We are the Only Ones

Wednesday morning was unexpectedly cool and somewhat cloudy. even misty. The "feel" left me in some doubt that any washing would dry by the afternoon but I pressed on anyway with a visit up to the roof terrace, only to find the washing machine disconnected. "It is being moved" said Christina (my landlady who lives below me now on the 1st floor) "but it needs 3 men." "I have a date this afternoon, a very important date" I replied which galvanised her into chasing the builders up. 15 mins later I watched my last measure of washing powder go straight down the drain "because the program is out of sequence, due to the move" said one of the builders. "I´ve got some powder downstairs" panicked Christina, realising that I am really not seeing any joke at all. A little while later I walked away from it all, went back downstairs, closed my frontdoor and screamed. ARGHHHH!!!! Plan B. There wasn't one. Well there had to be now.

Of course, by the time I was ready to leave it was red hot, sunshine everywhere, and by the time I had climbed the steps, trailing the trusty trolley, I was melting. ETA was 4pm by the way so the 2-45 train suited me well, followed by the 3-20(ish) 220 from Fuengirola to Calahonda.
"¿Dónde estás?" - Where are you (it was 25 past 4 because the 3-20(ish) turned up at 3-52 exactish making me wonder whether said 220 and the washing machine were in the same union!!) "Andando arriba" - walking up I answered while wondering how many would be in the firing squad. Viktor was on look-out duty in the corner of the terrace ("at last you are here, she has been like a cat on a hot tin roof!" he explained in fluent sign language with a smattering of Double Dutch) and the frontdoor was open, waiting for me.

"¡Quitas!" - Take that lot off!!
"¿¿¿¿????"
"¿Tienes tu corte de baños? - do you have your swimming trunks?
"Sí"
"Vale, vas a la piscina, Katia espera para ti alli" - OK, go to the pool, Katia is waiting there for you. And so she was. As beautiful as ever.

Half-an-hour later we were back on the terrace.
"Try this" said Larisa passing a shirt my way.
"It´s OK" said I.
"Right, then these two will also fit because they are the same size, now try these" she said, passing a pair of trousers. Same result. Then I was told that the clothes did not fit Viktor anymore and that I could have them. Well, fit Viktor they never have because he has never worn them. They are new, someone's been shopping.

¿Sangria?
"Sí, por favor, gracias"
Whole sardines are very nice coated in flour and fried. You eat the bit between the head and the tail, which prove to be handy points to hold the things while doing so and accompanied by sliced octopus as another finger'lickin goody are a perfect prelude to Paella.

"¡Joder! No hay chorizo, he olvidado" - Oh dear! there is no Chorizo, I have forgotten. "¿Vale, no importa, dónde está circuma y pimentón?" - It doesn't matter, where's the Turmeric and Paprika? I then found out that I had been told to bring spices. Hmm. I must check my Spanish because I am sure that "solo una sarten grande" means just that - only a big fryingpan. I'd spied some curry powder so I began to sprinkle some of it over the frying onion and garlic and while she was stirring it in (we are, as always, producing a committee job) Katia was called, given a shopping list and despatched to the supermarket down the road. Everything was put on hold. What she brought back was not what she was sent for but was, nevertheless, pressed into service, as was more curry powder - paella was about to be reborn. Eventually garnished with huge pink Langostinos, which were grey before we started, the dish was subsequently completely devoured by the four of us alongside more glasshes of shangria (hic!) "Nos vamos al bar" - let's go to the bar" she suggested. "Here's a pair of shoes for you Derek". God knows what was wrong with mine but, now, my wardrobe was complete. Her favourite local has lots of pool tables where, without any of us spilling our vodkas, brandies or coke she and Viktor managed to just beat Katy and me. Three times. Or was it four? Good fun though, teaching Viktor the difference between red and white! He learned quite quickly. Back at the apartment the cards came out and we played Russian Pontoon (21s?) over much more vino collapsho. I never did work the rules out but I don't think you needed 21 to win, more like 22 it seemed to me. Conversationwise - Viktor is going to buy a restaurant here for me and her, he is taking them both to Andorra and on to Paris for few days next week (part of Katy's holiday treat)..."please come Derek" Lary asked, but of course I can't because of the job and our ultimate destiny appears to be centered in town called Simferopol in The Crimea, where he has a place. I´ve no idea what time we decided to call it a night, which I spent downstairs in the cellar on a camp bed breaking my back. 1-30pm the following morning (sic) and breakfast was on the table. Cake, melon and wine. More wine. "You can drive us all to Torre Derek, in the car". "Hic!, you must, hic!, be, hic! joking, hic!"

We went for the bus at about 4 o'clock and whilst waiting Katy got her iPod out and stuffed an earpiece in my right one. That's how we waited, for 45 mins or so because it seems that the 220 doesn't understand what an every 20mins timetable actually is, listening to music via a shared pair of earphones with Lary just out of my self-portrait to Katy's right. One of the first tracks that Katy deliberately searched out turned out to be entitled "We Are The Only Ones". And with the three of us sat sitting there on the bus-stop bench it just seemed kind of appropriate.

While we were on the bus I quizzed Lary about Viktor's grandiose plans. "He comes to Spain, gets drunk, stays drunk and comes up with all sorts of ideas. His wife will decide for him when he returns home". She explained. So. Vamos a ver - we will see.