Summer 2019 Espiode 1 - 24th July 2019

Well hello there, and welcome to the first episode of An English Fool Abroad with his sketchbook Summer 2019 edition. If you caught the warning preview I posted a couple of days ago then you’ll already know that this year’s itinerary consists of a couple of weeks with Jen and John in San Isidro, nr. Alicante, back to Wales, and then out to Malta the next day. 

I have something of a lateness phobia. In all honesty, I would rather be a couple of hours early than a couple of minutes late. This was just as well, because it turned out yesterday that I was in Cardiff airport considerably more than a couple of hours early. Jess and Dan kindly offered to take me, and we arranged it so that I would be there by 10:45. Well and good. Except that when I arrived I found that the plane would now not be leaving until 1:20. In fact, allowing for inflation and VAT, it was actually 1:45 once we got going. Well, there we are. I suppose that having made headlines a couple of weeks ago for being the most delayed airline flying from UK airports, Vueling do have a reputation which they are doing their level best to live down to.  

-Foolishness alert- Yes, ladies and gents, yesterday on the plane, no less, saw the first example of what will no doubt prove to be a feast of foolishness. I found my seat, plonked myself in it, and waited in the vain hope that nobody would be sitting next to me. For once my hopes looked like they might be fulfilled, but the very last passenger to get on came right up to my seat and said, “Can I have my seat please?” I replied of course, and stood up, waiting for him to pass along to the seat by the window. He didn’t budge.

“Er,” he continued in a voice and accent strangely reminiscent of the late raconteur, Bernard Manning, “My seat is the one you were sittin’ in.” Well, I’d love to tell you that a whole pantomime chorus of ‘Oh no I wasn’t’ – ‘Oh yes you were’ ensued, but I merely pointed out that it was mine, pointed to the sign on the luggage rack, and then realised that he was right and I was wrong. Maybe I imagined him smirking every time I looked in his direction for the rest of the flight. 

Well, on to Alicante. Jen isn’t very well at the moment, more about which later on. I wanted to get a bus into Alicante itself, and then the choo choo (which is Spanish for choo choo, I believe) to San Isidro, but John had already booked me a taxi. The driver was taking no chances that I would miss him when I came into the main arrivals hall. He had a huge sign with my name on it – about which I will digress in a moment – which he was shoving under the noses of everyone exiting from the hall. I thought he was taking the proverbial a bit when he tried it with the two elderly ladies in front of me. Which one did he think was me? Which brings me to my digression. How is it that a Spanish taxi driver, who speaks hardly any English, can manage to spell my surname without a bloody E on the end, when people who have known me closely for more than a decade still struggle to get to grips with the concept? (Without an E? – Yes, my ancestors were parsimonious Celts who thought that the E would be a sinful waste of money). 

That was pretty much it for yesterday, then. Now, as I said earlier, Jen, my mother-in-law, is not very well at the moment. Her immune system is very low at the moment, and that means any infection going around, she picks it up and can’t shift it. Well, it was touch and go yesterday as to whether she would be in hospital yesterday, and was under strict instructions to go straight back if her temperature reached 38 degrees. If you chose to look at the pictures first before reading the text – and who would blame you? – you may well have noticed a building that looks suspiciously like a hospital.So yes, her temperature did reach 38, and we did take her to the Vega Baja Hospital in Orihuela which you see in the picture. If you were with me last year, you may recall that John was hospitalized during my visit then. I wouldn’t be surprised if their neighbours start to call me El Angel de la Muerte.  

Earlier on I popped to the shop and also the chemist to get some things for Jen. The chemists – hmm, that was an experience. I think my first mistake was starting talking to the chemists in Spanish. That was just writing a cheque that my linguistic abilities were never going to be able to cash. The second mistake was thinking that I’d be able to pick up the items on Jen’s list, which included some personal lady things, without arousing comment. The comments in this case being the Spanish equivalent of “Are these things for you?” After my non comprehending English apologetic shrug, she tried in English.

“Are you taking the pee?” is what I didn’t reply, I’m glad to say. I replied in English,

“It’s for my mother in law.” And when that only garnered a non comprehending Hispanic shrug in response, I tried “Es para mi suegra” – which I believe is close to meaning the same thing. This caused a heated conversation between the two pharmacists. Eventually the second one told me that they’d have to order it, and could I come back this afternoon?

“Not bloody likely!” I replied in my head, while nodding and thanking them for their time. As it was, I couldn’t go back later anyway because of needing to go to the hospital. 

So, the hospital, then. Now, let’s be fair about the Vega Baja Hospital in Orihuela. The route from San Isidro has far more motorway and far less country lane than the route to Vinalopo Hospital in Elche did last year. The only real problem was that unlike the Vinalopo, where I think that the world and his wife can visit the patient’s bedside, only one other person at a time can be with the patient. And the waiting room this time didn’t even have a telly, thus denying me the opportunity to renew my acquaintance with “Got Talent Espana” – no honestly, that is really what it is called – which I caught last year. So when we went back this evening , I did bring my sketchbook and a couple of pens, and nipped outside to make the sketch here. Jen is staying in for the time being, and I can’t help saying I think that it’s for the best. She really hasn’t been very well at all since I arrived – anyone saying cause and effect should kindly leave the stage – and it’s the best place to get herself sorted.  

So there we are, the first two days. Thanks for joining me and feel free to tune in same time tomorrow.