Tomorrow never knows...

Tomorrow never knows..

“The week is flying by” Two days to go before we head back to Blighty and the chills of winter. Hard to believe while we are swanning around over here in Espana. Cartajena, a coastal town with a Roman amphitheatre is our destination today. Dave particularly excited being an amateur archeologist and enthusiast of everything ancient. I like a bit of culture myself so all was good. Pat’s looking like he’s raring to go after  a good night’s kip catching up with some zzzz. Looking refreshed. Chef Dave is up first and has the breakfast of bacon and eggs on the go before we emerge - superb effort I have to compliment. 

Wolfed down with a mug of coffee, we were off. No hanging around today. 

Adopting his tour guide mode Pat drives us through various view points with all the aplomb of Judith Chalmers. Pointing out various landmarks, describing the appeal of the Salt Flats. “Best air in Spain”, “breathe it in, wonderful” he purred. And it would have been had it not been for Dave lighting up a Lambert & Butler. The salt flats are more like lakes. Why do they call them flats I wondered? The less intelligent could assume they constitute an estate of houses built with Saxa but maybe not. Couldn’t be anyone that thick. Soon however, the conversation switches from the wonder of the salt flats, beautiful as they were, to more serious matters like football, music, literature. Yes, quite an intellectual bunch we were. Somehow the topic of Sherlock Holmes came up. Dave, sitting in the back of the car giving his appraisal of Holmes and his sidekick Watson. I was day dreaming at this point. Pat concentrating on the road ahead. Interrupting Dave’s monologue I butted in; “who wrote that Sherlock stuff?’ Quick as a shot Dave answered with Mastermind confidence, “Arthur Conan Doyle”. 

“Oh, I was going to say Edgar Allan Poe”.

‘What? No, it was Arthur Conan Doyle”

“Well, I knew there were three names involved” I said.

Pat who has been quiet throughout all this piped up, “F—- me, you might as well have said Peter, Paul and Mary!”

Cue laughter all round, particularly from Pat, chortling at his own wit.

Getting back to radio stuff I asked Dave what time he normally arrived  at the station in Market Harborough for his 7 to 10am show. Thinking he was going to say an hour before kick off for preparation, coffee etc.

“I normally get there about five to seven…sometimes I just make it with a minute to spare!”

Well, that was a surprise. There’s me imagining these radio presenters are up hours before their show, like those people on Breakfast TV, showered, script organised, bright and breezy…and I picture Dave turning up dishevelled, cup of coffee in hand, cigarette in the other, tuning in with ‘Good morning Britain!’ Been at it that long I guess Dave has got it off to a tee! 

I remember Pat on the other hand would be at Corby Radio a good hour before his ‘Aboot the Toon’’ show to catch up with the gossip before easing himself in. Mind you he didn’t start until 10am.

I ask Dave what sort of music he starts the day off with. “I like to ease the listeners in” he says with all the professionalism of a veteran, “something soft and gentle, maybe Fleetwood Mac…Little Lies for example.” Makes sense I think. “You wouldn’t wake everyone up with Jailhouse Rock then?”

Takes about an hour to get to Cartajena. Another hour finding a car parking space. We drove through the town’s narrow streets, Pat getting more frustrated by the minute. Then we find ourselves by the seafront, alongside the harbour. Hills in the background, yachts and boats of all sizes in the Marina. Beautiful. And we find a spot where we can park up! Hoops of delight! “Right, make a note of where we are” I suggest. “Can’t go wrong remembering this place” Dave adds. Pat looking doubtful. 

Walking into town, much to our surprise, there was the Amphitheatre. Right in the middle. Dave is wetting himself. I thought he was kidding about the archeology thing but no he’s a genuine enthusiast. No doubt if he ever managed to get on Mastermind, archeology would be his favourite subject! Speciality? ”Roman Empire” 

He tells the tale of being in Crete with Shirley when he picked up a stone and told her it was a couple of thousand years old and he was taking it home. Until an advisor told him if he was caught he’d end up in jail for five years. Believe that if you will. 

We paid our entrance fee to the museum and theatre, the equivalent of a couple of bob and off we went to explore. Pat was equally impressed as Dave whilst I have to hold my hands up and say I can take it or leave it. A few old stones and things are interesting to a point. But you do have to marvel at how these buildings were built, ‘couple of thousand years ago’ Dave reminds us. “No cranes those days” he says with the air of a university tutor. He knows his stuff that was clear. He then regaled us with more tales, this time of Mexico when he treated Shirley to a trip to the Aztec pyramids. Similar yarn about the pyramids being built without the aid of a B.C. McAlpines or Wimpey. Quite. 

Anyway back to the museum, we take numerous photos, enthral at the  theatre with steep rows of stalls, the hills in the background, the sea in the foreground. ‘Can you imagine the planning that went into this?” Dave asks.

In my mind’s eye I picture a few Julias Caesar type characters poring over blueprints, organising work gangs, digging holes like Charlie Dunn’s odd job gang in Corby steelworks. 

“And they had to keep everyone in Rome informed of progress” Dave adds.

“How did they do that?” I enquire, “Pigeon?”

“Horse”

“Horse! from over here in Spain, all the way to Italy?”

Couldn’t quite comprehend that, ‘That would have taken years for one trip” I suggest.

Dave, trying to keep on top of this debate added “Well they would have had it organised like a relay I expect. Hundred miles perhaps and then they would hand the plans over to the next chap on a horse and so on.” 

Sounded a bit dubious to me. Pigeon would definitely have been quicker.

Dave explaining his theory about the horse...

The amphitheatre was impressive, ‘like a mini Pompeii’ Pat affirmed with all the knowledge of Judith. Out in the midday sun was taking its toll though and a  coffee and some lunch was needed.

Pat took us past an interesting place called The Arsenal. A military compound complete with sentry outside tooled up with machine gun. “Have to try and get a picture with the bloke” says Dave..

“Looks more like a prison”.

“If he’s still hanging about on our way back I’ll ask him to pose with us.”

Nearby was the town square with bars and restaurants and a guy entertaining customers with his accordion. Taking a pew, the accordionist, dressed in ‘traje de luxes' costume, matador’s gear, (I googled that) comes over to us. And I make the mistake of singing a verse of ‘Viva Le Spana’. “Ah” he looks at me with a big smile. Taking that as a request he thus bursts into the tune, warbling a couple of bars of “hey, hey, we’re off to sunny Spain..” Then held his cap out!

We gave him a couple of Euros and he cleared off. 

Cheese and egg omelettes were ordered with a beer and a coke for Pat, which must have been driving him crazy by now. Fair do’s to him, he didn’t quibble, Sensible hat on with him being the driver. It was appreciated and both Dave and I promised him some respite when back at base when he could dump the car and enjoy a few beers. 

The omelettes turned up and I’ve never seen one like it! ‘Christ how am I supposed to eat that!” It was huge! Overlapping the plate. Pat and Dave were likewise surprised. Struggling through it we all eventually gave up. “Take it back with us to feed the birds” Dave suggests, with his ornithology hat now on.

Thought about that for a second and then said, ”bollocks to the birds, not carrying that around”.

Time was passing quickly, Pat wanted to get back to Algorfa before darkness fell. We head off in roughly the direction we came to look for the car. Past the Military Base where it looked as if the soldier had disappeared. Peering through the archway, there he was. Chatting to a pal, he might have been asking how Barcelona got on last night. They must get bored these fellows. Dave shouted to get his attention. The soldier turned round, wondering who the hell was shouting at him. He sees us three staring at him and Dave mimicking the taking of a photograph, like they do on the Charades TV programme. ‘Looks like, sounds like thing…’ 

The soldier glared at us, waved his gun, shook his head. With a look that said ‘F— Off!’

“Worth a try” Dave said dejectedly.

Pat was getting stressed again, not sure which way we were heading. ‘Keep going” I say, confident of my instinct.

“No” Pat says. looking at the GPS on his phone, “it’s this way”.

“Don’t think so Pat”  

“It is, follow me” and charges ahead. Coming to a side street he stops, checks his phone again; “Right, according to this, it’s turn left here.”

We’re not convinced but follow him like he’s the Pied Piper. I daren’t suggest we are nowhere near where we should be but Pat is dogged if not convincing. We come to another junction. “I can’t figure this out, it’s leading us up a dead end street!” he wails.

“Told you we should have turned right”

If nothing else, it was worth the diversion to see murals painted on the side of derelict buildings. 

Quick about turn and Pat’s phone is again telling us to turn left. “That’s going away from the marina” I tell him but he was adamant. “It’s telling me this way..”

‘Stick that phone up your arse Pat, it’s wrong, we turn right here..the sat-nav in my head is more 

Dave following the Pied Piper

reliable!’

And who was right? Of course, no need to say. We stumble across a car park behind a building and way over behind a wire fence we see the car.  Parked in the street. 

Dusk was creeping up on us as we headed home, all was quiet. Then Dave stunned us with a news flash on his mobile. With the stoicism of a BBC reporter he announced; ‘Alicante Airport is on fire!” 

Sounding like an attack, like during the 1940 Blitz. The airport bombed and destroyed. “How bad is it?” “Any casualties?” Dave showed us live coverage on his cellphone, flames shooting high into the sky. Looked bad. I’m thinking to myself, ‘We are due to fly home on Friday. Looks like we’ll have a few more days than expected!’ ‘The weather is still crap back home so a couple of more days here in the sun won’t be too bad!” 

A running commentary ensues; “The airport has diverted all aircraft to Murcia”, “the airport will be closed until further notice..” 

We get back to the flat and Dave and Pat both phone home. Dave asking Shirley if she can find out anything about what’s happening, what’s going to happen. Pat similarly with Yvonne. Well I’ve got no one to phone, no real agenda, didn’t matter to me if we were here for another week or not!

A ‘chinky’ was planned for tonight, ‘best Chinese in Spain” Pat assured us. “It’s self service, help yourself to what you want, it’s amazing” Not being an expert on Chinese cuisine I wasn’t sure what to expect. You do indeed help yourself, it’s more like a Chinese carvery! Very nice too. The Chinky finished the night off perfectly with a couple of bars, one called Jilly’s run by an English couple on the way home. 

Thursday was a day dedicated to Alicante. Not the airport which was in shutdown but the resort itself. To my surprise Alicante was beautiful. A large marina with yachts worth billions tied up. We kept our ears open for the news all day and by afternoon the signs for our departure on Friday was looking more promising. Turns out a building on site had gone up in flames. Not the departure hall, checking in, control tower etc. Checking the internet, Shirley and Yvonne keeping their mince pies on the TV news which didn’t reveal much had us feeling we could relax. “Better make an earlier start tomorrow though” Pat says, “up at 5 and off by 6”. Which after some debate was put back back by an hour! 

Arriving at the airport we find everything as normal. Good news. 

Alicante

Lovely week it had been, a few balls ups along the way, plenty of laughs, a few disasters but hell, it had been a great week. But it wouldn’t have finished without another hiccough. 

Back at East Midlands Airport we make our way to the car, drive up to the barrier to get out. I had pre-paid this and put my token in the machine confidently. And the f—-ing thing wouldn’t open! A message comes on the screen - please pay £234!! “What the f—k!”

We tell people behind us to back up so we can reverse and go the car park office. Pain in the arse for everyone but what can you do? I explain to the guys in the office, show them my receipt and they tell me to try again and if that fails press the button with a telephone sign on it. “They’ll recognise your registration sir”

Eventually we were through and on our way home. All agreeing; “We gotta do this again!!”  Deffo!