FOUR YEARS — Unforgettable Moments

FOUR YEARS –UNFORGETTABLE MOMENTS

Watching Pink Flamingos John Anthony Jukes

FOREWORD CHRIS JOHNSON

FOUR YEARS - UNFORGETTABLE MOMENTS (THE GOOD THE BAD AND THE UGLY)

F

ROM the daily drudgery of navigating the traffic jams on the M62 corridor to the gentle breeze of Parque Regional las Salinas y Arenales de San Pedro del Pinatar, from the hallow’ed turf of his beloved Elland Road to the battlegrounds of the bowling clubs on the Spanish Costas, John dissects the last four years of his undulating and new-found life.

Always with a predilection and affection for the Mar Menor, he tells of how he has integrated into a different way of life, the people who have impacted on it and how he has cultivated into a confident and willing traveller who is comfortable in the company of a multitude of international citizens.

He touches on a bullying education system in the seventies to dabbling with the virtues of the twenty first century dating sites. There are ups and downs and ins and outs but he never waivers in his honesty and openness.

You will laugh at his little anecdotes and one-liners and probably cry in despair at how cruel life can be.

Dedicated to my friend Val

FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

chapter one WATCHING PINK FLAMINGOS

I

AM 58-years-old. My decree absolute arrived a few weeks ago, my third in 30 years, and I’m stood watching pink flamingos.

The sun warms my painfully white skin as I wait for Val to arrive. April is a beautiful time of year in this part of Spain, not too hot not too cold and not many tourists about. I take a deep breath of fresh clean undiluted ocean air taking my lungs by surprise with this concoction of goodness when suddenly there is a tap on my shoulder.

“You found it then?” asks Val. “Yes, no problem I’m staying in that 2-star hotel just round the corner.”

Val Laughs, “the one with the pervert owner?” She quickly follows this with “allegedly!”

We sit in a nearby cafe and as the waiter comes over, Val spills out a sentence in fluent Spanish to him... I’m impressed.

“You have to have the coffee here it’s the best by far…around here.”

I nod in agreement, at the same time thinking…once again, a woman telling me what to do!

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We make small talk as the waiter brings over what I can only describe as thimbles of black tar.

Val tells me she had worked for a company in North Wales in the accounts department and when her marriage had broken down, she needed to get away.

She booked a viewing weekend with a company who dealt with properties in Spain, she came with her daughter and within the first day decided to buy. That was over fourteen years ago. Once she was here, she took jobs as a cleaner, a chef, barmaid, key holding, and anything to keep herself busy.

At that time there wasn’t much in this area for her young daughter, so she decided to return to the UK leaving Val to soldier on, on her own.

“So…what is it that you are looking for?” She asks.

I explain that I need a short-term, rental probably for six months with the possibility of extending if I like the area.

“You will definitely like the area,” she interrupts.

“I’m not bothered what type of accommodation as long as it’s clean, tidy and cheap!”

“Cheap!!…Typical Yorkshireman!” she laughs.

Her phone rings, she looks at the screen and mutters to herself… “He can fuck off.”

I look out over pure white sand that leads to the Mar Menor and think…shit coffee but a stunning location. The locals walk by dressed as if it’s winter, as is Val. They must think I’m crazy as I sit there in shorts, T-shirt and flip flops.

“Drink up, I think I’ve got the perfect place for you,” she sounds like an estate agent that’s just had a brainstorm.

“It’s only five minutes drive from here and it’s close to where I live,” she winks.

I drink up my thimble of tar and through blackened teeth, I take on the appearance of Baldrick out of Blackadder.

“The owner of the hotel is a pervert…?” I ask.

Val chuckles and winks at me again.

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She was correct the property was only five minutes away but what she didn’t tell me was, only if you travel at 80kph in a 30 zone.

I’m on the M62 travelling from Leeds to Manchester. It’s 6am and I’m supposed to be there by 7am. The traffic is at a standstill, it’s dark and miserable with heavy fog patches…nobody knows what’s happening and some drivers are getting irate. I slip “Blue Valentines” by Tom Waits into the CD player, recline my chair, and enter my own little world, hanging on to every poetic verse as I listen to this genius with envy.

I’m interrupted by my mobile ringing... its work wanting to know if I’m still on the M62. “Nobody is going anywhere, there’s been a jumper!” Someone had jump from a motorway bridge, some poor person felt the only way out is to commit suicide. I hear the honking horns in frustration. I’m hoping these impatient bastards don’t understand what has just happened. I think about the jumper…what a troubled soul it must have been. To take your own life releases your pain but it only passes it on to others that love you.

Does the jumper have regrets as they plummet to the ground? I guess we will never know.

I think about all the shit I’ve been through and continue to go through and I realise that life is precious and it’s too bloody short. The sudden thought that I have to work until I’m 66 frightens the shit out of me. “No way,” I said to myself, I need to start living my life for me. Someone or something has been warning me about this moment.

Do we all have our own personal guides in this life? Is that what a ‘gut feeling’ is? I was once told that I have a guide and I must listen to him and apparently my guide is Native American. At the time I though “bullshit… how do I end up with a Native American?” But what I do know is that I have been waiting for this moment to happen. My children have their own lives, their own paths to follow, their own mistakes to make, their own fun to have and I will always be there if they need help…but now it’s my time!!!

When I finally arrived at work, I’d already made my mind up, I wouldn’t be doing this journey across the M62 too many more times.

I’m looking around a fully furnished three-bedroom, one bathroom, first floor apartment with a front porch and massive roof terrace. The view from the terrace is absolutely stunning…nature reserves with migrating birds and pretty Flamingos and off in the distance is the Mediterranean. I can see boats, ships, and the odd cruise liner.

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Val is blurting out some sales pitch and all I can think is…I can’t afford this, but it feels right.

“What do you think then?

“I think it’s absolutely spot on.”

“Ok how does €300 per month grab you…that’s not including bills?”

I quickly do an exchange rate in my head and I can’t believe it…have I calculated it wrong... in my confusion? I ask Val, “What’s that in real money?

“It’s about £260.”

“A month?” I ask.

“Yes…I can’t go any lower than that.”

My mind is racing…this is cheap, what’s the catch?

She’s probably thinking…tight fucking Yorkshireman.

I put out my hand and we shake…the deal is done.

Val’s phone rings... she reluctantly answers it.

“WHAT…you’re too fucking late…I’ve agreed on a deal with someone else.”

She angrily cancels the call.

“Pervert!” she mutters.

“The hotel owner, I presume?”

Val laughs then proceeds to tell me the previous tenants were Moroccans, who one day decided to stop paying the rent, the electricity, and the water and because children lived here, the authorities couldn’t do anything about it.

Val kept a vigilance on the property and at one stage it had twenty people living here.

The neighbours put official complaints into the police about the noise, but the police were powerless, so Val decided to take matters into her own hands and through a friend of a friend…. of a friend, they organised some heavies to come down from Barcelona to physically remove them.

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The property was in a terrible state when they had finally gone so Val had to have workmen come in and redecorate everywhere from top to bottom.

“You see those two things hanging from your shorts? Val asks.

“You mean my legs?”

“Oh, I thought they were pieces of cotton,” she laughs.

“Yes, I mean your legs. Do you like having them next to each other like they are now?”

“Yes, I’ve kinda got use to them like that.”

“Good because I’ve kinda got use to this apartment being like this…comprehend?”

We both start laughing, only mine is a nervous laugh.

My last supper in the UK with all my family is a typical British meal…Indian!

Six months earlier I gathered together all my children and grandchildren to tell them of my future plans. All of them gave me their blessings, thank goodness, because I don’t know what I would have done if one had objected.... but they didn’t because they are good honest humans, plus, they wanted free holidays.

The evening was a great success with lots of laughs, a few drinks had, and as usual the food was excellent. Outside we said our goodbyes. The cold damp drizzle of the early month of May 2016, cements my belief that I am making the right call.

I lay in bed that night scrolling through the endless texts of well wishers as they add their names for a free holiday.

I’m sat in the airport lounge after having checked in 2x20kg suitcases which contains all my worldly goods. I look around at the holiday makers, knowing I’m not one of them…I’m going and I ain’t coming back. I’m leaving behind a broken-down jalopy of a man I used to be. Of course, I’m feeling a little nervous and apprehensive but that is overshadowed by excitement. I’ve not felt this giddy since I found the Tom Waits album ‘Big Time’ in a tiny record shop in Blackpool. It was covered in dust and was without a single scratch…and bought it for only £3.

My phone is constantly in action with the messages I’m receiving from family and friends confirming their dates for their free holidays.

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I watch the holiday makers in the airport bar drinking pint after pint with the mentality that “my holiday starts here.”

I will need to constantly remind myself that this is not a holiday but a life change, and if my Native American wants me to get blathered every night I must ignore him.

The old gang got together in Roundhay Leeds, at the Whitehouse bar, to have a farewell drink or two, to give me a send off and book their free holidays. Jack, Pete, Chris, Smiffy, Andrew, Keith and Winnie, all childhood friendships that will last forever. People who I trust with my life. Chris has traveled down from Broughty Ferry in Scotland, an alluring old fishing and whaling village on the Firth of Tay. In the 19th century Broughty Ferry became a haven for wealthy Jute Barons, who built their luxury villas in the suburbs. As a result, Broughty Ferry was referred to at the time, as the “richest square mile in Europe”. Obviously, that’s not the case these days, but as you drive around the area you can still see the evidence of those affluent times. The backdrop to the village is the Firth of Tay. It truly is a spectacular location and on the one day a year that the sun shines, there is no better place to be. The engineer Thomas Bouch built the first bridge over the Tay for the railways in 1878. In December 1879 during winter gales the bridge collapsed as a train was on the line, killing all 75 people on board, hence the term Bouch it, when a job has been done badly.

We are all born and bred in working class East Leeds in a suburb called Seacroft. At one point I believe it was the largest council estate in Europe. It was rough and when I say rough, I mean harsh, rocky, rugged, sharp.... any definition of rough fits the place and the people perfectly. Most of the people of Seacroft, in those days were hard working folk…even the thieves were out seven nights a week.

My friends and I are a mixture of Catholics and Protestants, which only means we go to separate schools... we all laugh, we all cry the same tears, bleed the colour red and when one hurts, we all hurt. The only religion we talk about is our beloved Leeds United. Even to this day we all meet once a year to visit our church, our place of worship…Elland Road, to watch the Mighty Whites. Our church welcomes all faiths.

We chat about the old days…“back in our day”…remembering the scrapes and scraps we got ourselves into, we would meet in the WMC for a few drinks and a game of snooker before we caught the bus into Leeds city centre for the night. We laugh at the memories of growing up and going out in Leeds and reminiscing about the pubs that we used to frequent.... sadly, lots of those good old-fashioned establishments are no longer standing.

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The conversation is switching at lightening speed as one tale leads into another and everyone has their own take on the events that occurred…. or did not occur. Some memories that not everyone can remember is advantageous to embellish the truth as we all try to outwit each other. As the evening progresses, the more alcohol is consumed, the voices get louder, the tales get longer, and the truth stretched that little bit further. I don’t want the night to end but alas it must. Photos are taken to capture this evening forever. “One more for the road,” we ask…. but the landlord refuses. Not like the good old days of a lock in.

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chapter two YEAR ONE May, 2016

V

AL is picking me up from the airport our arranged meeting place is the yellow post box 100 yards left as you exit the terminal building.

San Javier Airport is situated on the South East coast of Spain in the region of Murcia. Flying in over the idyllic Mar Menor is a sight to behold… if you’re arriving in daylight.

The airport itself is compact, bijou and hassle free, a lovely little airport. It is shared with the Spanish Airforce, so commercial flights only arrive on certain days, the rest of the time you can watch and admire the Patrulla Águila, the Spanish Aerobatic display team, practicing in the clear blue skies above the Mar Menor.

I’ve been stood at the yellow post box for about 15 minutes, waiting patiently and also beginning to get slightly concerned…What if she doesn’t turn up?…Am at the right post box?

I log onto the airports free Wi-Fi hoping I can send her a message that I’ve arrived, but for some unknown reason my phone is shite!!

“I’m here,” shouts Val, walking towards me.

“Thank god for that, I was in pre-panic mode!”

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“I saw your flight come in, but I had to finish my shift.”

“Shift?” I confusingly exclaim.

“I work here at the airport. I work for Ryanair.”

I look at her uniform and the big badge that says Ryanair attached to her lapel.

“I thought you was an Estate Agent?”

“An Estate Agent??? What made you think that?” She says with a slight bewildered laugh.

“Ermmm…you showing me and others around properties!”

“I’ve only showed you around the apartment. “ “I heard you telling another client that…”.

Val interrupts laughing.

“Client?…That was my old boyfriend trying to worm his way back in.... he’s a pain in the arse! “Anyway…. your apartment belongs to me, I own it, which makes me your landlady,” she giggles.

“So, you better behave yourself,“ she points her finger at me and winks.

We are stood in the living room and Val has explained everything I need to know about bills, places to shop, eat and drink, she has already installed Wi-Fi into the apartment which is a godsend. I can now contact home and let them know I have arrived safely.

“I live in the next street at No22. When you’ve settled in, text me and I’ll put the kettle on.”

I give her the thumbs up as she is leaving.

“Val…one more thing.”

“Yes? “You would make a bloody good Estate Agent.”

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Once I’ve unpacked, I go onto the roof terrace. The sun is shining, and the view is even better than I remembered.

“Well John lad, you’re here” I say to myself. “Ummmm…I could do with a cuppa.”

I call around to Val’s. I sit down in the kitchen as the kettle boils.

“Excuse me, that’s my chair…nobody sits in my chair.”

She tells me about her shift pattern at work and the days she has off. “If you want, we can go down to the beach and have some lunch down there on my day off?”

“Great idea!”

Over the next few weeks, I walk San Pedro streets finding every back street cafe, corner store, restaurants, bars, and places of interest. The main square in San Pedro is very typical of old Spain with a church that dominates the surrounding cafes and shops.

The bells ring out on the hour every hour and if you’re having a coffee in one of the nearby cafes.... you’re warned. It doesn’t seem to bother the locals, but the tourists cover their ears and turn into the hunchback of Notre Dame “It was the bells that made me deaf ” The Romans spent leisure time here in San Pedro, leaving behind many customs and traditions and it has still got that feel as a leisurely place to visit. The mud baths in Las Salinas, another favourite of the Romans, is a big attraction for the health and beauty fraternity…apparently you apply this mud to your skin and it’s properties help cure all sorts of ailments…but be warned it stinks like rotten eggs and it did bugger all for my piles.

I bought a bicycle to help me explore the endless narrow streets that surround the main square. I pick out some of the cafe’s I found previously and try to frequent them as often as I can…getting to know the locals, with a friendly smile and a tip of my cap.

That’s an old Steve McQueen trick to get noticed.

My favourite cafe is on the front, in Lo Pagan, overlooking the Mar Menor. The same one where I had a coffee with Val…but now I drink tea.

I like to sit there and watch the world go by…this working-class man from Leeds enjoying the fruits of his labour and feeling rather good about himself…for the very first time.

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I’ve never been a confident person and a little shy at times. That’s probably down to the fact that I’ve never been happy with my height... 5’6” is small for a man, it may sound silly, but it has troubled me all my life. I know everyone sees deficiencies when they look in the mirror, but I couldn’t even reach the mirror.

My problem started at secondary school my history teacher called me ‘six-inch’, he would make my stand in front of the class, take of my shirt and show my non-existent muscles to the rest of the pupils, while he whistled the muscleman tune. Great fun was had by all…..except me. I can still hear the laughter and mocking…. my self confidence shot to pieces before I even knew what self confidence was. The same teacher would occasionally stand me next to the blackboard and place the blackboard rubber on my head. He said it was the perfect height. I had to stand there perfectly still and if the rubber fell off, he would slap the back of my head and I would have to replace it. The more it fell, the harder he slapped, the more he slapped me, the more unsteady I would become; hence, it was more on the floor than it was my head. Again, it was great entertainment for the class, and to this day I still fear being slapped on my head.

As I planned this next chapter in my life, I made a vow that from now on I’m not going to hide behind the chameleon I once was…. I’m going to be ME! Warts and all!

Some people will like you, some people will hate you, but most people just won’t give a shit, so no more pretending to be someone I’m not. I have the love of my family and friends…. all I need now is to love myself.

I was sat on the beach watching the world go by, listening to Val next to me snoring.

The Mar Menor is perfect for water sports because of its calm waters, reliable gusts of wind and water temperature. The odd aircraft comes into land at San Javier airport bringing holiday makers to this beautiful part of Spain. Suddenly, I hear a commotion on the beach... raised Spanish voices.... angry voices! It has caught everyone’s attention. The infamous hotel owner is scuttling across the promenade followed by an angry crowd of women. He hurries off into the back streets. I see some of the locals find it quite amusing... it’s probably a regular occurrence but I don’t know what’s happened. Val opens one eye, wipes the dribble from her chin, and says, “the pervert is out and about I guess.”

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I get frequent texts from Val saying, “kettles on.”

Tea, biscuits, and a chat. I always pretend to sit in her special chair in the kitchen…

“NO!” is her response.

She has also introduced me to her neighbours, most of which own holiday homes on the street.

Val is from north Wales and very proud of the fact she is Welsh. She doesn’t have a Welsh accent, but woe betide anyone who calls her English. She is a very strong-willed women who calls a spade a spade, a strong character with strong views but she has a heart of gold as all her neighbours will attest to.

Val is the one that organises the flights for her neighbours. She is the one that picks them up from the airport and returns them. She is the one that organises meals out or day trips for everyone…she is the glue that holds all these people together and I’m quickly becoming one of those people.

One day while having tea and biscuits in Val’s kitchen…I go to sit…“NO”…(I get her every time). Then very bluntly she says, “you can have my car for €1000!”

I knew I would have to buy a car eventually. Walking and cycling is ok for keeping close to San Pedro and I have been using public transport for going that bit further but the freedom a car gives you is unmeasurable.

I’d been in Val’s car many times, so I knew it had seen better days, but I also knew it was reliable…and that is the key word…reliable!! My knowledge and interest in the automotive is very limited and all I’m concerned in is “get me there and get me back.”

“ONE THOUSAND EUROS??” I gasp, nearly choking on my Garibaldi.

“You tight fucking Yorkshireman…. get your hand in your pocket.” She goes on to explain that it is good value as cars here in Spain hold their value longer due to something about rust...” Second-hand cars are more expensive here than in the UK.” I explain about my short arms and deep pockets.

After about thirty minutes of bartering and me trying to explain that it’s against a Yorkshireman’s constitution to spend that kind of money on a 13-year-old 1.6 Opal Astra…we finally agree on €1000.

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What she didn’t tell me was that the odometer doesn’t work so nobody knows how many kilometres it has done…for now, it’s stuck on 140,000.

I finish my tea and biscuits and get up to leave €1000 lighter.

“One more thing Val, you make a bloody good Car Salesman.” “‘Sales Woman!’” she snarls.

The first neighbours I met were John and June, a lovely elderly couple from Galway in Ireland. John has been deaf since the age of 3. He can talk but it’s very distorted, so you have to listen very carefully.

What is distinct is, he has a strong Irish accent…my tiny brain somehow can’t fathom that out.... He’s not heard any voice since the age of 3 yet he has an Irish accent??? A few years ago, he was told that there was an operation that may help restore some of his hearing, but he refused on the grounds of he’s better off not listening to his wife.

June can talk…or hours…nonstop…without breathing.…He is a wise man.

When they are over here, we usually go out Thursday evening for Fish & Chips or on Friday for Indian food. On the Indian night we have to go catch the early bird because after 8:30pm the early bird menu stops. This is Val’s decision due to the fact she likes value for her money... she doesn’t like paying over the odds. In my words..... tight as a duck’s arse.

Val has pre-warned me of their eating habits, especially at the Indian. “When the poppadums and dips arrive…get in quickly or you won’t get any,” was Val’s advice. I thought I had pretty good reactions, but I was in slow motion compared to June and John. Before the waiter had chance to put the dishes on the table…whoosh…June and John had them on their plates. I was impressed by the speed of these two senior citizens and how they also inhaled the contents at high speed. Val looked at me with raised eyebrows and mimed “I told you!”

It is always pleasant meeting John & June. They are good company and now new friends. Whenever we go out it’s usually in Val’s car. June sits with Val in the front while John and I are in the back. Val and June talk constantly, no pauses, no breathing, talking at the same time 100 miles an hour, while John and I have a conversation with hand signals.

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I had to change the ownership of the car into my name, which involved making appointments at a Notary and a Gestaria, Val came with me as my own personal translator. That done, I’m off on my newfound freedom. The pushbike is a thing of the past, no more sore arse and dripping in sweat. One thing I didn’t notice when I sat as a passenger with Val is that the Spanish don’t understand the concept of a roundabout, I’m breaking out into a cold sweat and having a panic attack as cars, vans, buses and bikes come at you in all directions, all trying to exit in the wrong lanes. After a while I came up with a fool proof plan to combat these idiots, now on my approach to the roundabout I take a deep breath and shut my eyes, it seems to work.

Having my own transportation has made things a lot easier and made me a lot lazier.

I can now venture further afield discovering quaint little villages along this marvellous coastline.

My favourite, at the moment, is Mil Palmeras (Thousand palms).

A ten-minute drive from San Pedro, Mil Palmeras is a small coastal resort which comes alive in the summer because of its fantastic beach and beach bars and the strip.

The strip is one street that leads off from the beach containing lots of good bars and restaurants and it’s here where I like to sit in the sun having breakfast, realising that I’m living the dream.

I need a hobby to keep me active. I love the game of golf, but I’ve not played for over 20 years due to a lower back problem, so golf is not a option so I use google to search for nearby activities.

Horadada Bowls club welcome new members... for some strange reason this headline caught my attention. Horadada is the next town north from San Pedro so it’s not far…but bowls???…Ain’t that a old man’s sport??? I look through the photos on their website searching for anyone younger than 70… it’s not looking good, but anyway I’ve already made my mind up!!!! What have I got to lose?

Practice days are a Tuesday & Thursday. I do a recce run to find out the exact location. The bowling green is in a big sports complex. I park up and explore. It has everything, a full-size football pitch, running track, swimming pool, squash and padel courts, numerous 5-a-side pitches, and a couple of small cafes. The bowling green is closed but it gives me a good chance to look round. I go for a drink in one of the cafes. I can hear Spanish, English, German and Scandinavian as I people watch. The staff are very friendly and I’m getting a good feel from the place. I’ll be back again on Tuesday when the bowling green is open.

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Tom Jones is doing an evening concert at the Plaza de Toros, the bull ring, in Murcia city. Val acquires 2 tickets…and off we go.

We arrive in Murcia city midday. This gives us plenty of time to have a good look round.

Visiting the Cathedral Baroque Treasure with it’s striking bell tower, the Archaeological Museum with its Roman and Moorish Artefacts, and the Floridablanca Gardens, followed by a well-deserved coffee by the river before making our way to the Plaza de Toros.

Built in 1886 it was used for bull fighting up until last year 2015. It holds about 15,000 people…and it wasn’t that long ago when 15,000 people in here was baying for blood, thank goodness times have changed.

We are sat on the top tier in the cheap seats…the seat being concrete…my piles cried out for help as I sat down. The concert was fabulous. Mr. Jones could still hit those notes. His set list contained a lot of blues and gospel songs as well as one or two of his classics.

Wales was playing Belgium in the European Championships also that evening and gleefully, Tom kept relaying the score to the audience…cheers going up from Val and rest of the Welsh in the arena.

The only downside, apart from my piles was we had a drunk German behind us and he constantly talked through the concert. This was beginning to wind up Val and eventually she snapped, “why don’t you fuck off? We came here to listen to Tom Jones…not fucking you!”

It took a while for the German to respond but he did…and he could not have insulted Val more if he tried. “This English woman is not happy,” he laughed.

“ENGLISH? ENGLISH??! You fucking German bastard I’m Welsh!”

By this time Val was scrambling over people to get to him…the man did a great escape, never to be seen again.

In the months of July and August there is a big influx of holidaymakers who come down from Madrid. A lot of them have holiday homes along the coast. I’m sat in my favourite cafe on the front, it’s quite busy… the busiest since I arrived a few months ago. Sat at the next table to me are two Spanish ladies.

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I notice one of the ladies looking at me so I give my best smile in return.

“Are you English?” She asks.

Why the hell does she think I’m English…do we have a certain look?…Beer belly and tattoos…that’s not me! Pale white skin? No, I’ve got a bit of colour now.

“Yes, I am how did you know?”

“I heard you order your tea without milk.”

That’s how she knew?

“Your English is very good.”

“No, my English is very bad.”

“A lot better than my bloody Spanish” “What is this word you use…blood???

I apologise for my language, which digs me into a deeper hole of explanation.

I’m asked to join Lourdes and Rosa, which I gleefully accept.

They have traveled down from Madrid for a week’s holiday. Rosa owns a holiday home in Torrevieja, which is a 15-minute drive away and this is the first time she has brought her friend Lourdes here.

Lourdes is the one who speaks English, Rosa only knows one word…but. It’s funny having this three-way conversation when all she says is but.

I spend a lovely afternoon with these ladies trying to teach English and trying to learn Spanish. The only Spanish I’ve learnt is the word for but…Pero! I exchange mobile numbers with Lourdes and we hope to meet again before they return for Madrid. As they leave, I give them the traditional Yorkshire farewell…“Ah’ll si thee”. Find that in your translation book.

That evening I receive a message from Lourdes thanking me for entertaining afternoon.

Tuesday 10am I arrive at Horadada bowls club. I’m greeted by a man smaller than me…things are looking up and it’s him.

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Peter introduces me to everyone, and I’m thrown in at the deep end.

“You go play with that team over there, they’ll show you what to do,” he says in his Cockney accent.

Dennis, another Cockney, takes me under his wing. He gets me a set of bowls and some special shoes to wear and begins to explain the basics. I take a couple of practice rolls and then it’s match on!!

Peter shouts over “fucking Wayne is here…late again!”

Rushing through the gates is Wayne, “shut up you dwarf…I’m the only one here who fucking works.”

Dennis ushers Wayne over to our rink and introduces me as a fellow northerner.

Wayne is 47 and from York and he also supports The Mighty Whites…we bond straight away.

We have a fun-packed couple of hours, lots of banter…usually between the North and South and a few drinks had. There is a fridge with beers, water, and soft drinks… throw in a Euro and take what you want. I have a water because it’s bloody hot and I want to keep hydrated. Wayne and Dennis prefer beer.

The game itself went well for me…I seem to be a natural and everyone is impressed, including me.

At the finish, most of the bowlers say their goodbyes and head off home, leaving Wayne and I, the North with Dennis and Peter, the South…“Ok let’s go have drink,” someone suggests, and nobody disagrees.

We sit outside a bar near to the bowls club. The banter continues, Wayne got a round of three small beers and a Pepsi for Pete. Peter doesn’t drink due to him having had two strokes. I’m not a big drinker either but I do appreciate that first cold beer when the weather is hot, and you’ve been active. Over the next hour or so and a couple of beers, I get to know three strangers who eventually I will call good friends. I’m the target for most of the questions as I’m the new kid on the block. I use the old Tom Waits trick and tell them a pack of lies…only for my own entertainment. I feel totally comfortable in their company and I know they are not sure what to believe.... although I think I went a bit too far when I told them that I use to rob graves and sell body parts to Japan.

19

FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my time with the Horadada lot, and the best thing is, we get to do it all again on Thursday…if Wayne can sneak out of work.

On one of Val’s days off, we decide to visit Cartagena. We drive down to a small village called Los Nietos, where we catch the train. Its just a single-track line and a regular service which stops at little villages along the way before it finally reaches Cartagena.

Cartagena is a port city and a naval base, founded by the Carthaginians around 220 BC. During the Roman period, the city grew rapidly and there are some fascinating Roman ruins still standing, including a 1st century BC theatre and Casa de la Fortuna (the fortune house). You can feel the history as you walk round the cobble streets, now home to many shops, cafe’s and bars.

The port is a stunningly large and open space. As we approached the port, we couldn’t help but notice on the far side of the port was moored the biggest yacht either of us had ever seen. It belonged to the Russian Billionaire, Andrey Melnichenko, and that yacht cost nearly 400 million Euro’s to build. As we stood there aghast at the site of this beautiful looking modern piece of art, what looked like a secret compartment opened on the side and out lowered another yacht of normal proportions. Obviously, this required us to sit and have a cool beer and discuss what would we do if we had 400 million euro’s. After our cool refreshments, we took a boat ride around the harbour. The tour guide wasn’t allowed to go anywhere near Melnichenko’s yacht, but you didn’t have to go near…it was there!

I’m not good on water, especially after a couple of beers. I once got seasick on a pedal boat without alcohol, so I was glad when I could put my feet on dry land again. We had some lunch before heading back to the train station. I really enjoyed the day out and Cartagena definitely warrants another trip.

Now that I’m properly mobile, I can visit Dennis and Peter in Campoverde which is a large Urbanisation, a couple of kilometres inland from Pilar de la Horadada. A warren of streets running through each other, you can easily get lost there and I did as I followed Dennis’s instructions, something I will learn in the future is listen to Dennis very carefully…then ignore it.

20

FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

Campoverde is split into two parts, the old town and the new. There are plenty of bars mostly occupied by the Brits. I don’t recall on my visit there seeing a Spanish person, obviously there must be, so for me Campoverde is not a place I could live but it’s good to visit. I went down to Los Urrutias to see Wayne and his family. It was nice meeting friends away from the bowls green and it introduced me to a new circle of friends.

I went further afield on my own visiting Torrevieja, La Mata and Guardamar, stopping for a coffee and a good look round. I can hear bells ringing, not church bells…more of a tinkle bell sound. I’m sat at the bowls club waiting for people to arrive. I’m beginning to think I’ve got my days wrong. All days seem to merge into one and it’s easy to lose track of time and days. When I see a man approaching, he extends his hand in friendship, “I’m Alan.”

“Nice to meet you Alan, I’m John!” We shake hands heartedly. “Are you a new member?” he asks.

“Yes, I’ve been a few times.”

“You keep returning for more punishment then? “Punishment?? “Little Peter!”

“Yes, I’ve met Peter…lovely man.”

“He is when you can understand him.” Alan laughs then walks to the clubhouse and the ringing bells noise starts again. I shout overt Alan, “Can you hear bells?”

“No” he laughs. I follow Alan into the club house to get some bowls and bowling shoes. I can still hear the bells. “Listen Alan…that noise!” Alan puts his hand to his ear. “No, I can’t hear anything”.

I go outside, more bowlers have arrived. We pass pleasantries as I sit to put on my bowling shoes. Alan walks past and the bells noise follows him. “Alan are you a Morris dancer, because that noise is coming from you?” Some of the other bowlers start to laugh. They obviously know something I don’t. One of them nudges me and points to Alan’s shoes. He has two small bells attached to each shoelace. “I knew that bell sound was coming from you!” I exclaimed “You have bells attached to your shoes” Alan looks down at his feet, “Have I? Oh yes!”

“Why?” I ask. “Why not?”

“I’m not sure that constitutes as a answer Alan!”

21

FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

“Ok I’ll try again, it’s so I know where I am.” That was my first introduction to Alan Miller and the start of another great friendship.

I never did meet Lourdes and Rosa again that week and I’d really forgotten about them. I’m now bowling three times a week as I’m a fully paid-up member of Horadada bowls club. We’ve added Sunday to our practice days which means Wayne is guaranteed to attend if the wife lets him. Then out of the blue I receive a message from Lourdes asking if I’m ok. Over the next few days of endless texting and getting to know more about her, she asks if she can come and visit for a couple of days…just her!

The train from Atocha Madrid is arriving at 12:30. I have spent two days cleaning the apartment and myself from top to bottom. I’m more excited than nervous as I wait on platform one at Balsicas station. Lourdes has sent me a photo while on the train, so I know definitely it’s not a hoax, which I kept thinking it was…or some kind of wind up…I don’t know why. My lack of self confidence, I guess.

As she steps down from the train I greet her with a big smile and embrace. I carry her bag to the car…I couldn’t help but notice her disappointment at the waiting vehicle, so I reassure her that it’s reliable!!!! But I don’t think she’s convinced. Once she’s unpacked her things, she suggests a walk along the beach. After a quick coffee in my favourite cafe, we spend the rest of the day walking and talking on the beach. She has a yearning to live by the beach as it frees her mind of all the stress of running a busy dental surgery in the heart of Madrid.

“I become a completely different person here,” she tells me.

I’m thinking…is that a good thing or a bad thing?

We talk about our past and what brought us to this point in our lives…I’m very honest and open…I’m not here to play games. I don’t tell her about selling the body parts to Japan because that’s not true and I think the humour could get lost in translation.

An evening meal in a nice restaurant near my apartment is followed by sitting on my porch until the early hours, chatting away.

The following morning, I make coffee and take it to her bed, she is already awake and reading the bible. After breakfast we spend the morning once more on the beach. I blather myself in factor 50 while she uses nothing. Her skin is a beautiful olive colour, and it glistens in the sunshine…I’m feeling good…then suddenly my self doubt creeps in…“what am I doing with a beautiful fascinating woman like this?…What is she after?

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FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

The Train to Madrid leaves at 16:20. We return to the apartment so she can shower and pack. The drive to the train station is done in silence. On the platform as the train is pulling into the station Lourdes says “I don’t want to leave…but I know I must…my journey home will be a sad one.”

My journey home was a sad one also as I’ve enjoyed her company immensely… but I still have this nagging doubt…I don’t know what it is. Maybe my past record with the opposite sex has left a legacy of suspicion or maybe my guide is warning me.

Val has done an airport run to pick up her neighbours Ed and Maureen. They have come for a two-week break. On there first night we’ve arranged to go out for a meal together, so I walk round to Val’s and introduce myself. Val has told me a lot about this couple from Sunderland, so I was expecting a good evening.

We drive to a lovey little town just up the coast called Mil Palmares in Val’s new Vauxhall Mokka. It’s nice to have a bit of comfort. Val seems a different person in their company…brighter…funnier…more alive. Val has lived in Spain for 16 years and most of that time on her own. She looks forward to her neighbours arriving to break up her humdrum life of all work and no play, unlike me who has all play and no work. Ed and Maureen are a very funny couple when you can understand what they are saying with their strong Mackem accent. Ed is ardent Sunderland AFC supporter, so football is the main topic between the two of us and our age bonds us to the same era. Ed is diabetic and has to inject himself which he does without trying to hide it. He just lifts up his shirt and stabs himself to Maureen’s disgust. “People don’t want to see your fat belly while their eating!”

“Ha’way Maureen pet.”

Great food and even better company…we laughed all evening.

The following morning. we all walked down to Lo Pagan for some breakfast. Val and I order the typical Spanish breakfast of tostada with tomato and tuna. Maureen orders small English breakfast while Ed is still studying the menu. Maureen is getting impatient with Ed’s indecision as is the Spanish waiter.

“Come on Ed…. he’s stood there like a lemon waiting for you!”

Ed turns to Maureen …. “I think I’ll have the full English pet, but with poached eggs.”

Maureen asks the waiter in her very strong Macken accent, “Do you do poached eggs pet?”

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FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

The blank expression on the waiter’s face tells us that he’s not got a clue what Maureen has said.

“Poached eggs,” Maureen says very slowly.

“You want eggs?

“Poached eggs, pet” “Eggs, pet???? I no understanding…

Maureen does her best to explain using her hands.

“Not fried eggs or boiled eggs but poached eggs “ “Sorry I no understanding.”

Val is kicking me under the table because I’m trying to stifle laughing.

Maureen turns to Val in desperation.

“Val can you explain to him?”

“No, your ok Maureen you’re doing just fine.”

Maureen now has a make belief pan in her hands and demonstrates how to poach an egg.

“You have a pan of water; you break an egg into the water and swirl it round so it holds it together…poached.”

If ever a blank expression told a thousand thoughts, I can only imagine what he was thinking, and I know it contained a few swear words.

By now both Val and I are laughing. Maureen gave up and ordered a full English, she was clearly not happy, especially when Ed said, “Don’t they do poached eggs pet?”

“You’re a fucking dickhead Edward!”

Val and I were in tears.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall when the waiter got to the kitchen. He probably said something like…“I quit!”

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FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

What is happening to me?? Is my makeup changing? Is my shyness being shoved on to the naughty step? Is the true me raising up from the dead?

All I know is I’m different…more comfortable within myself and long may it continue.

Eight months has flown by and I’ve really settled into this lifestyle. Val and I go out once a week for a meal when all visitors are back home. I’m still bowling 3 times a week but now it’s serious as I’m in the team that plays in the winter league It’s a really big deal over here on the Costa’s. Some folk take it that serious that they cheat…I’m still wet behind the ears to all this skullduggery, but I have witnessed it…sad really, but it will always happen even at bowls.

The team is doing well and us young ones, Wayne and I, are having a positive effect on the fortunes of Horadada bowls club. Wayne joined a month before I did.

I’m teamed up with a lovely married couple Brian and Pat both in their late 70’s but boy are they good. Brian has been bowling a lot of years and has won most things here on the Costa’s. He’s my mentor, he’s got Parkinson’s and he shakes like a shitting dog when he bowls.... but I wish I was that good. Pat wanders round talking to herself, which seems to wind up the opposition…but I know what really winds them up… when she puts her woods on that Jack, which she does repeatedly.

Playing all these different teams and meeting all the expatriates is great socially.

Ninety-nine percent are wonderful people…all over for the same thing…to enjoy life.

Once the game has finished you mingle with the opposition, have a drink and get to know them…cheats and all.

My first away match for Horadada is against Monte Mar, situated in Gran Alicant which is approximately a 45-minute drive from San Pedro. It’s the furthest we have had to travel to play a league match. Alan Miller has offered to take me in his car. Pick up time 9-15am which I thought was cutting it a bit fine for a 10am starting time. The N332 will take us straight there but is has lots of roundabouts so I know it will take some getting there in under 45 minutes. What I didn’t know was Alan’s driving. In between the roundabouts I noticed we were passing cars with ease. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Alan was oblivious to my stress and chatted away without a care.

Around the Torrevieja area there is a stretch of road without a roundabout for a few Kilometres. As we approached the last roundabout, Alan put his foot down. It was like being shot out of a cannon as I was pinned back in my seat. My face felt like plasticine with the g-force. My eyes felt they were touching the back of my scull. I gripped onto the seat for dear life and prayed to a god I don’t believe in. We arrived in 30 minutes.

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FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

Alan had to prise my fingers from the seat and found it very amusing. As I got out from the car, my legs wouldn’t work, and I was concerned there may be evidence of my journey on the seat of my pants. As we entered the clubhouse, I was still walking like Bambi on ice. Some of our team mates also found it amusing knowing the ordeal I’ve just been through. Alan asked me if I would like a coffee. My reply was, “WHISKEY”.

I played really badly that day. All I could think about was the journey home. A few days later I quizzed Alan about his driving. ‘I don’t think I drive differently to anyone else,” he replied. I looked at him in disbelief as he proceeded to tell me his claim to fame. “I’ve been caught speeding by the police on every continent on earth.”

My daughter Nicola and her partner Scott have booked a three-week trip around Europe, staring off in Paris for a couple of romantic nights before flying to Rome for a few days. There they will catch a cruise liner to visit Kusadasi in Turkey, then on to Athens, then Santorini before finishing in Barcelona for three days. Then they will fly down to San Javier to spend two weeks with me. Things didn’t quite go plain sailing once on board the ship. Sailing out of Italy, there was a earthquake. Now according to Nicola, table and chairs were sliding everywhere, glasses were being smashed, people started to panic and began to put on life jackets and make their way to the lifeboats where the Italian captain was already sat in one.

Then the day before they were due to visit Santorini, Scott got a bad case of food poisoning from eating crab and had to be quarantined in his room for three days, poor Nicola had to visit Santorini on her own. In Barcelona they did the usual tourist stuff visiting the Camp Nou, Las Ramblas and of course the famous Sagrada Familia but Nicola was eager to get down to Murcia.

I do my first airport run and pick them up from San Javier although we had to wait for Scott to get through security because of his Australian passport. They had probably never seen one before. The weather for their two-week stay was perfect. We spent a lot of time down by the beach taking in the sun. The evenings were spent mostly in Amigos and the nights Scott spent trying to fit his 6’4” frame into a camp bed.

On one of the evenings, we went out with Val to a Lamb Restaurant in Pilar de la Horadada. The food was first class and the whole evening Val spent mesmerised by the size of Scott and his muscles. Scott was a professional rugby player from Australia plying his trade in England. He’d recently retired, and his wish was to return to his home town of Brisbane, so their visit to see me was a bitter sweet one, as their next stop on their journey was to Australia, to start a new life together.

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FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

We had a wonderful two weeks together; I took them down to the mud baths where we partaken in covering ourselves in the therapeutic muds. Credit to Scott, he covered himself from head to toe, stood on the promenade baking the mud dry. He looked like a giant Native Australian.

When it was time to say our goodbyes, I will admit it was tough. Scott promised me he would look after her. I kept a stiff upper lip until I got home.

On the second leg of their flight from Dubai to Brisbane, Scott got food poisoning again. Nicola text me “I hope this is not an omen!”

“What do you mean?” I replied.

“He seems to be full of shit!!”

One week before Christmas, I do my second airport run. I’m picking up my friends Keith, Winnie and Smiffy, who are joining me for the festive period. Bedrooms and sleeping arrangements all sorted, and I’ve stocked up with beer and wine for my incoming guests.

The only problem with the apartment is that it’s not got air con... so during the summer months I had to invest in some tower fans to circulate some cool air. The location of the apartment is facing the Mediterranean so some days I do get a nice sea breeze coming through the front door along with the mosquitos. I did have a mosquito net on the front door which worked perfectly until I ripped it to pieces one night in frustration as I was trying to enter in the dark. I put plants on my porch such as Lavender, Mint, Citronella and Rosemary to try and detract the blighters. It may stop some but not all of them. When I find one in the apartment, I become a Ninja on a mission, and I don’t rest until I’ve cornered and conquered.

A lot of people on the street have trouble with Cockroaches. Luckily, I’m not one of them, although I did find one getting up for a pee at two o’clock in the morning......

I was getting up for a pee, not the Cockroach! The battle that ensued was nasty and brutal, lasting over 30 minutes. Both sides had a chance of victory but my superior fitness won the day..... squashing it with my Flip Flop. Cockroaches are horrible little bastards.

Four people in the apartment at the same time could create a sauna-type atmosphere so I purchased a small fan for each individual.... hoping that after a skinful of alcohol, the fumes can be dispersed without me getting pissed on them.

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FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

The weather since I arrived in May has been unbelievable. Some slight rain in September but it came as a welcome break from the heat. I’d been warned about a Gota Fria, which is a big storm that floods everywhere…no sign of it yet!

On the day I picked up my friends it was clear blue skies and a temperature of 22c… perfect! It was fantastic to see them. Catching up on all the gossip as we drove back home to drop off the suitcases then head straight to a bar.

Christmas lunch was interesting, Winnie wanted to cook but I wanted to treat them, so I booked “Traditional festive dinner” at an Italian restaurant nearby. An Italian restaurant in Spain doing a traditional British Christmas lunch…what could possibly go wrong? I have to say that I’ve visited this restaurant many times and the food is first class but their take on a traditional British Christmas lunch was as Gordon Ramsey would call “fucking horrible.“ We drove to McDonald’s afterwards, still wearing our party hats.

I introduce my old friends to my new friends over a few drinks. I’m beginning to get the feeling that Winnie likes this lifestyle of mine. Smiffy has already retired, and he loves the sun but fishing is his passion. He likes nothing better than casting his rod on the lakes and rivers around Yorkshire. He’s got no sense of direction and is forever getting lost. He doesn’t drive so it’s either buses or walking, but whatever mode of transport he uses he gets lost…I fear for him the older he gets.

We watch Leeds live on Sky TV in Amigos sports bar that is situated about a thirtysecond saunter from my apartment. Keith, Winnie and Smiffy have become regulars.

The alcohol consumption increased and the bars takings double overnight.

I work on Winnie about the great way of life this is. She is adamant that one day she will be here ... the only stumbling block she has is Keith... don’t get me wrong, Keith would also like some of this, but he is indecisive and cautious… not a great combination when you want to move abroad. I’m constantly in Winnie’s ear “tell him to get his hand in his pocket the tight Yorkshire bugger!” One evening after having a few beers, Keith has a lightbulb moment. He orders another round as he excitedly explains to us his idea. Because Nicola and Scott recently emigrated to Australia and I hope to visit as often as I can, Keith’s idea is that when I visit my daughter, Keith and Winnie will come here to stay at my place. His master plan is that when I visit my family either in the UK or Australia, they will then come over to Spain and stay in the apartment and use the car, and I can use their house and car when I’m in the UK.

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FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

“Do you know Keith, that’s not a bad idea,” I find myself saying.

Keith explains “we will pay all the bills while we are here, and you know it’s in safe hands.”

Winnie adds “that gives us a chance to look around the area for our own place…it will happen Keith mark my words.”

I can see the landlord doing a little jig behind the bar with an enormous smile on his face and rubbing his hands in glee. My only concern was Val and how she felt about me letting people stay when I’m not here. I ran the idea past her, I knew what she would say because she’s a good person.

I give Keith and Winnie the green light.

The night before they head back to the UK the landlord is in tears as they limit the consumption of alcohol to moderate proportions, because they don’t want to feel rough on the journey home…so, we left the bar early at 1am.

Val had warned me about the months of January and February being cold, but I laughed it off. “I’m from Yorkshire!” She offered to put a gas heater into the apartment for me, but I refused…I’m from Yorkshire…big mistake! What I did not realise is that the older Spanish homes are not designed for cold weather, everywhere is tiled to keep it cool in summer, so when January took hold, I could most certainly feel the temperature drop inside…outside was nice…inside was cold. At first you can adapt by putting on a layer of clothing, but there came a point when I had to go to Val’s with my tail between my legs and beg for the heater.

“Tough Yorkshireman,” she chuckled.

We still went out together once a week for something to eat during the colder months.

I also meet up with my bowling pals on practice days. The league takes a break in December, January and February…I still visit my favourite cafes, the language barrier is still a problem, but a smile does not need a translation book, so things ticked over.

There were still the odd day where the temperature reached the high 20’s and could sit up on my roof terrace read and catch some rays.

Amigos started having quiz night on a Thursday evening so Val and I would occasionally turn up and test our wits against the other locals and tourists. General knowledge and music was the usual categories, which suited Val right down to the ground.

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FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

She is a highly intelligent woman and between us we won every time we entered. We would take it in turns who took the bottle of wine home, after six wins and six bottles, Val got bored of winning and stopped going to the relief of the other locals. I went a couple more times when I had friends staying but I always ended up coming in last, so I stopped going.

The next time we went to Amigos together was to see a David Bowie tribute act The Thin White Dude…well, he wasn’t thin, he wasn’t white, and he certainly wasn’t a dude. Not a great start to an eagerly awaited evening, which got progressively worse with each attempt of a song. As the expected crowd of a good evening started to thin out, he started to sing the less well known of Bowie’s work which drove even more customers away. Just as Val and I had considered leaving ourselves, he asked for any requests. My arm shot up like a cheap rocket from the pound shop…“Width of a Circle,” I shouted. Well, his face looked like he’d lost a tenner and found a shilling, and as I was the only request, I’d backed him into a corner. He got his own back though, with a awful rendition of my all-time favourite Bowie song. I wished I’d never asked, and so did the landlord, as by now there was only Val, myself, the tone deaf and the pissed left in the place.

My newfound hobby of bowls has gone better than expected, not that I’d envisaged playing any kind of competitive sport when I planned my retirement, Horadada BC are sitting top of the C division at the halfway stage of the season and Wayne and I got to the final of the internal pairs competition. I’m really enjoying the camaraderie of the bowls scene here on the Costa’s and Horadada being one of the smaller clubs, we have developed a close-knit team and my mentor Brian, is full of praise for me.

As February draws to a close, I can feel the temperature starting to change again.

Soon we will be back to our usual long hours of sunshine a day. I have my friend Chris from Scotland arriving in mid March just as the bowling resumes and it seems that the winter months, if you can call it winter, has past before it got started. You can see evidence of the winter passing as the cafes and restaurants that close, are in the process of getting ready to reopen. Chris is really looking forward to a week away in the sun.

Contact with Lourdes has been regular, and she continues to tell me of her stress levels caused by the pressures of work and her desire to have a retreat somewhere, stress-free.

I’m obviously thinking that she wants to use me as her anti-stress device…then she asks me would I like to visit Madrid? Now my thinking has been scrambled again. I need to stop trying to analyse and just go with the flow.

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FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

The train from Balsicas to Madrid takes 5 hours. Apparently, there are only single line tracks in Murcia which was originally used for the agricultural business, but now that tourism has become more popular in this area, the railway infrastructure is in desperate need of modifying. Balsicas is a small station with free parking. I’m a bit dubious about leaving my car there for a few days, but having spoken to the expats, they seem to think it’s safe. I take a pack up for the journey of cheese and onion sandwiches, homemade of course, and a book to read, ‘Post Office’ by Charles Bukowski.

I have to say that the Renfe trains are superb, clean, tidy, and comfortable with a nice buffet car also. The conductor comes round issuing free earphones so you can listen to the onboard music or watch the screened films.

In between reading, watching, and listening, I gaze out of the window in wonder of the beauty and vastness of Spain. Between stations there seems to be nothing but beautiful scenery and the closer we get to Madrid you can see the landscape and colours changing. I delight at watching folk entering the train at each stop and search for their seat, or even if they are in the correct carriage…it’s like the mind turns to mush as they struggle to read simple seat numbers, struggling with other passengers and luggage in the wrong seats.

I’ve arranged to meet Lourdes outside a cafe within the station. What she forgot to tell me was how big Atocha station is! My plan was to embark and just follow like sheep to the exit. I soon resorted to plan B…which was panic! When everyone scattered in all directions, I was going up and down escalators not knowing where I was as Lourdes was desperately texting “where are you Juan Antonio?” She calls me Juan Antonio because my name is John Anthony. I quite like my newfound name and when I introduce myself to any Spanish person now, I always use it.

Eventually I get myself above ground. I’m on the phone to Lourdes and she guides me to our intended meeting place. The relief on my face must have painted a thousand pictures…Lourdes found it very funny. We catch the metro to Principe Pio where Lourdes has a 2-bedroom apartment overlooking the Royal Palace and over the next two days. she gives me a guided tour of this heavenly city. We walked on the century’s old cobbles of the Plaza Major, apparently the scene of many bullfights and beheadings and the best Black Pudding ever, in a quaint little Tapas bar just off the Plaza. We looked around Madrid’s most famous street, the Grand Via, and have my picture taken with the well-known Bear statue in Puerta del Sol. 31

FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

On the eve of my departure, we had a welcome meal, where I ordered in my best Spanish, Polla de Brasa, which translates to grilled Dick…. I wanted chicken-Pollo. My Spanish is a work-in-progress, but it’s a mistake I won’t make again. It was a whistlestop trip to one of the most amazing cities I’ve ever visited. I slept the whole way home and found my car untouched…what a wonderful life.

Mid March…I receive a text message from Chris…“I’ve landed.” I jump into my car and head off to pick him up.

The beauty about San Javier airport for me is I can wait until the plane has landed before I set off to pick up. It’s a 15-minute straight-forward drive, so I don’t have to park up. They wait at the yellow post box and just jump in and off we go.

Alicante airport is a 45-minute drive and obviously it’s a much larger airport and much more of a pain in the arse for pickup and drop off.

As usual we have a day of crystal blue skies for the arrival of Chris. We retire to Amigos bar for a bite to eat and a good old chin wag. I’ve known Chris for over forty odd years but most of those years he has lived in Scotland. A Yorkshireman living in Scotland is a remedy for being the tightest bugger of all time. “I’m not tight…I’m just careful,’ is his standard reply. He could peel an orange in his pocket without anyone noticing. I’ve known him to go out for an evening, get sloshed, have fish & chips and still have change from fiver.

The following morning the heavens opened, and boy did it rain and rain…and rain.

This was the infamous Gota Fria I had been warned about. We had rivers running down the streets as it rained for two solid days. We did manage to wade across to Amigos bar for a drink and bite to eat but most of the time we took advice from the local authorities and stayed indoors. Chris was absolutely pissed off, but he put it into perspective when the news reported people had died as the consistent rain caused mass flooding. And of course, the day of his departure, the rain had ceased, and the sun shone once more. His parting words…“I ain’t coming back here again!”

He did.

Two weeks later when everything was back to normal, one evening the temperature suddenly dropped and as the sun was going down, this haze appeared. It was like looking through cataracts. The following morning everywhere was covered in a layer of red dust blown in from Africa. People were out sweeping and hosing down their yards. All the cars in the street were now the same colour.

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FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

You are not allowed to wash your car in the street. It must be done at a car wash, where the water is recycled. Water is very precious in Spain.

The next day I walked into town and every car in every street was still covered in red and not once did I see a giant penis drawn in the dust, I was tempted though.

I had a friend request on Facebook from a Helena Ask. Usually, I just delete if I don’t know who they are or if they have no association with other friends of mine but strangely, I felt impelled to have a look at her profile…where I discovered her father’s surname was the same as mine…intrigued, I accepted.

I received a message from Helena asking if we were related?

I knew a bit about my surname as I had done some research on my family history on various internet sites, but you can only research so far before you have to pay…the tight Yorkshireman in me won the day.

After our initial contact we exchange mobile numbers and I pass on the information that I had acquired on my surname Jukes. Her father was Colin Jukes from London, before he moved to Sweden where he married and had children. I do know some of our family had moved to London and she recognised some of the names on my history chart, so she was putting two and two together…I wasn’t convinced.

Val had picked up her next-door neighbour, Diane, and her friend Sylvia from the airport. They were coming out for a weeks holiday. Diane owns the house next to Val and has had it for over 12 years. She was a regular visitor until the untimely death of her husband, since then she only comes out a couple of times a year.

Val always speaks highly of Diane’s husband I think they must have got on famously.

Val invites me to join them on their first night and we sit outside on Val’s porch chatting away.

I’m sure the only reason I got the invite from Val was both Diane and Sylvia are scatty, and the conversation can be difficult as they forget more than they can remember.

Both ladies are in their mid 70’s. Val and I are of the same age so there tends to be two conversations going on at the same time.

That week Val looked after them superbly, taking them shopping, to the beach, out for meals…Val took a week’s holiday to do so. That speaks volumes of the woman.

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Val was working so I volunteered to take the ladies to the airport. They offered me 20€ for my trouble but it was no trouble, so I declined their generous offer, even though they had to be at the airport for 7am. Having successfully dropped them off and bid them a safe journey I set off home. As I was coming off the motorway to San Pedro the car seemed to lose power and become very sluggish. I turn off the radio and instantly I can hear it’s a flat tyre. Luckily, the roads are not busy, so I slowly limp the short journey home to find not just a puncture, but the whole tyre was shredded. My good deed cost me 70€ for a new wheel, I sent a text to Diane “I’ve had second thoughts about the offer of 20€.”

The next request I received from Helena was can I come to Spain to visit you? She is convinced we are related, and I quite like the idea of having a distant cousin from Sweden. Selfishly I’m thinking of holidays in Scandinavia. It is a massive risk we are both taking because if we are honest, we don’t really know each other. Brave or stupid …only time will tell.

She arrives at Alicante from Gothenburg and I’m there to welcome her. The 45-minute drive home is very pleasant as I take the N332 route as it’s more scenic, as opposed to the AP7 motorway. Besides…there are tolls on the motorway…yes, tight Yorkshireman!

Helena brings me a gift…a drawing of Winston Churchill. She thought my father had the look of the great man. The drawing is by the famous Polish expressionist artist Feliks Topolski.

The first couple of days we sit by the computer on different ancestry sites trying to make pieces fit into our family history puzzle. It’s not looking good, but she is determined to put some square pegs in round holes. To break the pressures of ancestry, I introduce her to the Horadada bowls fraternity, and everyone takes to her jovial nature. Helena joined in on one of our roll-up days and she enjoyed it immensely, unfortunately for a few days after she walked round like she had a deposit in her knickers, two hours of bowling had taken its toll on her Gluteus Maximus.

On the last Friday of every month, the local hotel holds a music and dance evening.

Helena and I are asked by Dennis if we would like to attend. Of course, we accept… then he tells us it’s 10 euros each. It’s live music but bring your own food and drink.

The food is usually nibbles, but Helena decided to make something a bit more substantial. I had to buy peppers, broccoli, tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, eggs, herbs and spices, pastry and a 12” baking tin. I don’t even spend that much on a full shop 34

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when I’m on my own. When she had finished it smelt and looked fantastic... it was like a giant quiche. Peter and his wife Jenny picked us up. Dennis was also in the car, so it was a bit of a squeeze in the back, but Dennis loved it and he was on form giving Helena lots of compliments.

The venue was full, and the band played some good dance tunes. Helena and I were obviously the youngest there by a country mile but give due to those oldies, once the music starts, they are on that dance floor having a wail of a time.

During the interval, the food was revealed, and everyone tucked in. I think a few people where a bit apprehensive about the giant quiche as it didn’t go as quickly as I thought it would. The next thing I know is Dennis had taken it to the other tables and was charging two euro’s a slice. When he returned it was all gone, along with the money.

The second half of the show more people got up to dance as the alcohol kicked in.

When I get on a dance floor my legs seem to go in different directions as if they’ve had an argument, so I stay well clear. Dennis had complained about a troublesome knee and was visibly limping until Helena asked him to dance, then he was on that dance swinging her round like a ragdoll. When Helena had had enough, Dennis limped off the dance floor supporting a massive grin and Helena supporting her Gluteus Maximus.

We had a really good week. All my fears of her being an axe-murderer was unfounded.

I returned her to Alicante for her flight back home. She texted me sometime later saying “you did not turn round and wave goodbye? “ I was more bothered about not going over my free ten minutes parking…yes, I know…tight Yorkshireman!

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chapter three YEAR TWO May, 2017

M

AY 2017 what a 12-months I have had. It has been amazing…better than I could ever have imagined…and my second year starts off with a bang!

Horadada Bowls Club won the C division at a canter. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every moment of the season; I’ve played well under the guidance of Brian and the people on the bowls circuit are beginning to take notice of the two young bowlers at Horadada…

Wayne and I! We have an end of season presentation meal where trophies are given out to the internal competitions winners and runners up. Wayne and I receive a plaque for the losing finalists in the men pairs…a great achievement since we both are new to the game. That night I met the bowler’s other halves, including Wayne’s beautiful wife Sam…all fantastic people. I threw my plaque into the bottom of the drawer when I returned home…determined next year it won’t be a loser’s medal.

I’ve had to buy myself a diary because of family and friends wanting to come out and visit. I feel like a travel agent trying to juggle all the requests I receive. First up is my brother Mark and sister-in-law Janet, and they are bringing with them…Mother.

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Although she is 81 and not in the best of health, according to her, she is still pretty active though I have some steep steps leading up to my apartment which may be a concern but there will be three of us to manoeuvre her up and down.

Now I feel like a holiday rep trying to organise places to visit. We walk down to Lo Pagan, which is approximately one mile away. Mother comes with us and does really well walking though she does need to stop every now and then.

I show them the mud baths then we go sit down and have a cool drink in my favourite cafe.

Mark and Janet comment on how much I have changed as a person…no longer am I the victim of…“death by wife.”

I explain that I have found peace. I no longer get stressed at the smallest possible things. I’m comfortable being this person…it has taken me over 50 years to find the real me. I sit there with my family and wonder if dad could see us now…would he be proud? Most definitely.

Mother loves to sit on my porch reading…out in the fresh air and warmth as I show Mark and Janet this beautiful coastline in the Southeast of Spain.

Val took my mother shopping one day while we went down to the beach. From that day all Mother could talk about was how wonderful Val is and how she would make me a good wife. As their holiday approaches the end, I know for sure that this lifestyle I now lead, has made a massive impression on my brother.

Towards the end of the winter bowling league, one of our older bowlers, Ken, had been struggling really badly due to the death of his wife. I’ve not seen much of him, but I’d heard about his prowess as a bowler. He also used to keep the bowling carpet clean and tidy for match days, now he was beginning to neglect those duties which was understandable. I was asked by the committee if I would take over the cleaning duties for a sum of €30 a month…I accepted. It was a straightforward job, or so I thought. Three of the sides of the green is open, albeit with a surrounding fence, and the clubhouse side was lined by pine trees. When those pine tree needles fall, they land on the playing surface. It was a real pain in the arse trying to get all the needles out of the carpet.... and sometimes it was impossible. It took me a good couple of hours to get the carpet looking decent enough to play, I use to do the cleaning the day before a match but if we had wind or even a breeze! on the morning of the match the carpet would be full of needles.

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Horadada BC was formed in 2006 and that was when the carpet was laid, and it has passed its life expectancy. My plan was to clean the carpet then have a little practice, but I was hanging in rags after 2 hours attempting to get it ship shape, still I felt I was doing my bit for the club.

Shortly after the season finished, the news came that Ken had died…Sadly, it seemed he couldn’t live without his wife.

Rosa, Lourdes’ friend, has properties all over Spain. Apart from her holiday home in Torrevieja she also has one in the north of Spain in Santander, and a static caravan in La Cabrera but the most impressive is her block of apartments in central location of Sol, in Madrid…she’s worth a fortune.

Lourdes phones me to ask my opinion of her investing in a caravan on the same site in La Cabrera, this will be her get away space, somewhere she can recharge her batteries.

The only constructive advice I can offer is, “can you afford it? If so…go for it!”

She asks me if I would like to accompany her to La Cabrera.

Back on the slow train to Madrid with my cheese sandwiches and a new book Homage to Caledonia by Daniel Gray. Seeing things that I’d missed on my first trip, I watched a film in Spanish, got a coffee from the buffet car and the journey passed quickly.

I meet Lourdes at the usual place…no problems this time, I found it immediately by following my in built sat nav. We jump onto the metro system to Plaza de Castilla where we catch the bus to La Cabrera.

We travel North out of Madrid for about one hour, out of the hustle and bustle of a busy city into the green quiet countryside. La Cabrera is a small village that sits beneath a stunning mountain range called Pico de la Miel…translated as Honey Spike…apparently the top of the mountain looks like honeycomb…I don’t see it myself.

The campsite is called Pico de la Miel camping. We call into the campsite office looking at what caravans they have for sale. All this is done in Spanish and I feel a bit of a loose stool just standing there nodding my head when someone tries to talk to me. I’m so far out of my comfort zone. It feels strange and good at the same time, as I’m introduced as English. Everyone attempts to speak to me in the little English they know.

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Looking around the campsite I’m very impressed with the facilities. They have bungalows as well as the static caravans, restaurant, shop, supermarket, snack bar, tennis, football and 2 large swimming pools.

Lourdes likes the look of one of the caravans for sale. I’m not a camping type of person but I can see the advantages of having something here as an escape…the area surrounding the campsite is extraordinarily beautiful.

Now the Bowls winter league has finished, and the snowbirds have returned to the UK because the summer here in Spain is too intense for them. A summer league starts, in a slightly different format, due to the lack of numbers able to play. It is not as full on as the winter league as we only play once a week.

Horadada doesn’t seem to have many members that return to the UK for the summer, so we more or less have the same team for this league, and it shows, as we make a great start to the campaign.

Now that the temperature is rising, the start time for these matches is altered so we aim the finish before the midday heat. I don’t know how some of these older bowlers cope, because even I’m finding it a struggle with the heat…but I’m not complaining…I’m living the life!

My teammates for the summer league are Dennis and Wayne, unbeaten in our first 3 games and we are having a right old laugh to boot.

Our fourth match is a close encounter as we manage to win by one shot. Dennis has been complaining about bad indigestion all through the match. at one point having to sit down and take five.

He got no sympathy from me or Wayne as we rib him constantly. Straight after the match Dennis took himself off home, which is unlike him, he usually likes to stick around and take the piss out of people.

The following day I get a phone call from Wayne…“Dennis has had a massive heart attack!”

I’ve known Dennis for just over a year now and we have become good friends…so this news come as quite a shock. Throughout the winter season you hear of bowlers from other clubs dying, like Ken from club Horadada. It all seems surreal, as one day you can play against someone and the next day you hear of their death. I guess it comes with the territory, the expat community over here are predominantly over their 70’s.

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My next visitor is Andy, a good friend whom I use to work with. He lives in the beautiful city of York. He’s a Lancastrian from St Helens…before it became part of Merseyside. Andy has come out to chill. He’s not enjoying work at the moment, so a bit of R&R is required and to forget about work for a while. I do my best to help by constantly asking about my old work mates.

Whenever we get together, we revert back to when we worked side by side.... ideas for films scripts, TV shows…music…and how to make the world a better place to live.

Early morning walks on the beach and late nights on the porch, taking turns to play music from some of our favourite bands. We have a very similar taste in music, and he is one of the few people I know who also likes Tom Waits.

One night we go out for a meal down on the front, overlooking the Mar Menor with Val, Maureen and her friend Dianne and Sarah and Mark, Val’s daughter, and son in law. A great night we had, and now I have another person who is impressed by a life other than work.

Small bits of news filters through about the condition of Dennis, he’s alive thank goodness, and recovering in the hospital in Torrevieja, He’s not allowed any visitors so we have to rely on Peter for any information, which can be misleading. Peter himself has had two strokes and his speech can be difficult to grasp…and he’s also inclined to add arms and legs onto a story. He once told some of our bowler friends that I had an offshore account and I launder money. I can tell you I had a few of the expats coming up to me in secret to ask if I could help them…I told them the truth…“I sell body parts to Japan!”

Peter tells me, “Dennis has 8 dents and 4 broken ribs.” Dennis had 2 stents fitted, 2 broken ribs and is on the road to recovery.

Lourdes informs me that she has bought a caravan on the site in La Cabrera, she tries to explain the exact caravan it is…I acknowledge her but we looked at that many I’ve not got a clue which one it is…so I pack my bags and I’m back on the slow train to Madrid.

Lourdes asks to meet me at the bus station in Plaza de Castilla which means I have to negotiate Madrid’s metro on my own. Trying to remember landmarks from the last time was not easy as I arrived at peak time. I must rely on my built-in sat nav. There are hundreds of people going here, there, and everywhere.

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By the time I got to Plaza de Castilla we had just missed the bus, so we had an hour to wait for the next one, which was enough time for Lourdes to eagerly tell me about this caravan and the potential it has…potential to me means two things…work and money.

When we finally arrived at La Cabrera it was dark. A quick coffee then bed. My bedroom, I use the word bedroom loosely, it is a single and I use the word single loosely…even I, the smaller man, struggled. I had to change in the toilet then make my way to the bedroom, once in bed, there was no moving until morning.

I woke early with everything joint in my body seised. I could hear Lourdes snoring in the big bedroom, so I went for a walk. I returned and saw for the first time this caravan with potential…I wasn’t impressed, it looked like I felt…old and tired. It reminded me of family holidays in Bridlington when I was a child and it probably was the same age. I was even less impressed when I had to shower in the shower block about one hundred yards from the caravan.

We went to visit Rosa at her caravan…now I was impressed with that, large, spacious with double glazing and large heater, bathroom and shower separate, big lounge with 42” TV. Rosa showed us round the campsite and then the village, everywhere we stopped I was introduced as the English man. Over the next few days, I was the talking point of the village. We went to the local cafe, I was introduced to the owner Mario, a warm and charming man, and with Lourdes as our translator, we got on like a house on fire. We ordered coffee and tostada. The cafe was also a Panderia (bakery), so it was a busy little place. Everyone who came into the cafe Mario would point out his new friend the Englishman and inevitably they would come over and shake my hand. Hardly anyone spoke English in the village, apart from a few words like hello and goodbye. I was becoming a celebrity for a few days. I have to say everyone was kind, sociable and pleasant. I think they enjoyed having this alien in town as much as I enjoyed being there. After our coffee we walked over to the garden centre where I was greeted by a huge man with giant soil-stained hands. Obviously, word had traveled about the Englishman in the village, he shook me hand nearly dislocating my wrist, elbow shoulder.

We bought a few plants to brighten up the outside space of the caravan, but I realised that it’s going to take a lot more than plants to make this place look good.

That evening we ordered a takeaway chicken from the village restaurant. They rang Lourdes when it was ready to collect. As we walked up to the restaurant, I had a feeling that everyone was looking at me or had my sudden celebrity status gone to my head.

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The restaurant looked and was indeed very plush, not like any takeaway outlet I’d ever seen. As we entered, my celebrity head got even larger, as the female owner greeted me. She took me through to the back of the restaurant to show me how the food was cooked using these ancient kilns. One of the chefs shook my hand and talked at me one hundred miles an hour, I looked round for Lourdes and she is nowhere to be found. The food looked and smelt delicious. Out of one of the kilns the chef pulled out our chicken, put it into a tray with potatoes and herbs and presented it to me with a massive smile and because everyone had been so nice, I got the feeling that this was a gift. As I said my farewell to everyone, I met Lourdes outside. I was pretty chuffed with myself, thinking I could milk this and have a free weekend, that was until Lourdes told me she had paid the 15 euros for the chicken. I thought 15 euros…that’s expensive, robbing bleeders…we ain’t going back there again.

After three nights in the caravan, I had to be shoehorned into the back of Rosa’s car as she gave us a lift back to Madrid.

They both talked all the way at each other and not once did Rosa look at the road… and she drove like Fernando Alonso. I was trying to get their attention to the other traffic on the road beeping at us, but in the end, I gave up…I bowed my head and shut my eyes and when we got into the centre of Madrid and her driving habits had not changed…that’s when I prayed.

Halfway through the summer league season and Horadada BC are top of the C league. Everything is going great, apart from the carpet and more importantly the surface underneath the carpet. Some building work was taking place next to the bowling green and it has disturbed the foundations, so now we have a very warn carpet along with an uneven surface.... and other clubs are beginning to complain.

Dennis is out of hospital, at home recouping and complaining the ambulance crew who saved his life, had broken two of his ribs. Once he is well enough, we will arrange a get together.

Wayne has invited me to his house for a meal. It’s free food so obviously I accept.

He lives about 20 kilometres south of San Pedro in a small village called Estralla de Mar. His wife Sam makes a nice Chicken Paella which I devour with a couple of cool beers. After lunch they show me around Estralla de Mar. It is a very quiet place with a mixture of Spanish, British and German. It’s very nice and quaint but not a place I would choose to live. We have a refreshment in the sea front bar. Wayne and I talk about football mostly.

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Sam is from London and her team is Tottenham, so she knows nothing about football…now I’m on a mission to convert her.

I’ve been here for over a year now and although I’ve explored every inch of San Pedro central, I’ve not ventured the natural park that is on my doorstep. Door to door it’s a 12 km trek so I fill up my water bottle, don my flip flops and set off. It takes me through different ecosystems like reed-beds, salt lagoons, salt marshes, pines, dunes and into beaches. Some of the ponds are a pink-coloured crystallisation and they are harvested once a year for their salt. The area is popular with bird-watching groups and walkers. After about a half hour I reach the port at Playa de las Salinas with its many bars and restaurants. I ran out of water, so I buy another before I set off again.

Just past the port is the beach and it feels good to take off my flip flops and walk in the water’s edge. Not long after, I notice a man walking towards me at speed using hiking poles. As he got closer, I had to take off my sunglasses to confirm what I’m seeing. He’s naked and it looks like he’s got three poles and the middle pole was swinging like a good’un. As we were passing, I gave him a wide berth because if that thing hit me it would do some serious damage. What I thought was a power walk was in fact a strut and who could blame him, if I had that thing hanging between my legs I’d strut too. If I had that thing hanging between my legs, I’d have to buy my shoes in threes. I resisted the temptation to turn round and look as he strutted pass me. It raised my awareness now and suddenly I’m noticing more naked people in the sand dunes. The beach was busy with clothed people, but I never noticed them. I had no idea it was a naturist spot, it made me quicken my stride.

I finally got to the first disused windmill that looks over to La Manga and it’s the start of the nature channel that runs between the Mediterranean and the Mar Menor. I was just over halfway now, and I’ve run out of water again, but I can see Lo Pagan and Playa de Villananitos in the distance, so dying of thirst was not an issue. The walk down the natural channel takes you passed the Roman mud baths which is always busy with tourists. I bought my last bottle of water by the second disused windmill as I hit the last leg of the trek. I finally got home after walking for over 3 hours in serious heat.

I stood in the shower, absolutely drained of energy, I looked down and thought…if I only had a third of what he had, I’d be happy.

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My middle daughter Carley came out for a bit of nice weather.

I think the only thing we did all week, was talk. She wasn’t bothered about sightseeing, so we just sat on the porch and talked. Carley has a rare blood disorder called C1 which causes internal inflammation that can be life threatening if not treated early when she has a flare up. She also has Rheumatoid Arthritis, so she has internal and external swelling, the poor girl does suffer.

When my children were younger, I forced them to listen to Tom Waits while driving in the car. This punishment has paid off as Carley is a big fan. Now the tables are somewhat reversed as she plays me music she has discovered on her musical journey, great evenings listening to new music.

Carley has an interest in astrology. She has an app on her phone that pinpoints all the constellations in the sky, so on the warm evenings we would sit upon the roof terrace stargazing. Unfortunately, here on the Costa’s there is quite a bit of light pollution, so the night sky is not entirely clear. That didn’t stop Carley trying to point out Gemini, Orion, Taurus, Aries and a load more others. I have to admit I didn’t see much…. just a bunch of stars. I did get excited one night when I was convinced, I’d seen a UFO, until Carley reassured me it was only a passing satellite by showing me it on her app.

It was astonishing to see it speeding across the dark sky and it’s a good job Carley was there because I’d be telling everyone we’ve had visitors from outer space.

On 19th July I’m woken by the sun bursting through the bedroom window and the constant pings of my phone with messages from family and friends wishing me a happy 60th birthday. I’m not one to celebrate birthdays, to me it is just another day, but this seems different as I don’t usually get this many messages. I open the front door to let the sea breeze freshen the apartment and on a chair on my front porch, is a card and a present. I know it’s from Val…she left it there before she headed off to work.

I’m a typical man I open the card and give it a quick glance. The present is a mug with Happy 60th Birthday printed on, as I stood there looking at this mug…boom something hits me to the very core “I’m fucking 60 years old!” I mumble to myself.

Suddenly this big black cloud hung over me. I want to smash the mug into a thousand pieces, but I know I can’t. I’m sinking lower and lower…. I have no control. I’m talking to myself, “what’s up with you…get a grip!” My instinct is to crawl off to bed, but I’m detoured because I need a shite. I sit there and try to analyse my emotions. I need someone to talk to, as Charles Bukowski once wrote…” if you have nobody to wake you on a morning and nobody to kiss you goodnight is it loneliness or freedom?”

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At this moment in time, it was loneliness. As I sat there my mind was wandering. I started thinking of those moments in my life that hurt me the most, the main one was being a weekend father. My children are my life and soul and I hated being that weekend father. I wanted to be there 24/7 to kiss them goodnight, every night. Those two days we had together on the weekend was fun, but the lord giveth and the lord taketh away. Taking them back on Sunday evening was the most heart-wrenching thing I’ve ever done, and it got worse with every passing week. Even to this day it pains me. I feel the guilt of having to put them through that, I have a great relationship with all my children. I’ve tried to be a good father in difficult circumstances. Money was tight as I had to pay child maintenance through the government agency CSA, which in itself is very stressful because your classed as an absent father. Those of us who was willing pay and those that have no intention of paying are thrown into the same trash bin.

In 2009 I took them to Disneyland Florida for a family holiday and we had the most amazing, wonderful, fantastic time. I think it was my way of saying sorry to them. I was a chauffeur and a mule for 14 days, driving them to all the different adventure parks. I would look after all the rucksacks as they went on all the rides. I did promise them that before the holiday ends, I would join them on a ride. I’m not happy with heights or speed so my choice was the Teacups ride, however, that was not accepted.

I waited until the very last day before I plucked up enough courage to stand in the queue for a rollercoaster ride, and as I was strapped in, the customary photo that was taken as we set off, shows exactly how much I was shitting my pants.

I don’t know how long I was sat on the toilet letting my mind wander, but I’m shaken from my thoughts. I’d developed pins and needles in both legs, I stand gingerly and curse a few obscenities as I try to get circulation back into my limbs. I resist going to bed, so I take a cold shower instead hoping to make me feel better and lift my spirits. Sadly, it had no effect and throughout the day I drift in and out of this mood, constantly fighting against it. I wake the next day in my normal state of happiness, all the black clouds and dark thoughts gone, and I think to myself “what the fuck was all that about?” All I know is, I’m back onto the bright side of the road.

When Helena was over in Spain, we agreed that it would be nice for me to visit Sweden... so in August I booked my flights. I flew from San Javier to Stansted, then on to Gothenburg. I didn’t like Stansted airport as it was far too busy for my liking.... I’ve been spoilt by the quiet unassuming San Javier.

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Helena was there to greet me in a rainy Gothenburg, and we drove for an hour to her home in Bliksered. On the drive I noticed that the Swedish, like the Spanish, are a very patriotic nation. Most houses on route had the Swedish flag proudly hanging somewhere on their abode. Scotland, Wales, and Ireland also have no shame in displaying their own flags but for some strange reason the flag of Saint George is portrayed as something other than patriotism.

Bliksered is well out in the sticks... so remote that the post box and recycle bins are a mile away from the house…I say house…but it is a stunning log cabin. As we pull up, I see smoke wallowing from the Chimney and flying alongside the Swedish flag, is the Union Jack. Her father gives her a deep connection to the UK. Inside the house is decorated with all sorts of antiques. Helena’s father, Colin Jukes, was an antique dealer. This explains the gift that she kindly gave me, which I need to get valued.

The following morning, we go for a walk through the forest that sits on the edge of her property. Trodden paths lead deep into the forest and you can see traps left by poachers hunting wild boar and also the biggest pile of shite you will ever see…left by wild moose. On an evening you could hear the gunfire of the poachers. I must admit I felt a wee bit weary when she mentions wild boar and moose, but Helena’s dog is our guide and Helena reassures me, “if the dog turns and runs so do we.” Don’t worry about that, I can shift when I want to!

Over the next two weeks Helena guides me through Gothenburg’s history, a truly remarkable place. Her father Colin worked on a cruise liner as a band member playing the Saxophone. He jumped ship at the age of 20 in Gothenburg when he met Helena’s mother.

When time was nearing the end of this amazing trip to this extraordinary country, Helena’s friends threw a party for me. We went to see a local band play before heading back to a friend’s house. The local band was made up of ageing musicians. They were very good and at one point, very popular in Sweden. What I liked about them was, they introduced each individual, not by name, but by what medication they were taking.

At the party everyone wants to talk to the Englishman, and I get on famously with all. Ninety percent of the population speaks English in Sweden and even their own language contains English words which is strange to hear.

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With beer and music, the party is in full swing. I’m not a big drinker and luckily, I know my limit. I’m stood in the kitchen talking to Den, one of Helena’s good friends, about football and the mighty Leeds when a young couple keep coming over and interrupting us, both worse for wear. She is showing more than an eye full of cleavage.

Den asks me if I want some fun, slightly confused I ask him to clarify what he means.

“Soon most of the people here will go out into the woods,” he winks.

I’m still not sure what he means because he is a bit of a joker, so we walk outside and into the woods. I can see a campfire burning and people stood around. Den hands me another can of beer as we stand by the crackling, flickering fire. I’m looking into the shadows and even though my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, I’m not sure if I can see a couple having sex. Then out of the corner of my eye, I can definitely see a couple having sex and in an instant it dawns on me what Den meant by fun. I then feel a hand on my bottom. I freeze…if this is Den touching me, I’m going to scream! Then I hear gunfire!! In a split second my whole life flashes in front of me. Nervously I grab the hand and remove it from my backside. I slowly turn round and see it’s the women with the cleavage…I ran past the people having sex and at one point stopping momentarily to apologise to a young man for putting him off his rhythm as I nearly tripped over him. I run deep into the woods…hoping she is not following me. Gunshots again make me change direction and run faster. I’m thinking shot or shagged…I don’t want either!

If I had to choose though, it would be to get shot, because the cleavage lady looks an awful lot like Donald Trump. Eventually I make it back to the house, out of breath and looking disheveled. Helena is in the kitchen obviously unaware of my near-death experience. She looks at me in disgust…obviously thinking I’ve been enjoying the Swedish hospitality.

“Where’s Den?” I ask.

“He has gone into the woods with a friend. “ Helena decides its time to leave, as we drove home, I explain what happened. I made a promise to Helena I would be a complete gentleman on my visit, and I kept that promise. To this day every time I see Donald Trump, it sends a cold shiver down my spine, although it could be worse…it could give me an erection. The day before I’m due to leave, we visit the Liseberg park in central Gothenburg to see Alice Cooper perform in concert It was a fitting end to my stay in Sweden.

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Horadada won the summer league C Division…what a year the little club has had… it’s the first time in their history that they gained promotion in the winter and summer leagues, in the same year. The internal competitions start, and I have entered into the open singles, the men’s singles and the men’s pairs. I’m hoping to do a lot better than last year.

Chris and his wife Denise pop over for a week, so I’m back to being a tour guide, this time Chris has a week of sunshine. We do the usual things, mud baths, beaches, and nice cafes, but when people visit all they really want to do is relax.

We go out with Val for the early bird Indian. Val and Denise seem to hit it off which frees up Chris and I to talk football. Afterwards, we drove down to one of Val’s and mine favourite places, a busy little bar in Torre de la Horadada overlooking the harbour…we sit there until 3am drinking, chatting and being bitten my mozzies.

Chris brought over his new gadget, a GoPro, to play with. He liked to set up different scenarios to video. We once sat in a cafe and Chris wanted me to pretend that I was some kind of illegal expat, who has dealings with the underworld. I sat in the middle of this cafe wearing two pairs of sunglasses and Denise’s big floppy hat, while Chris pretended to interview me with leading questions. God knows what the people in the cafe thought, but it was all good fun and it kept him off the streets.

The day before they were due to leave, I put a full load in the washing machine. Chris threw in some of their smelly underwear, so I find myself hanging out my best friend’s undies and his wife’s knickers to dry. I presume some women would feel uncomfortable at just the thought, but not Denise, she’s a good Blackpool lass, nothing phases her. I had to use my full wingspan to hang his undies out, I’ve never seen anything as big. I thought to myself if a gust of wind catches these, someone in the neighbourhood is going to get a free gazebo.

The week was gone… no sooner have they arrived then I’m taking them back to the airport. Chris has got a lovely lobster tan which he swears will turn brown in a few days, once all the dead skin has peeled off. Val is working on the day they leave, so they get chance to say their goodbyes at the airport just before they board their flight to Edinburgh.

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I’ve booked to Fly out to Australia in November, so I need to fit in as many internal matches as I can because the finals are at the end of February, a week or so after I return.

Dennis has now made a full recovery and contributed to the last couple of games of the season. One Sunday after roll up, we meet in our usual bar to celebrate Dennis’s return.

We spend a couple of hours laughing, chatting and piss-taking…the old gang is back and I’m on fire, through to the final, of everything I’ve entered.

Someone suggests that we head down to a beach bar to carry on our reunion. Dennis makes a few phone calls and before long we are 20 strong and the beer is flowing. It was a great laugh but the longer it went on, some people had a little too much to drink.

I began to feel uncomfortable as some became loud and unsteady on their feet. I was driving so I wasn’t drinking, and everything seems magnified. I slipped away unnoticed feeling sorry for the Spanish bar staff.

The Spanish are very laid back, especially in the Murcia region. Time seems of no importance to them except when it comes to food…then their times for eating are set in stone. When us Brits enter a restaurant, it’s usually empty because the Spanish are rigid with their eating times.

I’m not sure if they have something to eat first thing in a morning before leaving the house but cafes are always busy at 10 to 10:30am. Tostada is more often than not, accompanied by a brandy or a glass of wine, followed by coffee. Around 2 to 2:30pm is when they have their main meal, Again the food is followed by a brandy, beer, wine, and a siesta. Their next food consumption would be anywhere between 10pm and midnight where it seems to be compulsory to eat and be loud. It’s not unusual to see young children in a restaurant at midnight, how they get up for school is beyond me.

One thing I have noticed is you never see a Spaniard drinking pints of beer, they will have a Cana (half) but it’s always taken with food. Alcohol is always done sensibly; it is frowned upon to be seen drunk. Wine seems to be the most popular drink. It’s not a subject that I know much about. When I was a young, a man buying a bottle of wine meant you was in the money, a bit posh, and if you surprised a young woman with a bottle of Mattress Rose, she would think she’s cracked it, but after a full bottle of Mattress she would be on her back with her legs a kimbo, hence the name Mattress Rose. How times have changed…if you buy a bottle under 15 quid, you’re considered a cheapskate.

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A few days later I found out it had all kicked off, arguments broke out, some pushing, and shoving occurred and one person laid in a Bouganvillea bush singing Delilah.

Keith and Winnie have booked a few days in Benidorm before heading south to San Pedro, I decide to join them for a couple of nights. I know Benidorm is always busy and parking can be a nightmare, so I look at alternate transportation.

There are a few different ways I can do it, but I plump for a bus from San Pedro to Alicante, €5 coastal tram from Alicante to Benidorm for €4. The journey takes from door to door about 4 hours and I’m in no rush! That includes me sitting and having a coffee in Alicante. I had to walk from the Alicante bus station to the Tram Station.

This is the first time I’ve had a good look at Alicante central and I like what I see. The tram journey to Benidorm is a joy, stopping at coastal towns on the way and the views are outstanding.

Keith and Winnie have booked an apartment in the Levante area and I have booked a room in the hotel opposite their apartment.

It’s a fair old walk from the tram station in Benidorm to Levante but it brought back many memories, good and bad, of the old stomping grounds, from previous visits.

A lovely two days spent walking along the promenade, dodging the mobility scooters, watching the pale skins on the beach slowly turning to a glowing red and on the evenings…being entertained in and out of the bars.

The amount of times that I was approached asking if I wanted any drugs…I don’t get it…in Benidorm you have everything you need. No matter what type of holiday you seek, Benidorm can provide it…why the fuck would you want drugs???

We all travel back to San Pedro the same way that I came, once again stopping in Alicante for a bite to eat.

Four days later I’m on my travels to Australia. Keith and Winnie have made the landlord of Amigos a very happy man, as they camp there for the next eight weeks.

Peter offers to take me to the airport. I’m flying from Alicante to Manchester this time.

I’ve now gotten use to Peter’s difficult speech and he tells me of his time in London growing up…not that he grew very far. Arrested several times and never convicted, is his claim to fame, along with the bullet wound in his leg…“if you ever need anything sorting, give me a shout…I know people!” With these reassuring words ringing in my ears, I collect my case from the boot and say “adios”.

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Mum and Dad

Me, Mum, Mark and Janet

My wonderful family 51

FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

Florida fun!

Nicola’s big day

My 60th Birthday Bash

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Denise and Chris

Andy

Winnie and Keith

Jack and Sue Smiffy

Foxwood School, Seacroft 53

FOUR YEARS – Unforgettable Moments

Jenny, Peter and Wayne

Peter and I

Me and Wayne

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I’m in Terminal 1 at Manchester airport waiting to board my flight to Australia with Etihad Airways. There is total confusion as some people don’t understand the boarding process or what size of luggage they are allowed on board…and they suddenly forget how to speak English. The 24-hour flight with one stop at Abu Dhabi is a killer, my piles are fit and ready to burst. At Brisbane, Nicola and Scott are there to greet me. Our first stop is at a Red Rooster, the fast-food outlet, which is more than welcome…I stand to eat my chicken wrap and chips.

Nicola and Scott are living on the Sunshine Coast in a beautiful place called Maroochydore. They only have a tiny one bed apartment, so I’m on the sofa. It’s only temporary because the reason I’ve come to Australia is to give my daughter away and soon we will be moving down to the wedding venue in Brisbane.

Jet lag!!! That’s for wimps, or so I thought…never really understanding it…it’s real folks! I was up and out before the milkman and the paperboy. I walked round the streets of Maroochydore getting my bearings…and I found a bowls club. Within two days I was bowling in an internal club competition, winning a couple of games, and to my delight, being called a Pommie Bastard.

The bowls scene in Australia is completely different to what I’ve been used to in Spain.

The clubs here are community focal points. It’s not just bowls...they have everything going on, restaurants, bars, pokies, entertainment and I was welcomed with open arms and a Schooner. When I told them I didn’t really drink they found that funny…“a Pommie bastard that doesn’t drink…you must be a Sheila?”

“I’m not, but my boyfriend is!”

On my first night in Australia, Nicola and Scott took me out for a meal. As we are sat waiting for the food to arrive Nicola hands me a photo. I take a quick look and put it down.

Nicola asks, “have you had a good look at it?”

“Yes... he’s on his way then?”

“Who?” “Vincent!”

“What?? Dad put your glasses on and look again!”

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The photo was a baby scan. I honestly thought it was a flight radar picture. My son Vincent arrives soon, and I thought it was his flight tracking. I completely messed up their exciting news that they were expecting. Obviously, I blamed the jet lag which is a great excuse…it’s like a get out clause because I don’t believe in the sanity clause anymore.

We pick up Vincent from the airport.... stopping at Red Rooster on the way back to Maroochydore. I still stand to eat as I’m still waiting for the throbbing to settle down.

The sleeping arrangements have now changed. I’m now on a blow-up bed on the living room floor and Vincent has the sofa. I really felt sorry for Nicola having to put up with 3 grown men snoring and farting all night in such a confined space. In the mornings there seemed to be a thick fog of Methane in the apartment…luckily for us no one smoked.

Rachael, Nicola’s maid of honour, arrived soon after Vincent and she rents a room in the apartment block. We spend the next few days lounging by the pool and enjoying the amazing weather.

December 2nd the World Rugby League cup final is held at the Suncorp Stadium in Brisbane. The teams playing are Australia verses England and we have tickets.

Scott use to play at this stadium with Brisbane Broncos so he knows the area very well. Nicola and I don our Leeds United shirts for the occasion, and we are in our element as echo’s of “Dirty Leeds” are thrown in our direction from the British rugby supporters. We traveled down in two cars because Scott and his friends stayed over after the match for a few drinks. England lost…I took some stick from Scott but like I said to him, I have a foot in both camps now.

Nicola drove me home, a journey of about one hour 30 minutes. An hour into our journey home I feel I need to go to the toilet.

“We are nearly home,” says Nicola.

Another 10 minutes go by and now I’m desperate…and it’s not a pee I need.

“Nearly home dad... surely you can hang on?”

“No Nicola… I need to go now!! it’s touching the cloth!”

“Mind over matter…hang on we are nearly home!”

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I’m doubled up having a hot sweats and Nicola is laughing at me. At one point when she stopped at some traffic lights I’m trying to get out of the car because I’ve seen some bushes, the lights change and I’m half in half out of the car as she speeds off.

I managed to make it home and the joy of sitting there as the eruption happened is indescribable.

The wedding is being held on the dockside at Kangaroo point, so we have booked into the Central Dockside Apartments. My brother Mark, sister-in-law Janet and my mother have flown over for the wedding and sharing one large apartment with Vincent and I. My mother is 81 and has done really well travelling all this way. She is still very mobile but they are here for two weeks and a lot of sightseeing is to be crammed into those weeks, so it was suggested that we get a wheelchair for mother, to makes things easier.

Well on the first morning, as we are getting ready for our day out, mother is already sat in the wheelchair by the door and that is how it was for two weeks. She lost the use of her legs, even on the river ferries over to central Brisbane she sat there as we struggled to get her on board.

The only time she got out of the wheelchair was when she went to bed…to shouts of “hallelujah“ and “it’s a miracle “…which she didn’t find funny.

The wedding was a beautiful day, a great occasion. Everything went according to plan and everyone had a fantastic time. Some events from that day will stay with me forever.

Seeing my beautiful daughter for the first time that day ready for the big occasion, how proud I felt as she held my arm as I guide her down the quayside to her future husband. The daughter-dad dance to Tom Waits was picture in a frame, but probably the best moment of that memorable day was at the end of the evening when we sang Marching on Together, Leeds United’s anthem, to bemused drunken Aussies… priceless!

We spent the next few days sightseeing Brisbane and the Gold Coast before we had to say goodbye to Mark, Janet, and mother. It was a lovely experience being with my brother on the other side of the world…two working class lads from Seacroft.

It was Val’s 60th so I sent her birthday greeting by text. She had gone to Thailand with her daughter, son in law and a friend. We often sent each other messages and photos of our adventures.

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Nicola and Scott have had a house built in Narangba, which is North Brisbane, so we pack all their belongings into a van and drive down from the Sunshine Coast. It’s a beautiful house on a new Urbanisation and Vincent and I have our own bedrooms.

Like most people when they move house, us men have put the wrong boxes in the wrong rooms. It took a few weeks to get everything sorted because both Nicola and Scott had to go back to work after the wedding…no honeymoon for them.

One morning as they are getting ready for work, I come out of my bedroom and I’m stopped in my tracks. I see a spider the size of Belgium outside my bedroom door…

I froze…unable to shout. I feel I’m beginning to loose control of my bowels, luckily I had my mobile with me and I took a photo and text Scott. He nonchalantly comes and opens the front door and with a flip-flop, flip flops it out of the door laughing…“ it’s only a Huntsman.”

HUNTSMAN!!!! The name tells you everything, my first question was, “is it a killer?”

“No.. it can give you a nasty bite, but it won’t kill you…at worst put you in a coma for a few weeks”. Well, that reassured me.

Our Christmas Day barbeque in Brisbane was a different experience. Scott my new son-in-law, invited all his family…mother, father, sister and her husband and their children and my daughter Nicola only had me there. Scott did the meat on the barbie.

Nicola did the veggies and roasts, and I introduced the Aussie clan to perfectly made Yorkshire puddings. I took a bit of stick that day for being the only person without a partner. It didn’t bother me, but it must have bothered my daughter because she got my phone and registered me on the dating site Tinder.

The England cricket team had lost the Ashes to the Australians. More abuse I had to endure. Now they are playing the ODI series and I’m feeling confident about this as England have four Yorkshire CC players in their team.

I travel down to the famous Gabba Cricket Stadium with Scott, his father Stan, and a few of their friends. I’m out numbered, but I give as good as I get, especially when England wins by 4 wickets.

We frequent a few bars after the match, and I celebrate with Ginger beer and a few insults thrown at my Aussie friends. Before our journey home I pay a visit to the toilet and on the entry, I notice a sign on the wall. It reads…” Caution…Snakes active in this area…Please flush before use!”

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Holy shit!!…I ain’t having one here!

On my way home that sign got me thinking. “Is that snake just waiting for the meat and two veg to feast on???” If there is a God, a creator…“WHY would he, (it), or whatever, create a snake that feeds when a man sits down for a dump?” But even more baffling is that, if it’s evolution, how did a snake evolve to hide in a toilet to chomp on a man’s genitals???

I went to sleep that night confused.

A few days before I was due to leave, Nicola took me to Redcliffe, the home of the Bee Gees. A lovely little sweet shop selling all the sweets from my childhood and a British fish and chip shop called Yabby Road.

The Bee Gees walkway is a fascinating chronicle of the lives of all the Bee Gees, told through story boards, statues, and music. In 1958, the Gibb family emigrated from England to Redcliffe. Their first public appearance was at the local speedway track, where the leading Brisbane DJ and racing car driver, Bill Gates, suggested that they call themselves the BG’s, hence… Redcliffe became the birthplace of the Bee Gees.

We sat and ate our fish and chips overlooking the sea.

I really liked Redcliffe. Hopefully I shall return in the not-too-distant future. Little did I know then there was a dark secret that would bring me back…well, it’s not really a dark secret…bit more of a light grey.

After eight weeks in Australia, I was ready to return home. After the twenty-four-hour gruelling journey, Peter was at Alicante to meet me. He took me straight home, I dropped off my suitcase and went to find Keith and Winnie in Amigos. It was fantastic to be home. I spent the next two days with them in Amigos before It was time for them to leave. They really loved the experience of being abroad for a couple of months, although I don’t think they ventured very far.

I had played some bowls while in Australia just to keep my eye in, knowing I had three finals to play on my return. The practice paid off as I won all three. Winners go through to play the Champions of Champions…were basically all the club champions play in a knockout tournament.

I picked up Val from San Javier airport on her return from her trip to Thailand.

It sounded like they had a great time and over the next few weeks she would text “Kettle’s on…I’ve just remembered something else that happened.”

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Mark and Janet have come over to start to look at properties. They have brought their son Tom as chauffeur. I always knew my brother would like to retire and try living here but Janet I wasn’t sure about. Every property they went to view Janet loved and wanted to buy it…luckily Tom was the calming influence.

I took them to a few areas I thought they would like Los Alcázares. Torre de la Horadada , Sucina, Campoverde, all places with a strong community of expats, but Janet didn’t seem to like that idea. They went home happy with their weeks work and talked about coming out for another week to carry on their search.

I soon got back into the swing of things. I met up with the bowls lot and handed out a few things I’d brought back for them. Wayne and I had won the pairs final quite easily, so we needed plenty of practice to keep on top of our form, which Dennis and Peter obliged.

Our first and second round matches in the Champions of Champions went according to plan. In the quarter final we were up against the favourites. Some of the spectators watching described it as one of the best matches they’ve ever seen…as we were narrowly beaten by a couple of shots, to the eventual winners.

I also got to the quarter final of the men’s singles, losing to the tournament winner.

It was valuable experience playing against the top players and now other clubs are watching us and would like our services. All through the tournament we had players from different clubs asking us to join their clubs. We are happy at Horadada but the condition of the playing surface is a big concern. Other clubs have lodged complaints about it and it is very frustrating to play on when your bowl does not go where you have sent it.

Another factor is…do we want to progress as bowlers? If so, then as we’ve just found out, playing against better opposition like in any sport improves your game. Over the coming months Wayne and I have a big decision to make.

Two weeks after they returned home, I got a call from my brother, “we’ve bought a place in El Galan!”

“What!!!!! How????? I’d never heard of the place…where is it?”

Jesus Joseph…that was quick!

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The property is a quad house, 5 km inland on a big expat urbanisation…everything Janet didn’t want when they began their search. I’ll never understand women as long as I’ve got a hole in my arse. I’m worried that they may have rushed into things but like my brother said, “once her mind was made up that’s it.... there’s no going back.”

I asked him if he’s happy with it. “Janet says I am,” he laughs.

I hope they don’t come to regret it.

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chapter four YEAR THREE May, 2018

I

receive a phone call in the early hours of the morning from Australia.

Nicola has given birth…a girl…8 weeks premature.

When I saw the photos, I could not believe how small she was. She spent the next few weeks in an incubator and wasn’t allowed home until she had reached 37 weeks which is classed as full term. It was a worrying time for Nicola and Scott, especially hard for Nicola having no immediate family there to support her, but she’s a tough cookie…she obviously gets that from…her mother.

Before long they were home Nicola, Scott, and Lily, to start their life as a family.

We had another Gota Fria in early May. One day we have glorious sunshine the next we have a week of rain. Now I’m from Yorkshire so I know about rain, but I’d never seen anything like this.... heavy rainfall for 2 days solid. Val was taking John and June to Alicante airport and she asked me to accompany her because she was afraid of the roads flooding and getting stranded.

With the windscreen wipers going full speed, you could only just see the bonnet of the car. It was scary stuff. We managed to get home just in time as the police closed all the main roads. John and June were extremely lucky because a few hours later they also closed the airport.

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It only rained for two days and nights and everywhere was flooded. The news is terrible, many lives lost, and properties swept away. The damage was horrendous.

Later in May, I’m back on the slow train to Madrid to meet Lourdes. On the train I’m sat next to a young Spanish man and we share the same fun at each station as we watch people searching for their seats. I’m pretty familiar with the metro system now, so I meet Lourdes at her dental clinic in Puente de Toledo before heading home to Principe Pio. Madrid on the Saturday was heaving with people. The Champions league cup final between Real Madrid V Liverpool, played in Kiev Russia, was being shown live in Santiago Bernabeu stadium. I did toy with the idea of wearing my Leeds United shirt as we walked the streets of Madrid, but common sense prevailed. Lourdes is a Madrid supporter and obviously I wanted the English team to win. We had a small €5 bet and I lost. It was a fabulous evening as the Madrid supporters celebrated into the early hours. We spent a great weekend together getting to know each other better and I become more familiar with Madrid.

In Atocha station waiting for the train home, I meet my Spanish friend from the journey up. We chat in Spanglish and I worked out that he came up from Cartagena just to watch the football match at Real Madrid’s stadium. This time we weren’t sat next to each other, but we were in the same carriage We often made eye-contact and a smile when someone was desperately searching for their seat.

The deeds for the house are ready to be signed, so Janet hops on a plane. My brother couldn’t get time off... he’s working his notice. I meet Janet at San Javier airport and take her to a car hire firm. “Wait for me…don’t drive off…I need to follow you.”

It can be a bit scary the first time you drive on the right, but Janet has driven many times. That didn’t stop her from being overcautious though. At one point on the motorway, I had to drop it down into 3rd so she could catch up.

The following day she was up early and excited at the prospect of signing for the house. I advised her to set off early!

She came back to my place after putting pen to paper, packed her bags and was off to spend her first night in her new home. “Ring me when you get there,” were my parting words. Two hours later I’ve sent numerous texts, rang several times and I was getting concerned.

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Finally, she calls and apologises for not responding, she admits a couple of days later that she’d gotten lost, came on and off the same junction on the motorway a considerable number of times…and she had a sat nav!!!

This Tinder app is getting on my tits…ping…ping…ping…all day and night. I’ve not plucked up the courage to actually meet anyone until I get a message from this gorgeous looking woman. She is Spanish, long black hair and olive skin. We communicate through translation which is not ideal but it’s fun.

We arrange to meet in Alicante central, I spruce myself up, slapped talc on my under carriage and off I went.

I’m waiting at the arranged meeting place. I see this woman looking at me, but I ignore her, however, out of the corner of my eye I can see she is coming over…“Juan Antonio?”

“Si” “Maria Tinder.”

I’m looking at this thing in front of me slightly confused, I take out my phone and look at her Tinder photo.... this is not the same women! I show her the photo.

“Si soy yo,” she laughs.

I shake my head in disbelief as I hold the phone next to her face to compare…either I need to go to Spec Savers or she’s trying to pull a fast one. I check her Adam’s apple and the size of her hands.

“No, I’m not having it,” I tell her in my best Yorkshire accent.

“Tha’s tekin piss al sithi. “ I briskly walk off, thinking about it on my way home, she had balls to try and pull that off…and she probably did have balls! Why didn’t my guide warn me?

At last, I have some good news. Marcelo Bielsa is the new manager of Leeds. Marcelo Bielsa is widely regarded as one of the top coaches in world football, Argentinian by birth, he had managed clubs all over the world and now he’s at my beloved Leeds United, the future is looking good.

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Ed and Maureen have come over for a week of sunshine and to chill. We always go out as a foursome when they are over, we try a new Indian restaurant that has just opened nearby, with Val insisting that if they don’t do a early bird we are going back to our regular Indian restaurant…luckily they did and it was a very nice meal with great company.

The morning after Ed and Maureen are having problems with mosquitoes in their house, Maureen has been bitten to high heaven. Ed has sprayed mossie killer liberally in every room. Maureen walks into the bedroom slips on the dampened mossie sprayed floor, tries to stop herself from falling by grabbing the wardrobe door… which is a sliding door! She goes arse over elbow and breaks her ankle. Val comes to the rescue, getting Maureen into the car and takes her to the hospital. Val explains to the doctors what has happened, Maureen is fixed up and sent back home in a plaster cast and on crutches. Ed has cleaned all the floors for her return and has never lived it down.

The heavy rain we had in May has done unmeasurable damage to Horadada’s bowling green as a large part of the carpet has lifted and is becoming unplayable.

Wayne, Dennis, and I have been going for practice at other clubs, which is a nice change, and it’s nice to play on a decent surface. All clubs have rinks that have some slight deficiencies but none as bad as poor Horadada. Over a few beers and plenty of soul searching, we decide its time to move on, a decision not taken lightly, but we know Horadada is on the decline. We make a short list of clubs that are suitable for us. Some clubs take it very seriously and it’s win at all costs…that’s not for us. We just want to have fun and play bowls, so Country Bowls ticks all our boxes.

It’s a sad day to inform Horadada of our plans, it really is a smashing club, but the surface is letting the club down.

We are welcomed with open arms at Country Bowls, and it doesn’t take us long to settle in.

It’s owned by a lovely couple from Newcastle, Graham and Jo. Every time I buy drinks I shout, “how much?”

“You’re a tight Yorkshire bastard,“ Graham replies.

Val has Sarah and Mark over for a week and I’m invited to join them on a days outing to Castell de Guadalest, which is a thirty minute drive inland from Benidorm.

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Castell de Guadalest is located on the top of the mountainous area of Marina Baixa.

It’s a beautiful drive up and it’s a very popular tourist attraction, as we found out while trying to find a place to park.

To enter Castell, you have to walk through a long tunnel carved out of the rock, where you find quaint little houses and of course, the effects of tourism with shops everywhere selling the usual shite.

The castle of L’Alcazaiba, or Saint Joseph to you and me, was built in the 11th century…how and why? Some bright spark came up with this crazy idea… ”See that mountain up there... let’s build a castle on the very top!”

“What a great idea…why didn’t I think of that?”

Having said that the views of the green valley below on one side and the mountains on the other is breathtaking.

We spend a couple of hours looking around. Val buys some ornaments for the house.... “dust collectors” I tell her.

“You tight Yorkshireman…put your hand in your pocket.”

“Take care of the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves. “ So, I buy everyone an ice cream at tourist prices…I nearly shit my pants when I found out how much it cost.

On our way home we call into Benidorm to watch the drunken Brits perform their usual elaborate bare-chested mating ritual with alcohol.

There is a restaurant in Horadada called Gallego, reputedly the best steak restaurant in the area, when Sarah and Mark are over, they make a habit of going at least once while they are here. In the summer months when the Spanish take their holidays, it’s necessary to book well in advance. Val had booked us a table for 4 for the last night before Sarah and Mark are due to travel home. As you enter the restaurant you are greeted by the meat counter which is extensive and impressive containing all types of meats and sea foods. We all order the steak as usual. It is seen as an insult if you order your steak anything but rare. You can spot the tourists as they call over the waiter to complain about their steak being undercooked…rare is how it’s served.

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In my younger days, a steak well done was how everyone seemed to have it. I must admit that I always enjoyed it being cooked that way, but having had the rare steak at Gallego’s, it is the only way I would have it now. The taste and texture are amazing.

The steak is served with chips and a few grilled vegetables, which slightly lets it down, but you go there for the steak. Usually for dessert Val and I would share one, but on this occasion, she wanted the pineapple while I stayed with the tried and trusted cheesecake. When the waiter brought over Val’s pineapple dessert, the look on her face was a picture to be framed. The pineapple had been cut into slithers. They were that thin when Val picked one up with her fork it was transparent. It looked like she was eating fresh air, she clearly wasn’t happy, but she wouldn’t admit it.

“I don’t know what you lot are laughing at it’s very nice!”

All the way home the transparent pineapple was the ammunition. We love to take the piss out of Val, all in good fun of course.

The following morning, I accompanied Val in taking Sarah and Mark to the airport.

Val abruptly stopped the car at the end of the street and said, “anyone mentions that fucking pineapple and they can get out right now and fucking walk!”

On the slow train to Madrid, I watch a film that I’ve wanted to see since it was released in 2018. The Old Man and a Gun starring Robert Redford and Tom Waits.

It’s in Spanish, but I get the gist. My new book for this trip is, As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning by Laurie Lee. I’m meeting Lourdes in La Cabrera, so I catch the metro to the Plaza Castilla then the bus to La Cabrera. She greets me from the bus with her lovely smile and a plan. As we take the short walk to the campsite, she tells me of her ideas for the outside area of her caravan. She wants a garden area with lots of plants and a lawn. She is under the impression that because I’m English, I know what to do.

“All English have beautiful gardens.”

That evening we go for a lovely walk around the outskirts of the village and up to the convent of San Antonio where wild Saffron grows and apparently Neolithic remains have been found…still talking of her English garden in Pico de la Miel.

The next day we are in the garden centre where she is spoilt for choice.

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“So, this is the Englishman again?” The owner of the garden centre greets me with a big smile and even bigger handshake. It seems I’m a popular attraction…like a freak show in the circus…but it’s all done with warmth from the heart from a fabulous community.

For two days I’m on my hands and knees in soil. I’ve not been in this position since 1987 when I was hiding from a deranged husband, pretending to be a garden gnome. Lourdes kept me fed and watered as I worked my ass off in the July heat. “I’ve retired,” I keep shouting on deaf ears. I must admit I enjoyed it and Lourdes was very happy with the outcome of her English garden in La Cabrera.

The bus from La Cabrera to Madrid took us straight into the middle of the Gay Pride parade. The streets were filled with colour and joyous people. The atmosphere was absolutely brilliant, and I’ve never been surrounded by so many Freddie Mercury looka-likes before in my life. Getting the metro to Atocha train station was different, with all the carriages full of love and happiness…

Janet worked hard getting the house clean and ready to live in and returned to the UK to pick up my newly retired brother. Their plan is to drive over bringing a few personal things, while the bulk of their furniture is in the hands of a haulage firm.

Setting off from Hull with what was supposed to be a nice leisurely drive down to Southampton, turned into nightmare due to adverse weather conditions as it pissed down with rain all the way.

The trip was two nights on the Brittany Ferries to Bilbao and a nice four-hour drive to an overnight stop in Carinena, near Zaragoza. An early start after breakfast see’s them arrive on The Orihuela Costa by midday August 2018. This is the official journey they took, but according to Janet and her sat nav, they sailed from Southampton back to Hull…obviously the scenic route.

Country Bowls has now got use to the Three Amigos from Horadada, which turned into Four Amigos when Alan Miler joins the club. We are always laughing, joking, and ribbing with our new teammates, although one or two are not quite sure how to take us. They are the old school bowlers who find it difficult to change and move on.

Lawn bowls needs to evolve and get away from the old shirt and tie brigade. Horadada insisted on bowlers wearing shirt and tie. This does not adhere itself to attracting the younger bowlers.... or even attract the Spanish to try the game. The Spanish must think we are all mad rolling a ball in 30c wearing a shirt and tie. Country Bowls is not quite that strict but there is still a long way to go.

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The main problem in Spain is that it’s mainly played by retired Brits. Anyway, the four of us bring new blood and a new vibe to the club and it’s for the better.

Bowling, standard-wise, has been similar to Horadada. Mid-table each year has had its ups and downs and internal struggles like all clubs, but with new owners now, and all the troublemakers gone, it is a well-run fun club.

I really hoped our Mark and Janet would join but they opted for Horadada, as it’s closer for them and they, like me a couple of years ago, are new to the game.

I’ve chosen to play for the Friday team only. Playing for two teams can be a bit too much as it can overtake your life. Dennis put his name down for both Monday and Friday teams and poor Wayne can only play when he can get time off or sneak out of work.

Over the next few weeks more bowlers from a Horadada join us at Country Bowls which makes the atmosphere even better and the teams stronger.

Dianne, Val’s next-door neighbour, is due soon so Val asks me to help her tidy her garden. For some reason we both end up in hysterics when I innocently say, “do you want me to trim Di’s big bush?”

For the next hour we are like two giggling infants while trying sort out Dianne’s garden.

We both go to the airport to pick her up. Dianne suffers from chronic arthritis and struggles with her luggage, so she has to have assistance from the airline. I help her into the car and put her case in the boot.

On the way home Dianne asks, “Have you had a chance to do my garden?”

Val looks at me and we both burst into hysterical laughter again. Dianne is bemused in the back seat as Val has to pull over and stop, with tears running down her cheeks she can’t see to drive.

Having finally composed herself, Val apologises, then says, “John has trimmed your bush!”

Well, it all started again…both having to leave the car. Goodness knows what Dianne thought watching us doubled up in laughter at the side of the road.

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Dianne was over for six weeks, so we all went out regularly to have fish and chips or the early bird Indian. John and June were over at the same time so they would join us.

Val would joke, it’s like One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest going out with this lot.

When they are not over here enjoying the sun, Val looks after their properties, watering plants and cleaning up after mucky rains. The rain usually comes over from North Africa bringing with it sand.... which is why we get mucky rains. The way to tell if it’s going to rain is.... wash your car, then it will rain the following day! Val also gets in bits of shopping when they are due over, like fill up their fridges, mopping floors, spraying air fresheners.... all the things that make a big difference when you’re only visiting a couple of times a year. This is the type of person Val is…she will do anything for anyone…just don’t call her English!!

After my disastrous first attempt at Tinder dating, I’m ready to try again. I’ve had many ping, ping, pings on my phone but in large, I’ve ignored them, with only the odd look but nothing serious.

I receive a few texts and I reply, to build up a conversation…slowly trying to get to know them. Eventually the conversation peters out and I’m left with one. Conchi, originally from Bolivia and now living in Villena North West of Alicante central.

She speaks as much English as I do Spanish, also South American Spanish is slightly different than European Spanish, everything I’ve learned she doesn’t understand so again it’s all done by the translation app. We arranged to meet in Alicante by the port.

I made sure our meeting place was out in the open just in case I have to exit stage left rather quickly.

A first quick glance at her Adam’s apple reassures me she’s ok. We spend a nice time walking round the amazing city of Alicante. I love the narrow streets with the cafes and restaurants, it really is my type of city.

We sit and have a coffee in one of the many fabulous cafes and in our own unique way, communicate very well. She is small, attractive and we are of similar age. After a couple hours it is time to head our different ways. We arrange to keep in contact. I run to the car park…it’s expensive parking in Alicante.

I drove up to Villena the following week to meet Conchi for lunch, I met at her apartment where she made me a nice cup of tea while she got ready. She kept coming into the living room in varying degrees of undress to check I was ok. Typical women she couldn’t decide what to wear. Now this is where it got weird…her hair colour and style kept changing to match the different outfits she tried on.

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On every outfit and hairstyle, I said she looked ok, but apparently my opinion is worthless…so why fucking ask me!!!!!!!

After an hour I’m losing the will to live, and my poor stomach thinks my throat has been cut. I use the impatient walking up and down trick to try and speed things up.

When she finally presented herself as ready, I’m sure it was the first outfit she tried on.

I had no problem identifying her as a woman because talk about an uplifting bra!!!

The cleavage was that high up, I didn’t know if she was wearing a bra or chin straps.

Villena is a nice town with it’s Gothic churches, narrow streets with white houses, and the Los Pacheco castle. The Plaza de Toros {the bull ring] is stunning and had recently been restored with a glass dome roof. In 1959, the noble prize winner, Ernest Hemingway, had attended and was introduced to the crowd before a bullfight.

Bullfighting in those days was a urban middleclass spectator sport, I wonder how many out of the 10,000 capacity crowd actually knew who Ernest Hemmingway was?

I also wanted to visit the Archaeological museum to look at the Treasures of Villena, one of the greatest hordes of gold found of the European Bronze Age, but unfortunately it had just closed for the day…maybe…just maybe, if she’d not tried on ten different outfits.

When I returned home and thought about the day’s events, I realised she would drive me insane with the indecisiveness.

I’m off to a Spanish wedding alone. One of Val’s workmates at the airport is getting married and she has invited Val and guest to come. Now when I came over, I did not pack a three-piece suit or even a two-piece, for obvious reasons…“I won’t be going to a wedding, will I?”…So, I take myself off to the Primark in La Zenia, to buy something suitable.

I’m not one for dressing up. I don’t like the restraints of a stiff collar and a necktie, even for a short period, so I need to find something that is smart but casual…and more importantly, cheap!

The very lengthy ceremony was held in San Pedro at the Iglesia de la Santisima, then we moved onto the reception in Murcia city a fifty-minute drive away. Val and I were taxied there by one of Val’s friends from work, Irani and her husband Eugene.

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We sat at a large round table that seated sixteen people. Luckily, I was sat next to a music-loving Spaniard who spoke English. He loved Tom Waits as much as I do so for the next four hours we ate, drank, and talked about Tom Waits. He had a harmonica which he would play, and I had to guess that Tom Waits tune.... we were in our own little world ignoring others around us, which was a bit rude. One guest at our table tried to interact with us by trying to be the Alpha Male, the head of the pack, the king of our table. Yousef was his name; he was from Dubai with an attitude. I was showing my Tom Waits Tattoos to my new best friend when Yousef came over to proudly show us his new tattoos…two Colt 45’s, one on each calf…what a complete knob!

We have a choice in this life…to be a complete knob or not…it’s that simple!

I loved every minute of the reception from the slide shows, speeches (none of which I understood), the food, the atmosphere, and my new friend. Eventually his wife dragged him off home and I found Val outside on the kid’s bouncy castle…quality end to a great day.

The new Bowls season has started and the Country Bowls Geckos, the team I’ve decided to play for, has made a positive start, winning 5 of the first 6 fixtures.

I’m going back to Australia for few months around Christmas, avoiding playing against my old club Horadada, and giving Keith and Winnie the chance to drink Amigos dry.

Has Winnie finally convinced Keith to seriously look for a property? They drive over, taking the same route our Mark and Janet took. Ferry from Portsmouth to Bilbao and stopping one night in Zaragoza before heading south to Murcia. Keith is s typical Yorkshireman, he googled “cheapest places to live in Spain” and Almería came out top, so he booked an Airbnb in Mojacar for the three of us. Belt and braces, Keith uses two sat nav’s for his journey to Murcia and now a road map has been added. I sit in the back seat making sure both sat nav’s are telling the truth. In the early days of sat nav’s you heard stories of people being directed into dead ends and over cliffs, so Keith is taking no chances.

I’ve never used one…I’ve always followed my nose and the road signs.

We set off and the Sat Nav’s have a disagreement on how to get to the motorway I reassure Keith “I live here Keith; I know the quickest way!” Once on the AP7 we head south and occasionally Keith would ask for confirmation that we are heading in the right direction.

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The drive down to the Region of Almería was very pleasant, if somewhat cautious.

We stopped in Turre as Keith’s homework had suggested that Turre is a cheap place to live, and as it happened, we parked directly in front of an Estate Agent office.

Keith’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at some of the bargains in the shop window. Winnie was also excited “Keith let’s go in and talk to them”…it was a command as she headed for the door. It was closed and Keith got an earful for it being so.

Siestas are still a tradition in the smaller towns and villages and not so much in the big cities, so if you arrive at a small village like Turre between 2pm and 5pm, like we did, it will seem like a ghost town and give the wrong impression. I could see the look of disappointment on Winnie’s face, but I knew if we could find the plaza there would be life. We headed for the church spire and found a nice plaza with bars and restaurants.

It was only small but very quiet, nevertheless you will always find a Brit in a bar and that’s what we did. A local Brit is a great source of information and my ears pricked up when he said they had a bowls green.

We had a wander through the street before heading back to the car. I got the impression it was a little too quiet for Keith and Winnie, although Keith liked the house prices.

We arrived in Mojacar by early afternoon. We are staying at Playa Venta. I had heard lots of nice things about Mojacar but what I did not realise is that there are two parts to it. Playa Mojacar where we are staying and the old town, which is an elevated village displaying the traditional, white-washed houses.

The Airbnb that Keith had booked was directly behind the Red Lion Bar…how very convenient. Once we had unpacked that’s where we spent the next five hours.

Over the next few days Keith and Winnie spent looking in Estate Agent’s windows, gasping over the price difference between Mojacar and Turre. The evenings were spent in the Red Lion. The weather was good, and I liked the feel of Mojacar. On the morning we left, Keith decided he wanted to look round Almería town, so out came the Sat Nav’s and in went the destination. We came out of Mojacar on the coastal road and through Carboneras, and we stayed on the coastal route through some spectacular scenery which was very much appreciated by Winnie and I, but not so much by Keith, as the route was up hill and down dale.

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Obviously, there weren’t any dales, just massive inclines and sheer declines on narrow winding roads. Beads of sweat on Keith’s forehead turned into rivers of fear. I don’t know what I enjoyed the most, the fantastic scenery or Keith’s arse falling out.

We got to a small town called Las Negras where Keith saw a road sign for the motorway and headed that way much to the annoyance of the Sat Navs.

Almería town was disappointing…much too busy, so we drove in and out without stopping. Making our way home we stopped at some nice places, Aguilas and Puerto de Mazzaron especially but Keith was at his happiest when we reached San Pedro and he headed straight to Amigos to relax.

Wayne and I had entered the internal pairs competition at our new club advancing to the semifinals before I had to leave for Australia.

I’ve decided to fly with Emirates and change my route. This time I’m flying from Alicante to Stansted to Dubai to Brisbane. My brother drops me off at Alicante airport for my afternoon flight. When I arrive in Stansted its absolutely peeing down.

Stansted, as you know, is not my favourite airport and in the rain and grey skies it’s even worse than I thought. I’ve booked into a local hotel for an overnight stay as my flight departs the following day. It’s still raining as I leave my hotel room at 10am to catch the bus back to the airport. My plan was to catch the train into London for a few hours because my flight to Australia is not until 8pm…but the rain put a damper on that idea.

As I found out, there is not a lot to do in Stansted before you go through check in. I find myself people-watching. My attention was caught by a man and women begging by the toilets entrance. He was getting very frustrated with the lack of acknowledgement and she was frantically trying to calm him down. He would go outside for a fag then come back, piss-wet, even more frustrated than he went out. I thought it all was going to kick off when a woman accidentally bumped into him. He started shouting and swearing…luckily the police arrived just as I was getting ready to run.

The next couple of hours I spent guessing the nationalities. Finally, we get a call for check in. As I pass through security, an incredibly attractive security guard called me to one side and wanted to frisk search me. This is the first time I’ve encountered this at an airport and because I’ve been single for some time now, I’m classing this as a date with sex. “Could you spread your legs please sir and arms out wide?”

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I’m thinking to myself, “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” I was amusing myself with thoughts as she carried out the frisk search. Once she finished, I said in my best Oscar Wilde voice, “I’ve nothing to declare except my incontinence…I mean incompetence!”

I did not get a smile or her phone number. Twenty-four hours later I am met at Brisbane airport by Nicola and my beautiful new granddaughter Lily, which took my mind off my sore arse and bulging piles and fleeting romance.

The next couple of hours I spent guessing the nationalities. Once I’d gone through check in everything was fine, I was able to have a drink and something to eat.

Twenty-four hours later I’m met at Brisbane airport by Nicola and my beautiful new granddaughter Lily, which took my mind off my sore arse and bulging piles.

Obviously having an eight-month-old baby requires a routine so my role is to help out as much as I can...feeding, changing, bathing, entertaining…the usual chores of a granddad my age. Scott was working most of the time, so I fulfilled his role by accompanying Nicola and Lily to Sensory classes and swimming lessons.

While I was in Australia, I had a call from Winnie telling me that Val had a fall and banged her head. I presumed it was on a wet floor. Slip and down is easily done on tiled floors. I’ve often gone arse over tits and when you live alone it does scare you. I call Val and she reassured me it was nothing serious.

The last time I was in Australia I had sussed out all the bowling clubs nearby and showed my face in all of them. Pine River is the big one... what a venue to play bowls.

Two carpets of ten rinks outside but with a canopy covering. It has a restaurant, cafe, bar, pokies and daily entertainment and to join, it costs one dollar that’s right up my street.

Throughout my stay I play at all the clubs, my actual favourite is Kallangar Bowls Club…again two greens of ten rinks but this is grass and it is kept immaculate. It was here I met a lovely Scotsman called John who is in his 70’s but still a top-class bowler. We bond straight away and soon I’m his partner in the Men’s Pairs internal competition. We win a couple of matches, but we were more than happy just to have a chinwag in the bar. In Australia they call the Jack, the Kitty. This confused me at first, as I looked for a cat every time someone shouted, “where’s the Kitty”. I loved listening to John’s stories of when he emigrated and how he worked his way up in business and how he had fought hard to compete with the locals to gain respect. He called it banter, I guess these days it would be called racial abuse.

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Scott has a weekend off, so we head south down to the Gold Coast to visit his sister and family in Burleigh Heads. What a beautiful, picturesque part of Queensland… unbelievable beauty. We have breakfast in a beach front cafe looking up towards Surfers Paradise in the distance. Eggs Benedict, Avocado and Earl Grey Tea…I could get use to this…$16!!!!! Ok, maybe not…

We take a drive up to Surfers Paradise. I can see why it attracts so many visitors. It’s a clean vibrant happy place, very much suited to the younger generation. I sit on the promenade while Nicola and Scott sort out Lily’s shitty nappy and I think of my childhood. Our summer excursions were to Bridlington on the East Coast. My memories are playing in the arcades as it lashed it down outside, listening to the rain on the caravan roof at night. I can not remember the sun shining. Obviously though, it must have done. As they return with a clean Lily, I think what a different childhood she will have, having this on her doorstep.

Scott insists that I try the traditional Aussie dish Chicken Parmy. It is a very simple pub dish and ours must have been cooked by a very simple chef ! Gordon Ramsey has nothing to be afraid of, it was edible but only just. I’ve had something similar in the UK called Chicken Parmo that was shite also.

I’ve been active on Tinder since my arrival and eventually I arrange to meet Robin in Brisbane central for coffee. I’m not sure Nicola is entirely happy, but Scott encourages me. They both travel down to Brisbane with me under the pretence of doing some Christmas shopping, only to find them sat in the cafe opposite where I’m meeting Robin, watching my every move.

I sat in the Cafe waiting for Robin to arrive. I know from our conversations that she’s not got the best sense of humour, so I keep reminding myself to behave. I see her walking over, so I stand and acknowledge her with a wave. The first thing I notice, she is wearing a short skirt showing off ample leg... well I think they were legs. They were painfully thin. It looked like she had no visible means of support. It defied the laws of Physics. As she approached, I went to greet her with a kiss on each cheek, a traditional Spanish greeting, I missed both cheeks by a considerable margin as she pulled away both times, I was left kissing fresh air.

We sit and order coffee. I can see Nicola and Scott laughing at my awkward greeting attempt. I know she has no sense of humour and I have this thing that has popped into my head... and I’m saying to myself “don’t say it…don’t say it…” too late it just came out!

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“Is your surname Bastard?”

“Pardon… what did you say?”

“Your surname…. is it bastard?”

“No, it is not!”

“Good because if it was, you’d be a Robin Bastard…”. I laughed…she just got up and left. I could have kicked myself for my stupidity. I turn to Nicola and Scott and give them the thumbs down. God knows what she’d have done if I’d have mentioned her legs.

Lily’s first Christmas was made special when she opened her gift from her English granddad… a Leeds United kit. Scott got a Leeds United cap and Nicola got a Leeds United top…I was happy even if they weren’t.

I made some super Yorkshire puddings to accompany the barbecued meat and the way too many vegetables. We had Scott’s family join us and my disastrous date with Robin was the main topic of conversation and a good belly laugh for everyone.

I had been in regular contact with some ladies on Tinder and one was beginning to stand out above the rest, as a possible victim, I mean candidate to meet. From her photos, Ana looked incredibly attractive. I zoomed in on all her profile pics searching for the enlarged Adam’s apple and hands…things are looking promising.

We met at the Queens Street shopping Mall where we enjoyed a few hours eating Sushi chatting and drinking coffee. She came from South Thailand, a place called Pattani, where she owned a small plot of land. Her dream was to live off the land and become self-sufficient. She wanted goats for the milk, chickens for the eggs, to grow vegetables and have fruit trees…it all sounded genuinely nice.

“When my husband has finished his day’s work, I will cook him a feast. I will relax him and will teach him how to have spiritual sex.” She was now stroking my knee.

“Spiritual sex can last for hours and is the perfect bond between two people.”

Wow…here we go again, I thought.

So, she wants us to marry! Then, she wants me to milk the goats! collect the eggs! plough the field! harvest the land! pick the fruit!... and when I come home knackered…she wants to spend hours having spiritual sex!!!!

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My Tinder profile says retired not retarded. Anyway, I’m an old-fashioned type of guy and I stick to the tried and tested method of…pull the nightie up, then down when you’ve finished… that way everyone is happy!”

What started off as promising, suddenly took a nose-dive. We wandered round the shops making small talk. I wanted to visit the famous Brisbane hat shop Brisbane Hatters. I wanted to buy myself a quality hat for bowling, something different than the usual bowls hat that most bowlers wear, something that protects my neck as well as my head.

The girls in the shop had a challenge on their hands because I have a very small head for a man and accompanied with a small frame, hats have never really suited me. I was in the shop quite some time having plenty of banter with the staff before finally buying a nice looking hat that fits my head and the job intended. When I’d finished my retail therapy, Ana was nowhere to be found, I phoned but got no answer. She must have got fed up of waiting and buggered off.

I had a little chuckle to myself on the way home. How many times have I been in that situation waiting for a women while she shops and never dared to bugger off.

Nicola, Lily, and I drive up to the Sunshine Coast. Nicola is visiting friends while I call in to Maroochydore Bowls Club to have a practice and look around the bowls shop.

When Nicola and Lily return to pick me up, I’ve bought a new set of bowls, four bowls tops, four bowls cloths and marker pens…and only the Bowls are for me.

Scott looks after Lily as Nicola takes me to the airport. Saying goodbye is not so difficult this time as I will be seeing them again soon.

Late February I arrive back in San Pedro having had a wonderful time in Australia, but really glad to be back home.

I join Keith and Winnie in Amigos bar for their farewell drink and arrange their next visit in April when we will do a house swap. I’m going back to the UK to watch Leeds.

I’ve persuaded Wayne to join me. Keith and Winnie have met lots of new friends here in San Pedro and they all turn up to bid them a fond farewell.

I call round to Val’s to pay my rent arrears that I’ve accumulated while away. This fall she had was nothing to do with wet floors, she passed out and hit her head on the ground.

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She was in hospital for a few days while they ran tests and they seem to think it’s a trapped blood vessel in the back of her neck, but more tests are needed to be done.

Meanwhile, she has been told not to work and advised not to drive.

The first week of my return I drive Val down to Cartagena to see the works doctor who extends her sick note. He seems to think this will not be short-term. This is the first time in fifteen years since Val arrived in Spain that she had not worked and it’s driving her nuts…and to make matters worse, is her car is sat outside her house and she can’t use it.

I’ve missed a few matches of the bowls season while sunning myself in Australia. The team have been doing ok…still in the top half of the B division, I play in the last remaining matches and we finish a creditable third. Wayne and I win the club’s Men’s Internal Pairs and qualify for the Champion of Champions again. We have a bowls presentation lunch organised in May and I invite Lourdes down from Madrid to join me, which she accepted.

Wayne and I fly into Leeds and Bradford as Keith and Winnie fly into Alicante. They can no longer fly into the wonderful Airport of San Javier, because for some reason the Spanish have built a new airport in Corvera, when it’s quite clear to everyone that San Javier wasn’t broken.

All those who worked at San Javier were offered jobs at the new airport but it’s 40 minutes drive from airport to airport, so it doesn’t fit in with everyone’s life. As with all business change some people lose out, are cast aside and thrown on the scrap heap.

Val was in two minds whether to accept the new place of employment…in the end she decided she wanted to keep working, keep herself busy and active and enjoy the camaraderie built up with work mates over the years. She wishes she was there now!!!

I meet Wayne at Covera airport, have a couple of beers before our flight back to Leeds.

Chris and his son Andrew have travelled down from Scotland to also stay at Keith’s.

We are all going to the match together. Keith and Winnie will be watching from Amigos bar.

I always enjoy going back to Leeds, it’s such a beautiful city, very different now than it was when we were growing up.

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It’s a lot more international now with your fine fancy restaurants owned by famous chefs, wine bars, sushi bars…but if you know where to go you can still find those great little pubs selling real ale.

After having a full English breakfast, overlooking the river Aire, we frequent a few of those public houses before the match. The atmosphere at Elland Road is always fantastic but on this particular day it was unreal. Win this match against league rivals Aston Villa and we look good for promotion back to the promised land.

As we walk away from Elland Road, disappointed in 1-1 draw, we head back to Leeds city centre to the real ale pubs. We still have a chance of promotion, but this is Leeds…nothing is ever straightforward.

As soon as I’m back in Spain, I’ve another Tinder date. Edith is from Columbia and is over in Spain visiting her sister in Torrevieja. I drive over and park in the underground car park near the harbour. I know Torrevieja very well as my brother and I had a studio apartment there many years ago. I meet Edith in the plaza where we take coffee. We spend the next hour or so laughing mainly at our inability to understand each other’s native tongues but also the ability to communicate and understand each other. She works in cosmetic surgery practice in Bogata, the capital of Columbia. After coffee we walk down to the sea front and walk along the promenade. Edith links my arm, and it feels pretty good. We are in and out of shops as Edith picks up gifts for family and friends back home.

We have lunch in a lovely restaurant on the front. Edith has a couple of small beers with her meal, and I stick to a soft drink. I made a lifestyle choice not so long ago, that I would stop drinking alcohol for a couple of reasons why. Firstly, I never really liked the taste of any type of alcohol. The first cool beer on a hot summer’s day I will admit is refreshing, but the second one never tastes the same. Secondly, it only takes me three halves to feel tipsy. I don’t like that feeling of not being in control, like the time I had four halves after a roll-up with Wayne, Dennis and Peter. I don’t remember getting home. I must have fallen off my bike a few times because when I woke up, feeling like crap, I was covered in dirt and chain oil, since that day no alcohol has passed my lips.

After our meal, Edith and I linked arms and strolled slowly along the Promenade. We stopped occasionally for a coffee. Not before long, the day turned into evening. The Torrevieja craft market was now open, and Edith looked in every stall twice, collecting gifts. We had one last coffee overlooking the busy Promenade before we said our goodbyes.

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I gave Edith a list of my surgical requirements and unfortunately, lengthening is not one her practice encourages, so I will have to carry on using the pump method.

I walk back to the underground car park having enjoyed the day with this charming woman from Columbia, until I put the parking ticket into the machine…€45!! Once again, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Not long after our meeting Edith returned to Columbia, we have kept in touch, so near…yet so far.

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chapter five YEAR FOUR May, 2019

N

ORTHERN soul night in Roda. I love Northern soul music, the dancing and the dress sense.

Wayne, Samantha, and I have bought tickets for €10 each. This includes a free drink and food. I drive down to Wayne’s in the late afternoon have few drinks, then onto Roda.

It’s a beautiful evening, the DJ is playing the classics.

Dobie Gray- Out on The Floor.

Gloria Jones - Tainted Love.

Frankie Valli - You’re Ready Now. Chuck Wood - Seven Days Too Long.

Al Wilson - The Snake.

And my particular favourite…Jimmy Radcliffe - Long After Tonight is All Over.

It’s nights like these I wish I could dance. My legs become enemies once I reach the dance floor. I’m happy watching the people who can dance, mostly people of my age, but also some younger ones which is nice to see that they have the faith.

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Chicken Pallea is the food being served. I queue along with Wayne with our admission tickets in hand for our portion. I’d not eaten all day, so I was looking forward to this, but something wasn’t right after the first mouthful…that awful feeling of nausea when you know your going to be sick…and I was!! The rest of the night I felt horrible… watery mouth…sick dribbling out of my nose, wanting to throw up. Eventually Wayne and Samantha took me back to their house and I don’t remember too much after that.

I tell the tale that I woke to find my hands tied together, my pants by my ankles and an orange stuck in my mouth. It’s not true of course, but I find it funny when Wayne vigorously denies it.

I had arranged to meet Sofia in Murcia City. I caught the train from Balsicas, to save me driving round a strange city searching for a free parking space. My train got me there in plenty of time, so I took a nice stroll to our meeting place, the Tourist Information Office, soaking up the vibrant atmosphere of this beautiful city. Sofia is Spanish but has lived in Holland for the last 20 years and was back now in her hometown, looking for love. As I approached the Tourist office, I saw Sofia stood there waiting. Once again, someone not looking remotely like her Tinder profile photos.

My initial reaction was to slip way unnoticed, but she turned and caught my eye.

Even then I’m thinking, “run for it” but she looked like she dabbled in witchcraft or voodoo so I decided not to. That is when as she came towards me. She was limping, my window of opportunity had been lost. As we went to greet each other in the traditional Spanish way, I nearly gipped at the smell of tobacco. Her face looked like she has smoked 60 fags a day since the age of 10. If you joined all the lines on her face together, they would stretch to Holland and back. I don’t know what she did in Holland, but i can guarantee she didn’t sell her wares in a shop window. We sat by the river and had lunch. I have to say she was very pleasant and spoke good English with a Spanish/ Dutch accent, which was mesmerising, but I couldn’t get past the way she looked or the smell. She made me look like a young Rock Hudson, its no wonder she sat opposite me looking like a pig in shit…pig and shit were the first words that entered my head when I first saw her, the only positives I could take from the day was…she paid for lunch and her looks kept the flies off the food.

I go back to the UK in early May for a very special occasion, Lily’s first birthday.

What makes it even more special is that Nicola, Scott, and Lily are coming over from Australia. We are all staying at a friend’s house who has kindly vacated for 2 weeks duration of their visit. Before they arrive, I stayed at Keith and Winnie’s and had a couple of nights out with the old gang…taking their bookings for future visits to Spain.

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It was Nicola and Scott’s first time back to the UK, and they surprised a few old friends by knocking on their doors. Scott got a deal with his old employer and we had Lily’s party at Wakefield Trinity’s stadium.

It was great to see the whole family together and meet Lily for the first time. I think Nicola enjoyed the tables being turned on Scott with regards to her family being there in force. It was also nice to see a few faces I’d not seen in a long time.

We all agreed a few days later that we couldn’t wait to get back to the warmer climates of Spain and Australia.

As she steps down from the train, I’m greeted with the usual Lourdes, open arms and warm smile. That evening we eat out at the nice Italian restaurant near Amigos bar. It’s a quick-fire visit because of her work commitments... she arrived Friday and returns Sunday morning.

On the Saturday morning we have breakfast at my favourite café, El Horno, before we return home to get ready for the presentation lunch. The weather is unusually chilly, and Lourdes didn’t bring suitable clothing and I could feel her getting agitated.

On the drive up to the bowls club Lourdes is awfully quiet…I could feel something was not right.

“Who is Hayley?”

I’m taken back a little by this sudden question.

“Ermmm… it’s my daughter, you know that!”

“Who is Lady Amanda?”

“That’s my friend in Leeds!”

“Who is Angie?”

“That’s a work friend from Leeds!”

“Why do you give kisses to these people?”

“It’s a term of endearment.”

“I don’t understand this word?”

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By now I know exactly what has gone on…she has obviously gone through text messages on my phone. I try to explain I’ve nothing to hide and I’ve done nothing wrong even though I’ve only thought of us as friends. Suddenly Lourdes is struggling to understand basic English.

Wayne and I are presented with our trophy and credit to Lourdes she makes a big effort not to spoil the occasion while we are there. Everyone thinks she is lovely, not knowing what she has done.

That evening was very tiresome. I asked the obvious question, “why did you go through my phone?” The answer was unacceptable... she felt I was being distant!

I’m at that stage in my life where I don’t play games. I’m totally honest in everything I say and do, and I expect that in return. This has left a sour taste in my mouth but as I lay there that night it just confirmed my belief that as long as I’ve got a hole in my arse, I’ll never understand women!!!

Sunday morning at the train station we had lots of tears.

“I thought we had a future together…you have broken my heart.”

I’ve lived so long by myself…been out of the loop too long to recognise the signs, I genuinely thought of us as good friends only.

Sobbing uncontrollably, she boards the slow train to Madrid, I feel absolutely awful, seeing her like this... tears run down my face.

That night I didn’t sleep much as now I recognise the blatant signs that I missed....

Shit!!! What a plonker I am!

I’ve exchanged vows three times. I’m obviously not good at exchanging vows or reading women.

I receive a text from Lourdes late that night saying God will help her overcome.

Like the majority of Spain, Lourdes is deeply religious. We often spoke about our beliefs, I’m what you would call a fence-sitter which we had our disagreements over and funnily enough I was always wrong.

Anyway, it was a good year for the roses.

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This is our last chance for promotion, we are leading 1-0 from the first leg against Derby and we are 1-0 up in the second leg…. what could possibly go wrong?

Sat in Paddy Singhs with Wayne, mulling over what went wrong, loosing 3-4 is hard to take as we only needed a draw to get to the playoffs final, conspiracy theories with EFL, the gypsy curse on Elland Road? It was nothing but back luck, we have played some fantastic football all season and I for one is happy with the joy they have brought me this season.

‘GET UP SLOWLY’ These are homemade signs all over Val’s place, she’s had a couple more, funny turns when she has got up too quickly from a sitting position, so hopefully these signs will just remind to take her time. I take her to the hospital for another appointment and they send her straight for Physio. Physios refuse to treat her after studying her diagnosis because it’s a specialist she needs to see, so back to the appointments. 8th September is the next available…I can sense Val’s frustration.

I’m doing all the airport pick ups now. Val comes with me to get out of the house.

John and June are the first to come in May and as usual, on Thursday, we go for Fish and Chips in Villamartin. On the Friday Val phones me, “Can you take John and June to the airport this afternoon… June’s sister has died?”

Val arranged the return flight with Ryanair for them because June was in shock. We took them to Alicante that afternoon under a dark cloud, it still did not stop June talking, without breathing, all the way there.

I pick up bits of shopping for Val and she rewards me with tea and biscuits and the occasional Sunday lunch.

Not long after John and June had returned home, we are back at the airport again picking up Ed and Maureen. Val’s spirit is lifted having her good friends come over for a two-week break. We take the girls up to La Zenia Boulevard for some retail therapy then Ed and I chill with a cool beer and tapas discussing the fortunes of our football teams. They return to join us after a couple of hours shopping, and it is lovely to see Val smiling and happy again after her recent frustrations.

Ping, ping, ping, went the strings of my heart…I’m back on Tinder talking to Nohemy, with long jet- black hair, olive skin and brilliant white teeth…which seem to be her own.

She looks stunning. Another from Columbia, now living in Ibi, North West Alicante.

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Our meeting in Alicante coincides with the annual festival, The Fogueres de Sant Joan, so I take the bus to Alicante because I know it’s going to be very busy.

The festival is a dedication to fire where large wooden statues are set alight for the arrival of the summer solstice. It is a spectacular site, some of the statues are unbelievably big. We spend most of the day watching the statues pass by along with the thousands of other people. Trying to get into a cafe and out of the heat was a nightmare but that did not diminish what a great day we had. Early evening exhausted, we walked to the central bus station to catch our respective transport home, we’ve arranged to meet again soon.

Mark and Janet leave Horadada BC after one season and they leave as internal club champions, the bowling fraternity are beginning to take note of the Jukes bowlers.

Greenland’s Bowls Club welcomes two good bowlers.

They have really settled into the expat way of life and enjoying a great social life.

Wayne has entered us into the National championships in both pairs and singles disciplines, only for him to pull out due to work commitments leaving me in the singles.

The format is groups of four players who play each other and the one who comes top progresses to the knockout stages.

I have two current Spanish Internationals and past winners in my group, the first match is between me and a bowler from San Miguel. We laugh about us being underdogs and being in the hardest group. The game was played in good spirit and I had a convincing win.

My next match is against one of the pretournament favourites from Quesada. I played really well and came away victor. I could actually win the group, even if I lose my next match by having a better aggregate score, but I need not have worried as I had another good day and won comfortably.

The quarter final was where everyone expected my good run to end against the current holder and current International from San Luis but I surprised a few people that day when I never looked like I would be beaten.

Into the semi finals... people are talking of me winning the tournament but my opponent from Emerald Isle had other ideas when he turned in a good performance to beat me.

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I was very pleased with the way I played throughout the tournament. After my semi final defeat, I was sat having a drink with some of the other bowlers who had entered.

What I didn’t know was that the winner of each match must buy the marker a drink, I only got told this as we sat down after my last match…so my reputation as a tight Yorkshireman has reached a new level.

I don’t know why but when I was asked what I did for a living, I told them I was a jockey, riding for Bouchit brothers out of the Pontefract stables. Amazing how quickly gossip spreads because as I’m sat there, racing enthusiasts come up to ask me questions about these unknown stables in Pontefract. Even now I’m asked if I’ve rode any winners. On our table was a big mouth.... he looked straight at me and totally out of context of the horse racing conversation said, “I’m in charge!”

“In charge of who?”

“In charge of everyone here…I run this tournament…it’s my baby!”

I stared right back at him and said, “Wanna mi arse and fanny crack!” its a saying used in some parts of Yorkshire which means “you’re talking bollocks”.

I got up and walked away.

He is another one who has a choice in this life…to be or not to be a complete knob head. I bet he sat at home back in the UK and said to his wife, “do you fancy retiring to Spain? There must be lots of people there that I can piss off?”

“What a great idea love…I’ll start to pack.”

The Champion of Champions didn’t go exactly to plan for Wayne and I. A lot of people was expecting us to go the distance but after an easy win in the first round, we surrendered a comfortable lead in our next match due to complacency…valuable lesson learned.

Since we joined Country Bowls, we would usually meet on a Sunday morning for breakfast before the roll up.

Wayne has been in Spain a lot of years and has picked up the Spanish tradition of having a coffee and Brandy in the mornings. Sometimes Dennis will join him, but I stick to just coffee.

One Sunday morning at our breakfast meeting, Wayne turned up looking like he’d had a late night…“hair of the dog should do the trick,” he said.

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We were in the cafe for probably about 45 mins and in that time, he’d had one coffee and four Brandies.

Once at the club, another couple of Brandies and during the roll up, a few pints… he was sloshed. It was the anniversary of his brother’s death, so he was some what excused. Some of the older club members didn’t see the funny side when Wayne attempted to do cartwheels across the green while they were bowling. Personally, it’s one of the funniest things I’ve seen, in the end he just laid on the carpet unable to get up. Some bowlers attempted to bowl round him until Dennis and I had to carry him from the green while he was trying to play football with the bowls and singing Marching on Together.

I pick up Nohemy at Alicante bus station and we drive onto El Campello. We sit and have a coffee on the seafront. The language barrier is proving to be difficult again, our little understanding of each other’s native tongue, although her English is better than my Spanish.

I speak in a Yorkshireman accent and not the Queen’s English so being your natural self is not easy…humour goes right out of the window. You also must think about how you word things and put sentences together, so it makes it understandable. I’m learning to speak Spanish, yet here I am struggling to speak my own language correctly.

We drive to Busot, then on to the beautiful scenic route up to the Cuevas Del Canelobre. At the top, known as the Cabelo d’ or (golden hill), the views across the countryside are superb.

We join a guided tour of the caves, albeit a short tour, but it’s ok with the customarily photo taken as you enter the caves and the extortionate price you pay for it as you leave.

Stopping at a restaurant halfway down the golden hill we have a fantastic menu del dia…she tells me of her brother back in Columbia who sells farms and need money to pay for medical bills! I’m a little confused.

“Your brother sells farms?”

“Yes!” Selfishly I’m thinking this family must have a bob or two, I’ve fallen lucky here.

“He needs money for medical bills?”

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“Yes!” “What medical bills?”

“Doctors fix the wounds.”

It’s a few moments before it registers, and my hopes of wealth disappear.

“Ahhhh…your brother self harms?”

“Yes!” She also tells me she is looking for a husband so she can stay in Spain…AND…“I do not like your car, we need a new one.” We?? I Was expecting her to get down on one knee and present me with a bull ring for my nose.

A few years ago I would have played along just to get her into bed…now alarm bells are ringing so loudly in my head it’s loosening my fillings.

That evening I message her to thank her for a lovely day but unfortunately, I don’t think we have a future together.

Since Dennis had his heart attack he’s not been as active as he would like in the bedroom department. His son Johnny supplied him with all different types of Viagra …medium strength, strong or extra strong tablets is how Dennis described them and sachets of gel. Unable to use them, he started handing them out like candy. I took a couple of sachets as the thought of extra strong tablets gave me images that was not pleasant.

Dennis probably had more activity than me recently so I thought they would be out of sell by date if I ever got round to using anyway. When I got home I threw them in my toiletries travel bag with all the hotel shower and shampoo freebies.

Lourdes had sent me the odd text passing pleasantries and I was glad that our relationship wasn’t strained any longer but was very surprised when she sent me a text inviting me up to Madrid for my birthday. I’m waiting at Balsicas station waiting for the slow train to Madrid when I notice a tattoo on a young man’s calf. It was the Leeds United club badge. He noticed me looking so I gave him the Leeds salute, he came over with his girlfriend and tried to talk to me in Spanglish, I let him carry on for a bit then I said in my exaggerated Yorkshire accent, “I’m from Seacroft, where are you from?”

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They both started laughing.

“We are from Holbeck, we thought you was Spanish?“ Now that is the best compliment, I’ve had in all my time in Spain.

I meet Lourdes in Sol where we have a coffee and a nice chat. It was good being back in Madrid.

I noticed Lourdes had a small suitcase when I asked about it, she smiled and after our coffee she led me to a hotel where she had booked a room for the night.

That evening we went out for a lovely meal where I had the best Black Pudding I’d ever tasted and after our meal we wandered around this vibrant city watching the many tourists taking photos and selfies.

Our hotel room was small but very nice and modern, facing the King size bed was the bathroom with frosted glass walls and door. As I waited for my turn to use the bathroom, I noticed that I could see the silhouette of Lourdes, while I sat on the edge of the bed. I remembered about the Viagra sachets in my toiletries bag that Dennis gave me.

When it was my turn in the bathroom, I turned out the bathroom light so Lourdes couldn’t see me. In semi darkness I washed and brushed my teeth then I slipped my hand into my wash bag and pulled out the sachet, feeling for the slit I opened it and sucked out the contents.... the taste was vile. I forced myself to swallow some of it, but it began to make me gip. It was disgusting, I spat it out as I thought I was going to be sick, then I started coughing, “are you ok, John?” I couldn’t answer, my eyes were watering, I was coughing and gipping, this vile stuff was coming out of my nose... I was in a right mess. It put a damper on the following events as I went to sleep feeling crap.

The following morning, I was curious to see what flavour that Viagra was. I was shocked to find I’d only gone and opened a shower gel sachet.

Dianne is over for the whole of August. Val has started food shopping online, so between them, they have a delivery every few weeks. It saves me going to the supermarket for them which I didn’t mind doing, but I always got the wrong butter or wrong flour…I’m a man…butter is butter and flour is flour!!!

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I would regularly walk past Val’s house just to check if she was ok or needed anything.

Most of the time she would be dozing on the sofa with a trail of spittle running down her chin. If she was awake, invariably she would ask me in for tea and biscuits.

Dianne has noticed that I’m at Val’s more often now and made a comment to Val that we must be having an affair. One day as I walked into Val’s, Dianne was sat on her porch reading. I passed pleasantries of the day then said…“She wants it again” and winked I knew this would ignite her curiosity.

After half hour of tea and biscuits, I run out of Val’s with my shirt off and hair a mess perused by Val who was shouting “come back I’ve not finished with you.”

That night as the three of us went out for the early bird Val and I was in hysterics, constantly dropping innuendos into the conversation…Dianne fell for it hook line and sinker.

We kept this up for the duration of her visit only telling the truth as we drove to the airport for her return flight home.

One day Val decided to buy a mobility scooter. The twenty-minute walk to the beach was getting a little too much for her, and because she was advised not drive her car, she thought this was the best solution. Diane was not best pleased as she had always traveled shotgun with Val, now she would have to walk while Val rode the scooter. On the day of delivery, I was ordered round to Val’s to witness the trial run. As I walked round the corner into her street Val was riding down the pavement. She reminded me of Matt Lucas from Little Britain. When I mentioned it to Val, we both burst into hysterical laughter. Diane didn’t have a clue what was going on, as Val rode up and down the street pointing and shouting “I want that one”.

I’ve experienced a couple of Gota Fria’s, but nothing like this one, torrential storms for 3 days and nights solid. On the first day I stood on my porch and watched my street turn into a river. It’s difficult to describe the amount of water that was falling out of the sky, I’ve never seen anything like it. Over the years I’ve watched news reports of the climate change and how floods have wiped away towns and villages all over the world, as I stood there watching I was scared.

As I witnessed it outside my front door, I knew there was going to be widespread devastation here in Spain. Facebook kept me updated with all the local news and it wasn’t looking good. The government announced a State of Emergency.

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On the second day, the rivers running through the streets had turned to brown dirty water. The water flows down from inland areas of the region, gathering agriculture materials, mud and debris and it hits the coast like tsunami. Tons of soil and harmful substances wash into the already fragile Mar Menor causing massive environmental damage, and just when you think it can’t get any worse, I run out of milk.

Many people underestimated the destructive power of this Gota Fria, the worst one in over 50 years. Facebook tells the full story as people post videos clips of the devastation. Once again it claims lives and livelihoods, and as usual it goes as quickly as it came, and we are back to sunshine. It takes a few days for the waters to subside, leaving a thick brown layer of mud everywhere. I sludge through the mud to my car and inside is full of this brown dirty water all the way up to the seats. One by one the neighbours appear to find the same. I start to bail out the water using a saucepan, but it was impossible to get every bit of water out so for the next few days and nights all car doors were left open trying to dry the insides. Luckily, the car started first time, so another attempt to dry it out was leaving the engine running with the heater on. This caused it to smell, that old wet foisted carpet smell, it was like sitting in a old peoples home.

It was a few weeks before everything got back to some sort of normality and my first venture out was to go to bowls to meet up with friends. I’d not really missed the bowling but more of the crack we have when we all get together. A beautiful sunny day I put my bowls equipment in the car, she starts first time as always, clutch down into first, ummmmm…try again. It’s not going into gear, in fact, I can’t find any of the gears.

The Spanish government has set up a flood damage compensation package, so all claims had to be passed on to the government helpline, I finally got my car towed to the nearest garage for assessment. A month had passed, and I’d not heard anything. I knew all garages would be inundated with claims and the process would not be quick, so I was reluctant to pursue it, but selfishly I wanted to get back out to see friends.

Wayne took me to the garage and there she was, all fixed and nobody had contacted me. Wayne speaks Spanish and the mechanic told him the damage was not flood related but wear and tear. I new this was bollocks, but I also understood that a small local garage needs payment and not the long, drawn-out process of going through the government insurance compensation plan. I paid the €296 and drove home happy to be mobile again.

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The first Leeds home game of an eagerly awaited new season and Wayne and I have made plans to attend. Sam and Jessica, Wayne’s wife, and daughter, flew over with us, staying at Wayne’s parents in York. On the morning of the match, we caught the train from York to Leeds central. Back in the amazing city of Leeds, we have a hearty breakfast before travelling to the ground and having a few drinks in the pub that is next to Elland Road, The Peacock. The match ended in a 1-1 draw, but we saw enough to suggest it was going to be another good season.

Wayne is drinking cheap real ale and I’m drinking expensive soft drinks in Wetherspoons. We discuss the match with other Leeds fans. Everyone is excited, this could be our year in our centenary year, as a football club…one nagging doubt in everyone’s mind though…this is Leeds!

We are staying in York for a few days, so I’ve arranged to meet some family and friends while there. My eldest daughter and partner came down from Newcastle, my eldest son came over from Manchester and Keith and Winnie came up from Leeds.

Wayne had arranged to meet up with his old York pals so there was a sizeable crowd of us as we spent the day pub crawling in the old capital of England…with fantastic fish & chips to finish with.

The day after, Wayne and I challenge his father and friend to a bowls match. Playing against experienced grass bowlers in the rain, was not one of our better ideas. We sulked away with our wet tails between our legs to buy the winners a beer.

Back in Spain and back on Tinder. I’d been talking to Erna from Iceland for a long time. She lives in La Marina which is between Guardamar and Santa Pola and she stays here for six months of the year.

We arrange to meet at La Zenia Boulevard, so I thought I’d take this opportunity to do some clothes shopping. I had recently noticed that my wardrobe continued with the clothes that I brought with me three years ago. I find it difficult throwing out clothes that are good reliable friends, but it’s out with the old and in with the new.

What attracted me to Erna on Tinder was, all her photos were natural, no photoshopped, no dogs or cats, no flowers or poems, just plain photos of Erna and when we met, she looked just like her photos.

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We met early morning for coffee which turned into brunch, then lunch and finally afternoon tea. We got on really well and like most Scandinavians she speaks very good English. She was very charming and funny but most of all she was just very relaxed.

We bid farewell and arranged to meet again very soon, I then had to rush to Primark to buy some clothes.

I spent 100€ and when I got home, I hung my new clothes next to my old friends, it’s difficult throwing out old friends.

Erna and I met several times, and on every occasion, we seemed to get on better than the last. She planned to go back to Iceland to see family and friends but promised me she would return earlier than normal.

I met her the day before she was due to leave. We had lunch and as usual, had a good time. When it was time to leave, we embraced and said Ciao. She didn’t like the word goodbye, “It’s a permanent word,” she would say. I received a text from her to say she had arrived safely in Reykjavik.

I never heard from Erna again. After several attempts to contact her I moved on, nothing surprises me anymore. Another one of life’s mysteries. A few years ago, I would have analysed it until I became stressed. I’m a different person now, wherever she is and whatever she is doing, I wish her well.

The new winter bowling season has started, and I’ve got eight matches to play before I fly off to Australia again. The snowbirds have returned to make our squad a lot stronger.

Because my brother Mark and sister-in-law Janet joined Greenland’s, I get a lot of suggestions from some Greenland’s bowlers that it would be nice to join my brother at Greenland’s. Mark and Janet are in Greenland’s C team and I play in the B league so this season I won’t play against them, but that doesn’t stop the gossip that I’m going to be joining my brother. What started out as a joke suddenly grew spider’s legs and my teammates at Country Bowls are often told that I’m leaving to team up with Mark.

At this point I should just quash all rumours, but I can’t resist adding to the story by growing more spiders legs…“They have offered to pay my yearly joining fee and they will pay my petrol money for both home and away games!” I kept adding small things every time someone asked me.

“They are going to buy me a new set of bowls and bowling shoes.” “I will get a free meal after every home match.”

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I was being silly but unfortunately some folk didn’t see it like that and the gossip between the two clubs got furious. It all came to an end when our club captain sat me down and asked me straight, “Are you leaving Country Bowls?”

“NO!” “Good!”

By the time it came for me to leave for Australia, Country Bowls was top of the B division and unbeaten.

The usual agreement is in place, as Keith and Winnie arrive at San Pedro, with Keith promising Winnie that while they are here they will definitely look at six month rentals for next year.

As I’m flying out from Alicante airport, Smiffy and Mick Fish are flying in to spend a few weeks with Keith and Winnie…the landlord of Amigos is going to be in for some very late nights. It is customary when pissed, at the end of the nights that you start to sing Marching on Together, the Leeds United song.

I receive regular videos of the four of them in Amigos, singing while the landlord does his impression of Harry Enfield’s character…Loads of Money.

I have a window seat as I fly over Queensland and I witness the smoke from the bush fires I’d heard about on the news. It was very unnerving and a little bit scary.

Once in Narangba, it was business as usual, helping Nicola with Lily and being cook and cleaner.

Scott works all the hours he can, and Nicola also has a job working 2 days a week, Monday and Friday. On these days Lily goes to Kindergarten, so once I’ve taken Lily to Kindy and Nicola to work, the day is my own…after I’ve done the chores that Nicola has left me to do.

I spend most of those Mondays and Fridays at the bowls clubs, meeting up again with friends from last year, especially Scotch John at Kallangur.

The bush fires across Australia were beginning to get out of control. The devastation was horrific. On a scale, I couldn’t even begin to imagine an area the size of England destroyed. Firefighters lost their lives’, families lost everything, and the poor wildlife were trapped in the rapid spread of the fires. It was heartbreaking watching the news.

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Nicola has arranged with her work colleague to try out a Paint and Sup night on Friday. Essentially, it’s an evening where you are taught the art of basic painting while getting pissed. On the same night I’d arranged to meet Jayne from Tinder. The Paint and Sup venue was in the heart of Brisbane, while my rendezvous was on the outskirts, so we decided on taking just the one car and I would drop and pick Nicola up. Jayne phoned on the Friday to ask if I’d fancy meeting early for lunch as she unexpectedly finished work early, I explained about the car arrangements, so we stuck to the evening plan.

Having dropped Nicola off I made my way through unknown territory of central Brisbane in the dark and without a sat nav. I got lost on more than one occasion, subsequently I was late. We were meeting in a hotel bar and as I walked in, I caught her eye. “Where the fuck have you been?” she shouted. “I didn’t think you was going to turn up!”

I tried to explain my situation, but it fell on pissed ears “get to the bar and get me a glass of champagne!” She was sloshed and at first, I found it amusing until she went to the toilet bumping into everyone and blaming them. When she came back from the toilet, she downed her champagne in one, passing me the empty glass. “Another one Pommie”. My reply wasn’t thought out, “don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

BOOM…I got both barrels! Most of what she said was not coherent, but you could make out the swear words clearly. The bartender came over and asked her politely to reduce the noise levels. BOOM…he got both barrels, then the manager came over and asked her to leave. It was great entertainment for everyone watching. I somehow managed to get her into a taxi kicking, screaming, and swearing. I returned to the bar and everyone stopped and looked at me. I put my hands up in the air and said, “she’s gone”. The whole bar gave out a big sigh of relief.

The next visit to Brisbane was to watch Leeds play Huddersfield. The Pig & Whistle Pub airs live English football matches, when the kickoff time suits. The Queensland Whites meet up every time Leeds are shown and there was a good turnout for this match. It’s great to be a part of like-minded Leeds supporters on the other side of the world. I got chatting with an expat that lived in the same street as me back in Seacroft, albeit at a different time. It was a late night but also a great one, as Leeds won 2-0.

Christmas was different this year as we booked into a hotel for a few days along with Scott’s family. I thought this was a good idea as the previous Christmas’s have been at Nicola and Scott’s with all the pressure that brings. The venue was an Oaks Hotel called Festival Towers, formally known as Festival Hall.

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Festival Hall was built in the 1950’s, primarily to host boxing and wrestling events. As the popularity of boxing waned it began to be used for other forms of entertainment.

It became a go to venue for all touring acts. The Beatles played there four times and all the top entertainers performed at Festival Hall. In the lobby of the new building there is now a wall of fame, with photos of all the greats who performed there.

Christmas lunch was a mish mash of different foods with each family bringing their own choice. After Christmas lunch we all went to the outside pool where the younger ones had a great time.

The male contingent of Scott’s family has a weekly betting syndicate. I was asked to join and although I’m not a betting man, I thought I could help them win a few bob with my knowledge of the English football league.

After six weeks my reputation is in shatters. I’d not managed to predict a single result, even the cast iron certainties let me down, and to make matters worse, Scott’s father Stan got 50% correct and he knows nothing about football. One good thing came out of it…I won’t be asked again.

Tinder had kept me busy on evenings chatting away to various ladies. One extremely attractive lady called Laura, invited me down to her house in Tweed Heads for a few days over New Years. Laura was an interesting character. She was an entrepreneur, a world traveler who once tried her hand at stand-up comedy. We spoke regularly on the phone and got on very well. Tweed Heads is in New South Wales, probably a good two-hour drive from Narangba, so I ran the invitation passed Nicola and Scott.

“You’re going to stay with a woman you have never met before…are you nuts?”

“Let him go and have some fun, show her a good time.”

“Father you have been married 3 times, have you not learnt your lesson?”

“He’s not going to marry her; he’s only going to give her one!”

“Scott stop being so disgusting, that’s my father you’re talking about.”

“He still has sex you know!”

“Scott, I really don’t want to be having this conversation.”

I just sat in the background as they discussed my sex life. I acted on the side of caution and didn’t go, probably because Nicola wouldn’t lend me the car.

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26th January is Australia Day and we spent it at Suttons beach in Redcliffe. There were foods stalls and live music. Scott brought a few beers and we sat on the beach in the sunshine having a fantastic day. The following day the weather turned, and the long-awaited rains finally came, much to the relief of those tackling the bush fires and it was most welcomed by the farmers.

It rained almost daily for a month and places began to flood. What a crazy situation as we go from one extreme to another. On one of the better days, Nicola and I went to visit the famous Fish & Chip shop at Birkdale called Chumley Warner’s. Great name and nice food but not sure it was worth the hour and half drive, although Nicola justified the trip by buying a big bag of Prawn Cocktail crisps, apparently very hard to find in Australia.

I got talking to Katy on Tinder, a Kiwi who lived in Redcliffe, I clicked on the like button not because of her beauty but because she lived in Redcliffe, as it turned out She was funny, informative, charming, and chatty and we got on really well. After about a week of chatting we arranged to meet one Friday while I had the car for a coffee at Starbucks in Redcliffe. She was lovely, had a great personality, and could have played prop forward for the All Blacks. She was a physiotherapist and a sports masseuse. She had her own business and studio in Redcliffe.

After our first meeting we met regularly for coffee, she invited me to her house where we watched films and she once made me a carrot cake. It was good for me to get out regularly and to give Nicola and Scott some time to themselves on an evening.

A couple of weeks before I was due to fly home Katy asked me if I’d like to accompany her to a member’s club in Fortitude Valley. She was a bit coy about this club, but I could sense her excitement when I agreed to go. Smart casual was the dress code and it’s only on the last Friday in every month so this would be our only chance to attend before I left.

I’d had a gut feeling about this and I relayed that to Katy as she picked me up.

“Don’t worry I’ll look after you.”

She was in great spirits.

“Are you nervous?”

“Why…should I be nervous?”

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“No, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“What do you mean by that?

“There will be people there in various degrees of undress.”

“WHAT??”

“You may see a bit of flesh and maybe the odd penis, you don’t have look or touch, but I will,” she laughs.

“Stop the car! STOP THE CAR! STOP THE FLAMING CAR! You’re taking me to a Swinger’s club where there may be a bit of flesh…AND the odd penis??” I’m in panic mode now as Katy is finding it funny.

“Take me home please Katy.” She pleaded with me to change my mind.

“I’ve got my own flesh and my own odd penis and that’s enough for me.”

We didn’t talk for a few days but soon she sent me a very nice apologetic message and offered me a free massage to say sorry.

I’ve had lots of massages, especially in Australia and it is a great way of totally relaxing. I met Katy at her studio. We didn’t mention much of that fateful night as she relaxed me with a massage I’d never experienced before. When I’d turned onto my back, she was massaging my thighs and getting close to the booby prize when she said, “it’s unusual to get an erection while I’m massaging.”

I looked down, puzzled. “I haven’t got an erection!”

“No, you haven’t, but I have.”

I didn’t know whether to shit, shite or cry! Then she started laughing…she got me hook, line, and sinker. Thank goodness she was joking. I really enjoyed her company but that day we said our goodbyes.

I’m driving my daughter to work one morning in late January when over the radio comes a report of someone in China eating a bat and catching a disease. The Australians don’t take anything seriously and they took the mickey out of it for weeks…Little did they know, or anyone know, how this would change the world. I was due to fly home on the 18th February and some countries around the world were starting to take this virus as a real threat.

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My daughter supplied me with hand sanitizer and masks for my long trip home. On my trips to Australia, I’ve often seen the Chinese wearing masks, so in Brisbane airport it was business as usual, some people wearing masks mostly Chinese, some not. I made sure I wore mine and sanitised my hands regularly. It was the same in Dubai, the majority of people wearing masks were Chinese, but others were also wearing them.

When I arrived in Manchester, I was shocked to find nobody wearing masks.

On my return to Spain, my first visit was to the Pharmacy. That long journey had played havoc with my piles, they were hanging down like a boxer’s punch bag. I could open a gym and make a decent living the way they are hanging. When I’ve administered myself eye drops, ear drops or even nose drops I’ve always ended up missing with most of it... not with my haemorrhoid cream with applicator.... bulls eye every time and that’s doing it blind with a reach around.

Back in San Pedro, the Spanish and English news was just beginning to report the Covid 19. Spain started to take action after the horrible number of casualties reported in Italy, so Keith and Winnie rearranged an early flight home, leaving unopened wine and beer in their haste.

Three matches left in the bowls season and Country Bowls are still top of the league. I play the last three matches as we secure top spot and win the league. Our C team also won the league…a great winter season for such a small club.

Val had been back to Wales for a week to see family and friends. I pick her up from Corvera Airport on the 26th of February. She looks in good health and spirits. A couple of days later I take her down to an appointment with the work’s doctor in Cartagena. More frustrating news as she is told she is still unfit to work.

I get an unexpected call from Lourdes, asking if she could visit. On the 12th of March, I pick Lourdes up at Balsicas train station. It is lovely to see her, and we spend the whole day just talking.

Covid19 is picking up pace across Europe. Snippets of news filter through from Madrid and it’s not good news. Thousands of cases reported, and hospitals being overrun with new cases everyday. There is talk of the government imposing a lockdown. On the 14th of March, Lourdes has to return to Madrid urgently.

Businesses are beginning to close and dental practices are the first to be shut down.

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On the 16th of March, the President, Pedro Sanchez, declares a full lockdown of Spain. Luckily for me and Lourdes, she made the decision to travel back to Madrid early. God knows what would have happened if she would have been stranded with me in Murcia.

The initial lockdown period would be fourteen days, but this is quickly extended to twenty-five days when the virus seems to be spreading like wildfire. We are only allowed out for essentials... food, pharmacy, or doctors. Luckily, I’m supplied with masks and hand sanitizer from Australia. The first two weeks are tough, real tough.

I tried to stay in bed as long as possible, just to make the days shorter. I also found myself watching daytime TV… something I’d never done. Before I came to my senses, I’d sponsored a donkey, penguin, cat, whale, dog, an elephant, dolphin and a Siberian snow leopard.

I’ve never been a big fan of Facebook with its knob heads spewing out toxic crap but when the shit hits the fan, then the good people seem to appear. Without FB and the internet, the lockdown would have been difficult. I began to embrace social media.

Obviously though, you have to sort the wheat from the chaff.

My friend Donna, who also lives alone like me, suggests that I check out the internet site Hamster, for daily entertainment. It was ok for a couple of days, but the friction burns, and scabs took weeks to heal.

I set out a daily exercise program which I did nearly every day when I remembered, and daily Spanish lessons as well as daily Ukulele lessons…anything to keep busy.

One day while taking a shower I noticed how unkempt my body hair was down below.

I thought while I’ve time on my hands, I’ll do a bit of gardening. The next time I go for essentials I buy a tube of Zeet body hair remover. Leave on three to five minutes are the instructions so blather the cream on…forgetting to look at my watch to time the event. I’m not sure how long I had it on but I’m sure I could smell burning flesh. I quickly jump into the shower and this is where I make another mistake…I wash off the cream with Tingly Mint & Tea Tree shower gel! My balls glowed like a nuclear reactor for a full week. I was unable to sit down, stand up or lay down…at one point I had to soak my radioactive bits in a bowl of iced water for comfort.

After my recovery, I set myself daily chores to keep busy. I cleaned out all the cupboards, de-cluttered all the drawers, had a wardrobe clear out and did some painting and touching up. You don’t realise how precious freedom is until it’s taken away.

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Wayne is made redundant from his head greenkeeper job at La Serena Golf Club, another victim of the ripples Covid19 is causing.

After the initial fourteen days of self-isolation, I’m convinced that I haven’t got the virus. Val is the same, she hasn’t been outdoors since 28th of February, when she got back from the doctors in Cartagena.

She invites me round for Sunday lunch. Now anyone who is caught outside without a reasonable explanation can be fined €600, so I don’t take the decision lightly as I creep round to Val’s the back way. At this point, I was not to know I would only get four Sunday lunches before things happen that would never be the same again for me.

Everyone grew a beard in the early stages of lockdown, even the women, so I thought I would follow the sheep. Although I’d had a bad experience with the body hair, I thought nothing much can go wrong with a beard. The early stages of beard growing is a pain in the arse with the constant itching but once the growth gets to the soft hair stage you are constantly touching your face to feel the softness. Then one morning you wake to find you have a bush on your face full of stale food. What you save in shaving foam and blades, you spend twice as much on shampoo and conditioner. The novelty soon wore off, so I decided to have a trim. I ended up with big bushy sideburns, a 70’s porn star moustache and a goatee beard. I admired myself in the bathroom mirror thinking, I look pretty damn good.

The following Sunday I creep round to Val’s for Sunday dinner. I knock on the door feeling rather trendy. Val takes one look at me and said, “Fucking Hell, you look like Gary Glitter!” All through the meal she kept throwing the odd lyric into the conversation…“do you wanna be in my gang”, “rock and roll hey rock and roll”, and as she spent some time in the kitchen preparing dessert she came back into the living room singing “hello, hello, its good to be back”. Needless to say, as soon as I got home, I shaved it off. That evening I got endless messages from Val of pictures of Gary Glitter.

Our yearly Seacroft get-together has been scheduled for 2nd & 3rd of April. Keith, Winnie, Jack, Sue, Smiffy, Chris and Denise are to meet-up in Benidorm. They are planned to arrive in San Pedro on the 27th of March and we would slowly make our way up to Benidorm, but with the recent events in Europe, this seems highly unlikely now.

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chapter six GET UP SLOWLY April, 2020

O

N the 16th of April Val texts me to ask if I’d go up to the pharmacy to collect a Hay Fever prescription. On my return I’m rewarded with tea and biscuits. We have our usual half hour chatting and laughing before I’m promised liver and onions for the forthcoming Sunday lunch.

On 17th of April, I received a message from Val’s son-in-law, Mark.

“Hi John, sorry to bother you but have you heard off Val today as Sarah’s been trying to ring her and getting no answer and she hasn’t been on WhatsApp since last night?”

I call round to Val’s expecting her to be asleep on the sofa. The door is open, but the door grill is locked. I ring the bell as always…no answer! I can see her handbag and purse on the sofa, so I know she’s not far away. I ring the bell once more and shout through the grill…no answer! I know her neighbour Jenny has a key to Val’s house so I call over to see if I can use them to gain entry. By this time, I’ve got a feeling something is not right. As I enter, I’m calling out her name…still no answer! I go straight to the kitchen and find Val slumped in her favourite chair. I can see by the colour of her face and hands that she had been there awhile. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach, I had seen a dead body before but never of a dear friend.

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I return to the street; someone has been banging on the gossip drums as a small crowd has gathered. By my demeanour I think they know it’s not good news. You always get a nosey one who asks, “what’s happened?” I ignore her…I need to focus. I take myself out of the firing line and find a quiet corner where I can phone the ambulance and the police.

I make a complete arse of myself in my limited Spanish and my state of mind. I find myself repeating “rapido, rapido”. A Spanish neighbour sees that I’m struggling and comes over, takes the phone off me and talks calmly, he put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

The police arrive in no time to an even larger crowd. I talk to the police with the help of the neighbour. They need to see my passport, so I walk back home. My phone rings, it’s Mark…I can’t answer it, I don’t know what to say! Luckily for me Val’s friends Trini and Yago, have heard the news and I meet them near my house. Trini is the one who breaks the devastating news to Sarah and Mark, the task I was unable to do.

The Ambulance crew had to be convinced that the death was not Covid related, but they took no chances putting on full body suits, masks, and facial shields. By the time the coroner had put Val into their waiting vehicle, Trini, Yago and I are the only ones left on the street. They walk back with me to my house; without words we say goodbye.

I sit down with a cup of tea and try to process what had just happened. My eyes swell with tears, that night I’ve never felt so alone. The next few days are a blur, I don’t recall talking to anyone. Death by natural causes is the quick verdict given on the same day of her death by the coroner. She is cremated the following day without family or friends to say their last goodbyes…Covid19 did not have another victim, but the Covid ripples stopped Val having a send off she deserved. Her ashes will wait to be collected by her grieving family. When that will be, nobody knows. What a sad and cruel way to end such a beautiful life.

Allowed out for one hour of exercise a day, this was a godsend after being cooped up alone. I went out on my bike and just stood and watched the ocean. It cleanses my thoughts, attacks those fragments of doubt that creep up on me when I’m not looking…it’s like meditation, it is something that I never tire of.

Wayne has got a new job but it’s back in the UK. He will be leaving as soon as we are allowed to travel. It seems like someone is chipping away at this heaven I’ve found here in Spain.

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Val had two dogs and two cats. All four creatures were getting on in years and that’s being kind. One dog was blind and the other deaf, one cat was blind and the other was perfectly ok which made him king. After Val’s death they needed looking after and that job fell to me. I would visit Val’s twice a day to feed, water and clean up the mess. It was emotionally difficult going back into Val’s house, especially in the kitchen where I found her, but the animal’s welfare was paramount. Over the next few weeks, I found new homes for all the animals. The dogs stayed together as Val would have wanted.

The cats, however, had to be separated because the blind cat had to go to a specialized cat home. Spain was still in complete lockdown and a massive fine occurred if you were caught travelling without permission, so I had to obtain the correct paperwork from the cat home to allow me to travel.

That journey was very strange. I only had to drive twenty kilometers and I never saw another car on the road. It was like the end of the world in which only me and the cat survived, and just was my luck it was a blind male cat.

Val also had a yard of potted plants so once a week I water them. Val and I would often go to the garden centre together and more often than not, come away with the same plants. Neither of us knew much about botany, it was a case of, feed them water and hope for the best. Soon it turned into bragging rights on who’s plants lasted the longest.

10th May Travel restrictions eased within Murcia. Slowly but surely, things are returning to normal here in Spain, but the sun will never shine as bright here in San Pedro without Valarie Kelman.

14th May I have cycled ten minutes to the Mediterranean, a natural beach away from the tourist areas. I walk along the shoreline. The water is cool and invigorating. I reflect about the last four years and particularly the last few months… the lives that have been lost in this Covid world we now live, a world of masks and gloves. It saddens me that so many people have suffered and lost loved ones, and Val’s family not being able to have closure.

“The lord giveth and the lord take away.”

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If there is a God, I’d like to be privy to his selection process. This “God” acts in mysterious ways. Bullshit doesn’t sit well with me. Everything must have a reason or maybe I’m just too goddam stupid to understand. People walk past saying “buenos dias”. Do they feel the sadness like me? Do they still believe in their God? 16th May Four years in Spain has passed so rapidly that it only feels like yesterday that I met Val in that cafe in Lo Pagan. I guess without her, I wouldn’t be here. All the friends I’ve made and the people I’ve met all comes from that meeting with Val. Right place at the right time? Fate? Luck? Are our paths in life already decided for us? My inner guru?

My Indian guide? If I’d have gone to El Campello first, would I have met a Val? All I know is that the four years have been four quality years because of Val’s influence.

Val and I went out for a meal once a week while we were both in San Pedro. That’s a lot of meals, hours of laughing and endless gossiping. We shared our friends and our friendships. We shared the same musical tastes. We laughed at each other and took the piss out of others. We would walk down to Lo Pagan on a summer’s evening, eat in one of the local restaurants, play bingo at the summer fair, then finish with a Granizados at our favourite café then saunter home at three am with trench lip (trench lip is when your top lip is constantly wet with sweat). She was a highly intelligent woman who had strong opinions. She would fight her corner with tooth and nail, but she always gave the benefit of doubt and the one thing she hated most, was to be called English.

So…What is next for me? Maybe it’s time to move on, what does my guide think?

I know things never stay the same…everything evolves. I’ve evolved as a person… for the better. Andy, my friend in York, has asked me to travel Europe with him next year. That’s a prospect I’m seriously considering, but I like San Pedro. Me and Saint Peter seem to get along really well. I have made friends here. Ester, who owns the health studio, I regularly book a massage with her. Marie Angeles owns the health food shop where I buy my porridge, dried fruits, nuts, herbs, and spices. I can spend ages talking to Maria through Google translator. Andrea, at the Delicious Cafe in the square, who speaks perfect English and is always giving me new words that the local Spanish use. Lucy, who works in the Panderia and always give me a slice of cheesecake when her boss is absent, and Jose Antonio, the local barber, who speaks good English and is always encouraging me to speak Spanish. It may not seem much, but these people have welcomed this Yorkshireman into there town, and for that I will be forever grateful.

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A few weeks after Val passed, I woke up one morning to find my key in the front door bent in an L-shape, bent so much that I had to get pliers to straighten the key before I could unlock the door. I searched for every possible logical reason why that key ended up so disfigured and I kept coming back to the conclusion that it was Val…so we had a little chat, I said I was not happy about the key and she could have found an easier way of contact. I also I told her I was ok, I missed her, but I was ok, and I hope that she has found peace. After our five-minute chat, we finally said our goodbyes.

I’m stood watching the pink flamingos on the beautiful Mar Menor, I feel a tap on my shoulder, I turn to find nobody there, a cold shiver rushes down my spine, my mother would say “somebody has just walked over my grave”. I cross the street to my favourite café and order a thimble of black tar. I don’t drink it, I just sit and stare into nothingness, contemplating the next step on this incredible journey, one thing I know, whatever I do or wherever I go the Welsh Dragon will always be with me.

Juan Antonio Jukez

Val – The Welsh Dragon

second anthology coming soon...

LIFE AFTER VAL

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