Dashed hopes

My dad never passed a driving test. When he began to drive it was enough to stay alive on the road with provisional licences long enough to claim the full driving licence. He was very angry when, in one of the periodic updates of the licencing system, his right to ride motorbikes and drive steam rollers was taken away from him. He sent a letter to, what was then, the Ministry of Transport. His argument was simple.  He wrote: I never passed a test to drive anything so, if I'm allowed to drive anything I should be allowed to drive everything. The Ministry took no notice of his flawless logic.

Eight months ago I began the process of swapping my UK driving licence for a Spanish one. I used a local driving school as the intermediary. Three weeks ago the school phoned to say they needed my UK driving licence in a hurry. Yesterday they telephoned me again. "Is my licence ready?" I asked. "Pop by the office to pick it up" was the answer.

As I drove to their office today I became wistful. I've had a UK driving licence since I was 16*, well over 40 years. From red covered booklets to the current plastic cards. Not having a UK licence would be odd. I also knew the Spanish would have taken away my right to drive minibuses. We old Brits got to drive minibuses as a Brussels concession. It's not that I'm keen to drive minibuses but losing rights is never a good thing.

In the end I was mightily disappointed. All I got was a piece of card. A temporary substitute for my UK licence. The real one, the new Spanish one, should be available by mid April.

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*When I was 16 it was possible to get a licence to drive a three wheeler. My father was keen that I didn't die on a motorbike so I became the proud owner of a Reliant Regal similar to the one in the photo.

A bus to Benidorm

Back in November at the AGM of the Neighbourhood Association there was talk of going to Benidorm for a weekend. A couple of weeks ago that vague possibility turned into reality. I got the email. Were we coming?

Now the immediate and romantic answer is a resounding yes. Picture it; we two Brits taking our place as members of our adopted community, striding arm in arm with our compañeros down the prom in search of serious fun.

When I asked Maggie about it she was more realistic. You think it's a good idea now but, when it happens, you'll get cross because you have trouble with your Spanish. First you'll get cross with yourself, then you'll get cross with me and then you'll start sulking or drink too much and leave me to do all the talking. She's right of course. And, there's not that much serious fun to be had in Benidorm at this time of year anyway.

Today I got a second message from the vecinos. They needed a decision and they needed it now. There were lots of outsiders wanting to get on the coach. Proper community members got first dibs.

Of course we'll be there I said. Wouldn't miss it for the World I said.

On being French

It's snowing outside in Culebrón at the moment. It's not snowing hard, it's not snowing properly but it is definitely snowing. This is not surprising. We are at 600 metres after all.

Nor is it the Ukraine. People are not freezing to death on the streets but it's not exactly warm either. Down in Cartagena people were complaining about the daytime temperature having dropped to 10ºC and overnight to 4ºC but when the Cartagena Red Cross set up an emergency centre for homeless people they couldn't find any takers even for their thermoss of hot coffee.

Here in Culebrón it was -4ºC last night. Mild in comparison to so many places. Nonetheless our house is very cold. We've been wearing coats inside all weekend and our pipes freeze each night. We've had no water at all until mid afternoon when the cold water comes back. We've not had hot water all weekend.That's why we're French. Plenty of perfume and deodorant but almost no soap and water.