Spanish Eyes, English Words

Nobody was more pleased than me when my good friend Jane  decided to move back to Spain after three years back in England. Not only was she moving back, she was moving just a few hundred yards up the calle from Piddock Place. Now I have a fellow writer, dog lover and wine drinker within sneezing distance - or barking distance for Paddy - and I'm loving it already.

It's been a hectic few days settling Jane in, and shopping till we dropped for her new home, but we cracked it this afternoon - or at least, we thought we did. Lovely as she is, Jane is blonde, and from Essex, and she does have a few of  'those' moments. Now I'm worried that being blonde is contagious, although I don't think I can catch Essex Girl. I'd never manage to walk in white stilettos with my feet.

Picture the scene - we rocked up at Jane's apartamento bajo con jardin with so much shopping my ancient Fiesta breathed a sigh of relief as we unloaded it. And that's when the trouble started.

As a sign of my full integration into Spanish life, I have a Market Trolley. It hasn't been used for two months, as we've been in England, but we needed it at Rojales Market today. Jane bought enough fruit and vegetables to feed the whole of Algorfa for a month, and as I pulled the trolley from the boot, deep red, foul smelling liquid emitted from its bowels. I thought Jane's beetroot had been crushed beyond help, but when we emptied out the trolley, the true source of the suppuration was revealed.

Casting my mind back to Sunday, 19th July, I remembered being perplexed when, returning from Lemon Tree Market, I lost my cherry. Or rather, I lost my big bag of cherries. Today I found them. They were still in the trolley, and they weren't a pretty sight - or smell. Obviously, Tony was on trolley emptying duty that day. I contemplated serving them up with his ice cream after supper, but Jane talked me out of it. Like I said, she's a nice girl.

Anyway, in all the kerfuffle of emptying out the trolley, and wiping fermented cherry juice off everything, I lost the car keys. So Jane and I spent at least 20 minutes emptying out the car boot, removing the spare wheel, looking under and between the seats, and checking out all the shopping bags. And there were a lot of them, boys and girls. When Essex Girls are let loose in Primark and Aldi, there's no stopping them. And of course, they're shopping in Euros here, not Pounds, so it's even better - or worse, if you happen to be the poor Fiesta transporting the goods home.

We removed the rear seat, in case the keys had gone down there. We did find half a dog - or at least enough of Paddy's hair to cover half a dog - but of keys there was not a sign. I crawled on my hands and knees under the car, in case they had slithered from my cherry-soaked fingers, but no, there was nothing. That's when I became convinced that somebody had nicked the key ring containing car keys - which also held the house keys - and that I would be ravished in my bed before the night was through. Rather reasonably, Jane pointed out that they wouldn't know where to come to ravish me, since the car was not parked outside Piddock Place. And anyway, nobody had walked past, other than a feral cat, who couldn't reach the lock, even if he knew which house we lived in. Don't you just hate spoilsports, boys and girls?

By now, I was in panic mode, and I was not looking forward to breaking the news to Tony that I had lost the keys to both the car and the house. Jane suggested I appeal to his better nature and ask him to come and check through the shopping and the car, since a fresh pair of eyes might yield the missing keys. Okay, he hasn't got a better nature, and his eyes are anything but fresh, but in the absence of a better solution, I loaded the spare wheel, Tony's tools, the beach chairs, the umbrella and my paltry €15 worth of shopping back into the boot.

And closed it. And found the keys, in the lock. I thought Jane was a really nice girl, but she said some very, very rude words. I don't think I want her too close to Paddy if that's the type of language she comes out with - she could be a bad influence. The really funny thing is, I always leave the keys in the lock of the boot while I unload it, as I keep the car doors locked, just in case anybody decides to help themselves to my worldly goods while I'm decanting the shopping. I reckon if the keys are in the lock of the open boot, there's no danger of me locking them in said boot by mistake. This time though, I forgot. Maybe the fumes from the fermenting cherries addled my brain temporarily. Or maybe having blonde moments is contagious. I wonder if there's a vaccine against it?

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One of my personal hobby horses is if you go to live in another country – or even go there regularly on holiday – is that you should at least make a stab at learning the language. Even if you get no further than the essentials, have a go, because the locals will respect you for it.  I’ve been so diligent at taking my own advice that I can order beer, wine and vodka – the essentials -  in a number of languages, as well as saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’

I seem to have an aptitude for languages – unlike Tony, who has been learning French for at least 25 years and still can’t get past beer, wine, please and thank you. Even then, his pronunciation is so – shall we say creative - that even I can’t understand him, and I’m more or less fluent in French. The Spanish is still a work in progress, but I’ve probably reached the intermediate stage. Tony’s Spanish is excellent – he has ‘La cuenta, por favor’ off to a tee, so he takes care of all the bills. He doesn’t really need any more Spanish as long as I’m with him, does he, boys and girls?

With my command of French and Spanish, you’d think travelling through the two countries to visit the friends and family would be a doddle, wouldn’t you? And mostly it is. However, I’m the wrong side of 60, and after a long day’s drive – 400 – 500 miles is doable on the roads in Spain and France – I can get a bit confused.com. This happened to me yesterday, on our way back home to Algorfa.

After driving 300 miles in the heat, I was really pleased to find a camping ground just 5 minutes off our route. When you’re driving 1,100 miles, the last thing you want to do is rack up another 10 – 20 miles finding somewhere to stay for the night. The camping ground – Les Jardins de L’Adour, in Saint Vincent de Paul, just outside Dax, in the Atlantique region – looked really peaceful and welcoming. And although it had a swimming pool, library, bar and other facilities, it was just €10.50 a night, including electric. Unlike some sites, we didn’t have to pay extra for Paddy either, and they even supplied free poop bags, les chiens for the use of. We decided to stay two nights and chill out before we tackled the final 500 miles.

I must have been more tired than I thought I was, because after the usual ‘Bonjours’ – it was still daylight, so that worked – I got a teensy weensy bit mixed up. As I said, I’m pretty fluent in French – so much so that I actually think in French when I’m in France and about to speak to French people. What was in my head was, ‘I’d like a pitch for two people and a dog for two nights, please,’ and I had all the French words to say that, in exactly the right order. However, what actually came out of my mouth was, ‘Je voudrai une emplacement for two people y un chien por dos noches, please.’

The French site manager – who spoke about 5 languages fluently, including English and Spanish – didn’t know whether to be amused or amazed.  Being French, he just shrugged and filled out the receipt. I, on the other hand, wished the ground would open up and swallow me. Sometimes I wonder whether speaking more than one language is such a good thing after all. Or is that just me?

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You'd think Dave Bull would have enough on his plate already, wouldn't you? As the owner and daily Breakfast Show presenter on CBFM Radio, owner and Editor of All Abroad Magazine, patron of Samaritans in Spain, published author, blogger, Alicante guide and teacher of English as a second language, he doesn't get much time for relaxing in the Spanish sunshine.

Obviously he needs something else to keep him out of mischief though, because Dave and his son Mitch have just launched a unique fund raising initiative for AECC - Spain's national cancer charity, which has branches all over Spain. Most families are touched by Cancer at some time, and Dave's family is no exception.

When a close relative was recently diagnosed with the disease, Dave and his son Mitch decided to do something constructive rather than turn up with grapes, flowers and sympathy. Being well over 6 feet tall, the boys would look a bit silly carrying flowers anyway, and Dave does a better line in sarcasm than sympathy.As for grapes - they both prefer them red, crushed and around 13% ABV.

However, both Dave and Mitch are keen sportsmen, and being fun-loving and generous guys, they decided to do something they loved while raising money for a cause which is now close to their hearts. The result is the Kayak Challenge. on 28 November 2015, Dave and Mitch will row 52 kilometers - that's around 32 miles in English money - from Murcia City to Guardamar along the River Segura.

Several events are planned to raise the profile of the challenge and attract sponsors for equipment and raise funds for AECC, as well as raising awareness of the work of Samaritans in Spain. Dave recently became a patron of the charity, and they deal with a lot of people who are either suffering from or caring for relatives with cancer, so it's a good chance to use his fame - or maybe that should be notoriety? - on the Costa Blanca to help two excellent causes.

Whenever Dave and Mitch - who is a chef in Gran Alacant - do anything, they throw everything they have into it, and training has started in earnest for the Kayak Challenge. According to Dave, Mitch is suffering rather more as a result of the training than he is, but then he is well known for being economical with the actuality on occasion!

The boys are looking good already, but it's a tough challenge, and they're going to need a lot of support and encouragement. To find out more about the Kayak Challenge, and to support Dave and Mitch without having to break a sweat, go to their Facebook page Rowing for Cancer. Like and share, and help to raise the profile of this excellent initiative, as well as raising much-needed funds for AECC. Stay tuned for more news on the Bull Boys!

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