"Ever thought of retiring to Spain?", was her query when I returned from a particularly tiresome meeting with an unusually disagreeable client. "How quickly?", was my response. And so it came to pass...
My wife was becoming restless, after selling up her pet grooming business, she needed a challenge, a change. She was an avid watcher of "A Place in the Sun", which was on Chanel 4 TV virtually every afternoon around that time.
We were set to sell up the large family home and bank the majority of the proceeds, but - what to do?, where to go? Where in the World, (or at least Europe), could we retire to on our savings? We were'nt due to collect any sate or personal pensions for another 9 years!
It was January 2002 when my wife and I, set off in our slightly dilapidated VW Passat, towing our vastly over-loaded Ifor Williams box trailer, replete with our life-long possessions, heading for southern Spain.
We had visited Spain the previous January and 'sussed out' the country, by taking an Easyjet flight from Liverpool to Malaga and hiring a Daewoo Matiz, ( which is similar to a dinky toy car, for those of you unfamiliar with the vehicle), and proceeding to drive 2500 miles around Spain in 10 days.
Needless to say Georg, the car hire tout at the airport, who rented it to us, said on seeing the speedometer when we returned the vehicle: "Ze nes' time senyor, mebbe you rent ze larger car", (or words to that effect).
He was probably starting to regret accosting us in the airport forecourt, where after the flight arrived late, and the car hire office had closed, we were stood looking non-plussed. His vehicle had probably depreciated in value by 20% with the additional mileage alone, let alone the wear and tear.
It was only our second visit to the country, and our previous visit to Spain had been in August 1993 to Barcelona. The year after the city had hosted the Olympics, so we weren't fluent in the language, nor did we have friends there, but I guess we decided that we had to start some where, and what the heck! - "Carpe diem", (or maybe Fugit was starting to Tempe a bit quick).
We had booked a couple of nights at the 3 star "aparthotel" in Benalmadena Costa, (the True Spain??), and after spending a couple of days acclimatizing and working out a plan, as well as visiting local 'beauty spots', such as Mick and Tracy's Guinness bar, we decided that this part of Spain was definitely not for us!
We set off inland towards the 'white towns' of Alhaurin El Grande, Competa, Coin, Pizarra and Alora, which were OK, in a sort of 'raggy round the edges way'.
Don't get me wrong - I am not knocking these places. To each, his own. Far be it for me to run down towns which find much favor among British ex-pats, it's just that they weren't what we were looking for as an idyllic spot to retire to.
We had this vision of the "Real Spain" or at least as seen through the eyes of the curvaceous Amanda Lamb, and "A Place in the Sun", (yes by now I had also gotten addicted, though fairs fair, did you ever get an eyeful of Amanda in 2000?).
Not for us the 'kiss me quick' hats and English pubs serving Cornish pasties and fish 'n' chips for lunch, whilst watching English soccer on large Sky TV screens! - we wanted to speak the lingo, fraternise with the locals, soak up the culture, do the real Spain bit, walk the walk and live the dream.
My wife, Anne had read "Driving over Oranges" by an erstwhile pre Phil Collins Genesis drummer, so a decision was made to head east toward the province of Granada.
If we didn't like what we found there, we would head for Almeria, and up the coast of the Costa Blanca toward Valencia.
To be continued.