The Third Age

You will, no doubt, remember that I joined the Pensioner's Club here in Pinoso last year.

A few days ago I got a letter, in the post, with a stamp and everything. It said that if I didn't hand over my 9€ annual membership fee the Club would, unhappily, have to strike me from their membership register. I haven't actually taken part in a single event or even been in the building since I signed up. They never send me any information and the only way I know to find out what the group is up to is to go to the building and ask someone. I do know though that it's an active club because I often read about their events, after the fact, in the local news. And, like Bellgrove from Gormenghast, as I prefer to be out of it in a group rather than out of it altogether, I hurried over to pay my debts.

To the best of my knowledge the only way to pay is in cash in the club building. I asked if I could pay for next year too whilst I remembered. "No," said the woman who does the group's clerical work. She added, without any prompt from me, that there was no reason as to why I couldn't except that I couldn't.

My membership card is in a fetching fawn colour and it is made of cardboard. In the left hand corner there is a glued on photo. It's a real Polaroid, not a digital photo and it was produced by one of the town's professional photographers. The administrator took the card out of its plastic wallet and used a rubber stamp to print 16 in one of the little boxes on the back. She then found the card's twin stored in a small wooden drawer in a mini filing cabinet and did the same to that. Next she ticked my name off on a printed list. She took my proffered tenner and gave me the change. A fully paid up member once again.

It was so sweet. So brown paper and string. Not much chance of their records being hacked or someone's card being cloned.

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything

I mentioned on Facebook the other day that whilst we were surreptitiously guzzling more than our fair share of the "wine of honour" after the religious procession in the village I was propositioned by the president of the "Third Age Association". He thought I should become a member.

Now I'm not big on joining in but I thought, at 8€ a year, it can't do any harm. An opportunity to get to know a few people, to practice a bit of Spanish, to become a bit more involved in the community.

So I went along today ready to hand over my money and join up.

The sales pitch involved dominoes, bingo, short hikes, special masses, crowning of the Third Age Carnival Queen, a bit of ballroom dancing, regular exercise classes, presentation of the trophies for the winners of the table games events, a gachamiga making competition and so on just for the near future. I didn't think he made enough of the upcoming performance of Maria Jesús and her accordion. She's the woman whose big hit was the Spanish version of the Tweety Song. I noted that no event passed without including food. Carnival Queen crowned and off to El Timón, walk up a hill and a picnic, presentations and a buffet, no reason at all and a vermouth session. Do you know they have over 700 members, or about 10% of the town population?

All I need are a couple of photos, identity documentation and a copy of my health card (!) Maggie can join too despite her tender years. She gets in thanks to my vintage. Unfortunately the admin person is on holiday at the moment and wont be back for a couple of weeks so we'll have to wait.

What I can't understand is why I'm hesitating.