Well. here we are back in the UK for a little while and don’t we know it! The night before the flight home, we got a message from easyJet, to say that there could be queues for security and immigration and to turn up two and a half hours before departure…….. It’s wasn’t like we had anything else to do, so we pitched up as requested and got to security, which didn’t seem to have much in the way of a queue. Showing the boarding passes, we were directed to the left and we found ourselves in the queue for families. So, along with another childless couple in front of us, we waited behind a European couple, with four small children, a collapsible double buggy, which, of course, was doing it’s best not to collapse, as the lady wrestled with it, while her partner held onto what appeared to be the eldest small child, who was doing everything he could to wriggle free. The buggy eventually collapsed or maybe she just got fed up and broke it and she then started emptying a bag, presumably stolen from Mary Poppins and containing enough bottles of baby milk to float a cruise ship. While this was going on, the security people were being employed by taking said children from parents and depositing them in a small plastic fenced playpen, for what appeared some kind of security check. Of course, neither children or parents were happy about this and no amount of funny faces and squeaky voices would pacify the newly imprisoned children. We debated jumping ahead of the turmoil, as we had no small transportation and definitely no baby milk but the couple in front seemed reluctant to do it, so we followed suit. Besides, we were curious as to how it would all work out. The answer was noisily as it happened but it wasn’t too long after this, we were through and another notch on the experience belt was carved, as we took our bags scanning. As we did, two of the children had escaped or been released from the pen and were putting their little fingers in the rollers, where the cases were rolling by. The scanning man, looked like he’d seen it all before but before any harm could occur, the father came across and escorted said fiddlers away from danger. Onward to the passport control, which was devoid of queues, collapsing buggies and children with missing digits. We found out later that the cautionary message about arriving early, was due to the Sunday before, when there were horrendous queues but we’d been fortunate not to get caught up in any on the night we travelled. Having read this, Mrs S would like to explain that all of the above is not a rant and is just a description of getting through the airport. I would like to say that I agree with Mrs S and at no time were either of us
Moving along swiftly. We arrived home at silly ‘o’ clock and were in bed by half past silly ‘o’ clock, only to be woken by something we saw almost every day in Spain but not at four thirty in the morning. It was the sun, streaming through the (light) curtains with such intensity that as soon as you opened your eyes to see what was the cause was, you had to shut them again. I laid there, blinking erratically before we both managed to get back off to sleep again but it was a fitful sleep, which ended at about six thirty for me and only a short while later for Mrs S. As we sat downstairs, sipping a cup of coffee and looking at the overgrown lawn and the wild borders, Mrs S raised the grim prospect of having to go shopping. I knew we’d have to do it but had tried not to think about it but think about it, I now had to. Sounds a bit like Yoda that last bit. Anyway, you know what I mean. We said we’d leave it until after the early morning rush, which means around 10 o clock and just after that time, we left the house, making sure we were on the correct side of the road, we headed off to the supermarket. The early morning rush was over, which was good but there were still those people who are in a rush whatever time of the day it is. Compared to Spain, this was like being in the Indy 500. Me looking wildly left, right and forwards, trying to guess where the next car might be coming from. It’s only a five minute drive to the supermarket but by the time we got there, I felt drained and with the onset of self-inflicted whiplash. Mrs S peeled her fingers from the dashboard and we walked through the racetrack, sorry, car park and to the supermarket. Having been in Spain for 11 weeks, were still pretty well chilled out but that was tested as soon as we walked through the doors. We should have read the sign on the doors, saying that there was an impromptu trolley dash and all shoppers could compete, which they were doing. Within seconds, we were almost hit amidships by a middle-aged man in clothing I told Mrs S that if I ever wore, she had my permission to do away with me. I’m sure he saw us but it didn’t really matter, it must have been our fault for being in the wrong place. In Spain, you can wander, meander even, around the stores and not one racing trolley to be seen but back to reality. There’s the almost obligatory shopping trolley left longways across the aisle, while the driver is off somewhere else and let’s not forget the dotcommers as we call them, with their trolleys that have the turning circle of a small lorry. *At this point, I should point out, again, this is not a rant, merely a true depiction of events* I did notice that the normally placid Mrs S did seem a bit on edge and I asked if she was OK? She just said “It’s madness” and kept beating a dotcommer around the head with a large lump of Edam cheese, which wasn’t very mature. BOOM BOOM. Seriously though, it was like we were in slow motion, while everyone else was stuck on fast forward but we managed to get round unscathed and headed back to the ranch.
A bit later that day, Mrs S had to nip out to the dentist, so I took the opportunity to jump in the shower, (yes, once a week whether I need one or not). Mrs S had literally just left as I was climbing in. No sooner had I got wet and the water temperature just right than the doorbell went. I knew Mrs S had a key, so it couldn’t be that, so I ignored it. Then I heard a male voice shouting out (the bathroom window was open you see) I looked out and a guy was saying he had an Amazon delivery. I said, “Hang on a minute” and leapt out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel and slopped downstairs, opened the door, only to find the guy had left it outside the door and driven off! I won’t go into what I thought to myself but it wasn’t English or Spanish but a smattering of French for sure. So, I go back upstairs and finish the shower, which of course turned out to be rubbish because I couldn’t get the temperature like it was before. (More French) After that was done, I went down and opened the parcel, which I knew was a pair of walking poles for Mrs S. We have them in Spain but as we’re planning a bit more walking here too, another pair would come in handy. As you can see in the photo, the box was size A and the contents, were size B and as they came out of the box. Nothing else in the box except the poles and mucho packaging. Certainly a bit of overkill on the box though. Not important but I just wanted to share. A lot of you have asked about walking poles, ok, no one has asked about walking poles but just in case you’re even mildly curious, they are “Trekrite” not sure of the model but we’ve used that make from our initial clamberings and they’ve always served us well.
I’ll round off this blog with a bit of good news. At the end of the last blog, I posted a picture of a sunset at Sedella. Well, that picture, along with around 100 others I’ve submitted, is on a photostock website and today, I got notice that the sunset one has made a sale. By sale, I mean it has been downloaded by someone, who has paid money for it. Not a lot of money but that’s not the point, I’ve sold a photo, which wasn’t on my list of things to do a year ago but has been ticked of a year later. I would use the money to buy you all a drink but I doubt it would cover the cost of multiple straws to go in even one drink but hey ho. So, I’ll finish off with the picture in question.
All Images © 2008- TheSlowWalkers