Spa Town and one of the only four towns in England to be allowed to call itself 'Royal'. Its most famous inhabitant is known as 'Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells'

Nobody knows who 'Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells' is, or was, but during the 1950s he or she wrote a lot of letters to The Tunbridge Wells Advertiser and signed themselves 'Disgusted' or 'Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells'. It seemed that many of Tunbridge Wells's inhabitants felt very angry about so many things and soon people were writing to The Times newspaper using the same name. Michael Caine's second most memorable quote out of two is;

Here's a typical letter:

SIR - Being present at the unveiling of the plaque on Thursday last week on the Pantiles I was surprised when the National Anthem was played to see that in a place like Tunbridge Wells which is noted for its loyalty and calls itself "Royal" there should be people who refused to remove their hats.Are such people communists? If they are, Tunbridge Wells should be no place for such as they. We can do without them.

I don't know if they got rid of all the communists but they gave Cheeky Chappy and, some would say, racist comedian Jim Davidson the bum's rush when he tried to do a show there in 2015.
Jim Davidson  .

It turns out that Tunbridge Wells isn't very old at all. It only exists because in 1606 a thirsty fat aristocrat who'd had far too many G&Ts, Mutton Pies and Quails in Aspic, drank some water from a spring there and felt better. He was called Dudley North and should not be confused with the West Midlands  parliamentary constituency of the same name, currently represented at Westminster by Ian Austin, a political turncoat and apologist for Israel's oppression of the Palestinian people.

The magic ingredient in the water was iron. Lord Dudley immediately bought up all the water spring rights, hot-footed it back to London and told all his lazy, fat, dissipated, gin-soaked mates in the St. James's Gentlemen's clubs all about the iron rich chalybeate rocks and the magic spring water down in Kent.

Very soon a town grew to supply the needs of hundreds of toffs who spent their perpetual spare time touring the Spa towns of England -- Bath Spa, Leamington Spa, Boston Spa etc. looking for miraculous waters that could cure their real or imagined ailments which  could have easily been sorted out by a day's work, a Cornish pastie and a good slap.

The emphasis was on luxury and fashion. By 1750  you could buy everything the well-heeled Spa - goer needed in Tunbridge Wells;  tooled snuff boxes, china  teapots, wigs, quails' eggs, peacock pies and gumballs, to name but a few.

                                                 A Dandy with a 'macaroni' wig.

Men called 'Dandies' flounced around in 'macaroni' wigs and led the entertainments. The most famous were Beau Brummel and Beau Nash who could be found any day of the week strutting their stuff in Bath, Tunbridge Wells and London. Their real names weren't really  'Beau', that was just a name given to well known Dandies.

                                                        Beau Brummel

The smaller Spa towns, Buxton, Leamington, Tenbury and Llandindrod had their own dandies too , such as Beau Bridges, Beau Duke, Beau Legges  and Beau Diddley.

These days Tunbridge Wells looks as shabby as a run-down town anywhere in England. It's pedestrianised centre is full of the usual  closed shops, Poundland, charity shops and fast food places. It's no wonder that the people there are disgusted.
A few miles up the road, Tonbridge, isn't much different, except for the spelling, but at least it's got a Waitrose (it's got two!) So much for the wealthy home counties.

There was unbridled joy last January when this notice appeared outside the abandoned  Shell petrol station in Tunbridge Wells.-- only to be cruelly quashed when the truth was revealed.
There was not going to be a new Waitrose at all! The new shop at the shell garage would stock some Waitrose products 'including meals for two', that's all.
To add insult to injury, someone put the word round again that Waitrose was coming to a closed down branch of Woolworths but it was opened as a Poundland instead. The 56,000 inhabitants were said to be beside themselves.

Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells was unavailable for comment.

Pie News.

Poundland in Stratford-Upon-Avon has Fray Bentos tinned pies.
Get down there fast, while stocks last .


 Juanito Sánchez January 18th. 2019.