ENGLAND (1)

Over the last year or so I've noticed that my memory is fading. Perhaps that's not unusual for a man of my age but do I think it's permanent and a little worrying? Well, yes but I am trying to get on with it. I mention this fact as it will bear on my memories of some of the things I post here. I will try my best to stick to 'the facts' and I will never post something I know to be untrue.

Tom and Gladdie

The Old and the New - The Tower with the Gherkin.

When my father died my cousin Gladdie (Gladys at birth, but apparently she changed it to 'Gladdie' in later life), and her husband Tom decided I needed a holiday. I can't remember if it was the same year my father died or the following year but I have a feeling it was around the same time (1968) as I went to London on my own looking for work in 1969. At the time Tom and Gladdie lived in Tring; all I remember of Tring was of a pleasant small town and that they lived in a nice house in what I guess was a large estate of similar houses...oh, and the sun seemed to be always shining.

They took me to London for the day. As I was a 'tourist' they assumed I would want to go to The Tower of London and Madame Tussauds. I have a vague memory of the latter and I remember seeing the Crown Jewels at the former. I have been going back to London virtually every year since but have never felt the need to visit either of these places again. I am not a fan of crowds or waxworks though a very small part of me might want to pay a visit to The Tower again someday. (I have been to the outside of it several times since). 

As I said, in 1969 aged 19, I finally flew the coup and went to London for the summer, looking for temporary secretarial work. My mother agreed to my going on condition I get an address from a local priest. I remember him telling me to go to the Irish Centre which I think was in Camden Town and then being referred to an Irish boarding house in Kilburn. I can't remember the name of the woman who ran it but I do remember the huge meals she served up and sharing a room with two guys from Kerry, also in London for the first time. They were working on a building site; I for a secretarial agency and we hung out together, (a trip to Soho where the older guy disappeared into a strip club), despite the fact they seemed to be speaking a foreign language, (it was English but not the kind of English I was used to).
I liked London; I knew it was my kind of town as Frank might say. I had no trouble getting work. I saw a lot of theatre and the following year I went back but with two friends from college. That's another story.

SCOTLAND (1)

Grassmarket in Edinburgh

I went back to London in the summer of 1970, again to work and taking Kathleen and Dominic with me. Our friend Carol was already there, having moved permanently to London a year earlier. Initially we stayed with her, near Regents Park, before moving to a place of our own. It started well and I still have fond memories of the early part of that summer, (queuing up for the premiere of "Woodstock" after work; even the electric failure in the Underground that meant having to walk home from work one hot evening), but strange as it might seem now I was in a relationship of sorts with Carol. Did I care for her? Hand on heart, I can't honestly say. She was an eccentric but then I'm an eccentric and we probably fought more than we kissed and made up, but when she chose to move Dominic into her bed my male pride was hurt. I packed my bag and decided to go to Scotland and visit my friend Raymond.

I took the overnight coach from London to Edinburgh and told no-one I was going; drama-queen or what? (I phoned Carol when I arrived; this time we did kiss and make up, long distance). I remember we arrived in Edinburgh very early in the morning and knowing Raymond would still be in bed I decided to have breakfast in the bus station cafe. There was one other customer, a heavily built Margaret Rutherford type woman in tweeds at another table. She was making a fuss about her order and being generally obnoxious. Two buses had arrived from London and she had been on the other bus; I was glad she wasn't on mine. Suddenly she fixed her eyes on me and insisted I join her. I did.

Yours truly at the top of the Scott Monument

She introduced herself as Madame McCrea of McCrea, (apparently that was her clan). I was interrogated and I lied. I told her I was going to Cambridge when, in fact, I was going back to the technical college in Derry. The next thing I knew I had agreed to go home with her, or at least help her home with her 'luggage', (one large bag). We had another small breakfast of sorts and I was introduced to her 'companion', a frail younger English woman who simply looked down her nose at me. Before leaving Madame McCrea insisted I return for dinner that evening, bringing Raymond with me.

Of course, I had no intention of  going back. I didn't like this woman and I positively loathed her companion but when I got to Raymond's and told him the story he insisted we return. I do remember enjoying the dinner and that Madame and Raymond hit it off but one other thing stands out. In the middle of the meal, the companion started choking. At first she simply coughed and tried to act as if nothing was happening before having to rush to the bathroom, pursued by Madame. She returned, flushed and frowning, and shortly afterwards, Raymond and I left but not before Madame set me up on some strange blind date with a male friend of hers who was going to show me Edinburgh.

SCOTLAND (2)

The Royal Mile

Maybe one day I will tell you everything that happened to me on that trip to Edinburgh but not now; I'm not ready to expose myself so publicly at this stage and so early on in proceedings so I will stick to the PG rated version. I did meet Madame McCrae's friend as arranged for that first sight-seeing trip of Edinburgh. I was to meet him on the front steps of some building, (I'm not sure which one), around Princess Street. As I approached I saw a number of people standing around including a fat lad in a kilt. I prayed to God for it not to be him; it was.

I don't doubt for a moment that he was a nice guy; after all, he was putting himself out to show a total stranger his home town but an hour or so of his company was more than I could take. I hadn't the heart to tell him we weren't connecting so I 'lost' him by nipping into a large store. Of course, I couldn't lose Madame McCrea. She had promised to arrange an interview for me with someone she knew in the Council, (she had connections apparently and was also fencing in the Commonwealth Games that happened to be running in the city at the time, or so she said and who was I to question her veracity), so I continued to visit her and the silent companion and attended the interview as arranged.

Looking towards the Castle

My summer job in Edinburgh lasted only a couple of weeks. I was employed with another young guy (sadly I have forgotten his name and he was a very nice, and very innocent, boy), as a statistician on a one-off project working the night shift in a large office. We had the place to ourselves and very little work to do; it was definitely easy money. I got digs with a Miss McNeil, a lovely old lady who was only too happy to let out her spare room for a couple of weeks to a nice Irish lad. (That's me, in case you are wondering). When the council job finished I became a volunteer at the film festival where I met a very nice Susannah York who was there for a screening of her movie "Country Dance". All of this happened almost 50 years; some things you never forget.

BACK TO PORRIDGE....

We are, of course, interlopers. We discovered this little oasis, this little slice of Holland, in the south of Spain in January 2018 when we were forced to look for an apartment pdq. If the apartment itself were no better and perhaps even a little worse, (no wi-fi connection), than others we had stayed in, its south-facing and very large balcony sold it; we had the sun on the terrace from early morning until it set.

The location, too, was less problematic than I first thought; two minutes to the promenade and beach and about fifteen minutes to both the train and bus stations as well as a couple of excellent supermarkets and the Myramar cinema complex. I also discovered I could walk to El Cortes Ingles in about twenty-five minutes which, as Mary-Kate herself would say, is just a good stretch of the legs.

The apartment block itself is called Embajador and we liked it so much we made enquiries on long-lets and found we could get a booking in the winter for 815 euros a month which is why we are here now for the whole month of November. If I could buy one of the apartments I certainly would but the owners won't sell individual apartments; with this location and this terrace they would probably retail at around 180,000 euros at least.

I said it was a little slice of Holland and so far finding anyone not from that part of the world has proved elusive; even the signage is largely in Dutch and Spanish and the first half dozen television stations are Dutch only. No matter, as my friend the late Michael O'Sullivan would say, old bones need heat and while the sun shines as it does most days I can think of nothing better than sitting on my terrace warming them old bones. There is also a very good-sized swimming pool which I may yet dip my toe into and a nice bar restaurant on the ground floor where you can pick up the internet. This is only the fourth day of a month long holiday. Cadiz is yet to come. (Back to porridge is to be taken literally; we are having it every day at breakfast).

TORREMOLINAS

A quick jaunt into Torremolinas this morning. The entire town centre is basically a building site as whole streets disappear to become one gigantic pedestrianised area. It will certainly look spectacular when it's finished though it seems to me to be a job that's been ongoing for a few years now. Still, when it's finished (this December, apparently), it should provide a very nice space to sit and have your glass of vino not to mention your tapas.

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE ....

I'm happy to admit, or rather I should say I'm ashamed to admit, that when I'm at home I take absolutely no exercise at all and it's only when I'm on holiday that I take any exercise or what might pass as exercise.  I've been in Spain a week now and I've walked on average a couple of hours every day. At first it almost crippled me but now I feel good on it and I know that once I get back to Ireland I should try to walk for at least 30 minutes every day, weather permitting, (I'm a fair weather walker; why do you think I spend so much time abroad).

Today we planned to follow what I believed to be the coastal path that ran beyond the castle but which turned out to be non-existent so instead we climbed up to the castle where I took some photos and that was it.  Total time on my feet, approximately 90 minutes...actually more like 45 minutes since at least half of the time outdoors was spent sitting on my fat ass.

SUNDAY....

Today is possibly the warmest day so far. I haven't seen the temperature yet but a few days ago it reached 25 degrees and this is almost mid-November; before 10am you could almost feel the heat on the balcony. I went to mass earlier but no Michael and no wife and no woman who once asked me if I was interested in buying a villa here. It's Remembrance Sunday, more poignant than usual as it's now 100 years since The Great War ended and most of the congregation were wearing their poppies; one man even had his medals pinned to his chest.

I like my little chapel though I admit I'm not too keen on the congregation. It's more like a club with the mass taking second place to the gathering of old friends who may only meet here once a week, (the shaking of hands is like a love-in minus the shedding of clothes). As an outsider I sometimes feel like I'm not exactly welcome and as for Mr Roddy I have yet to be invited round for a cup of tea. Anyway it's now just past 2pm and the heat is draining ; time to get something cool inside me....

CADIZ

We finally got to Cadiz. When we arrived at the station in Malaga we discovered our train had been cancelled due to the weather, (not a good beginning), but the staff at Renfe were excellent in getting us on another train(s) but this time it was Malaga-Cordoba, Cordoba-Seville and finally Seville-Cadiz. I had been checking the weather forecast for over a week and rain was forecast for when we were due to be there but being the eternal optimist I thought, or maybe just hoped, that is was (a) wrong or (b) the rain would just be light showers. Wrong on both accounts! Saturday night was fine and we were able to sit at an outdoor table for dinner, (excellent btw). We even caught evening mass in a small but beautiful little chapel. However, on Sunday we awoke to dark skies and rain on the roof. It was obvious it had rained most of the night but after breakfast the rain stopped so we took our chances and walked the circle of the old town along the sea-wall. Only once did we have to take shelter.

After we got back to the hotel, (excellent and in a great location though breakfast leaves something to be desired), the heavens opened and the rain was on and off for the rest of the day, though during the off periods we still managed to get out and explore the old town. It's now Monday morning and we awoke before 7am to more heavy rain. However, the good news is that it has stopped, (for now at least), and the sky is brightening up over the new part of the city. Could that really be the sun I am seeing right now?