‘Tap Turns On the Water’ (CCS)…

Pat is up early, probably didn’t sleep too well with the business over the unpaid bills and the water being turned off in his flat bugging him. Lovely morning again. Hard to believe this is January and not June. To think just a couple of hours away the UK is getting blitzed with torrential rain. As was confirmed when Shirley skyped Dave to ask how we were getting on and for a nice loveable chat with her husband. “Good morning darlin’” Dave responds, “how are you?”. Shirley informs us all that it’s been hammering down all night, she’s just back from the gym, got soaked right through to the skin getting back into the car, she was dripping wet, her backside was stuck to the sodden car seat - that’s what she said - but for all that, she still looked happy. Dave looks and listens intently, summing up some sympathy. “Well, that’s a shame. It’s lovely here. Sun is out. Temperature is around 12%. Really nice…” To which Shirley replied with an expletive which would be impertinent to say here. I caught the second word.. think it was Off.

Lorraine is up bright and early too, offers us a breakfast, a fry up but Pat is desperate to get moving. “I want to be at the bank at 9am when it opens! Sort this shit out! I paid the bills last month.. it’s ridiculous…” Right, let’s get going. A quick wash to refresh and we were on our way. Past some mountains, one which is prominent that Pat has renamed Paddy’s Mountain. Assuming it had a name in the first place that is. “It’s a great landmark” Pat says, “you can never get lost around here. The mountain is always there.” Well that’s true I’m thinking. Not gonna go anywhere is it? It is really nice though, if you like mountains. “Reminds me a bit of Table Mountain in Cape Town” I say.

Takes us around half hour to get into the nearby town of Almoradi  where the bank is. Main street resembled a Western town, a cowboy town, to my eyes anyway. “There it is” Pat triumphs. We found a parking slot, Pat went off to give hell to the bankers and me and Dave went in search of a cafe. Which was easier said then done. Everywhere was closed. Maybe it was too early for them, thinking about it. But, eventually, there was one establishment open, quite a large cafeteria, a few punters in there and we ordered some cheese toasties and coffee. Amazing how quick time flies when you’re rabbiting. Music was the pre-eminent topic and a conversation ensued about working on radio stations. “Do you get many boring people phoning up for requests, crap tunes that you think ‘oh! no!?’ I ask.

“Yes. Sometimes it’s the same one phoning in at the same time every day, basically because they just like to hear their name mentioned on the radio. They might ask for a 10cc record and I’ll say ‘we played that about half hour ago, can’t play it again.” And I might select another 10cc record and then again I might give them some waffle just to get rid of them!”

It’s fascinating listening to the way the DJs operate on live radio, having to intermingle weather and news reports, jingles, choosing what track to play next. I used to enjoy working with Pat for a brief spell on his Corby Radio Sunday morning show a few years back. Baffled me just looking at the monitors! Something I’ve always admired though and would love to do but fear my lack of pc would possibly be a hindrance. I’ve gone through life with the ideology of being ‘bullshit free’. And apart from that, all those knobs and dials would send me stir crazy. Now if it was just a case of putting a 45 on..

Time moves on, the toast and coffee had hit the spot and we decide to go and see if Pat is out of the bank and looking for us. He’s nowhere to be seen. Right opposite the bank was a doorway and we stand there continuing our chat about live radio, wondering if Pat is ever going to emerge from the building. People are going in and out so somebody is in there, we ascertain. Has Pat been kidnapped? Is he being interrogated? Two hours are nearly up and finally Pat comes back out into the sunshine. Face like a smacked arse.

“Ignorant bastards” is his opening shot. “They couldn’t understand a word I was saying. They had to get an interpreter. I’m sure they were being racist! I told them all the bills set up in this bank had been paid. They claim there was still some outstanding which resulted in the water company turning the tap off.”

All sounded confusing, cross wires and all that. Bottom line was, it was sorted but we would have to wait for the bank to confirm to the water people all is well and that it could be 24 or even 48 hours before they got round to giving us water again. 

At that we headed back to the cafe for a beer.

Next stop it was agreed, was a supermarket. Get some goods in. Four two gallon bottles of water were purchased. Boil the kettle, add some water and we can have a wash and a shave Pat informs us. “Yes” I say, “I don’t ming minging for a day or two but you get fed up of feeling like a grub.”

Felt as if we were getting somewhere now. Settled finally in the flat, bacon, eggs, a few cans of beer

"get the kettle on Pat"

, bread and milk stored away, and my packet of nuts, which had Dave looking at me sort of bemused. ‘Good for you, these are” I tell him, “walnuts”. “Why?” he asks. “Don’t know really” I reply, “somebody told me!” 

“So is steak” 

So as juvenile as you can be, my nuts were referred to as steak for the rest of the week! 

Back on the road, Pat takes us on a trip to the nearest resort which is Guardamar, doing a wonderful job as a tour guide. A quiet reserved looking place but then again, you don’t get many people hanging around in January I figured. 
It had been arranged that we would meet up with Mick and Lorraine, and Ali and Rachel, for an Indian meal so it was time to get back to scrub up best we could. Nice evening it turned out to be. Much joviality, few beers, nice meal, yap, almost like we were carrying on from the previous day’s activities. 

Pat had chilled proper now. We walked back through the deserted streets, stopping every few yards while Pat explained the lay out of the town. 

‘The Square is bustling in the summer, all the bars open, crowds of punters milling around, music, buskers, having fun, getting drunk, it’s brilliant’. Could imagine it would be. Traversing down the myriad of side streets he pointed out various restaurants. Italian, Chinese, Spanish, an ‘English’ shop, and a dentist. Which immediately had us telling Dave a tale about our friend Danny who Pat was trying to persuade to have his apartment for a week, one night in our local the ‘Rock’. After extolling the virtues of Algorfa, all the above as mentioned, how far it is from the coast, the accessories in his flat, TV, community swimming pool, kettle, barbecue on his roof…Dan looking serious, interrupted.. “Is there a dentist there?”

Our friend Wilf was with us at the time as well. Dan’s question threw Pat. Stopped him in his tracks! Me and Wilf look as befuddled as Pat. “Do you think you’ll get toothache or something there?” I ask Dan. “Well, you might” he says!

Course we fell over laughing, who the hell asks that sort of question when you’re booking a holiday! Only Dan!

Back on home turf, we put some music on, from my mobile, had a few beers, and Pat’s Remy Martin which I had noticed in his cabinet. 2.30am I called it a day, or night. Retired to my bed and left Pat and Dave to reminisce about the old days working in the Corby nightclubs. 

Two hours later they were still rabbiting away…woke me up!

What was that about talking the hind legs off a donkey..