Un Hombre Único

A call from Larisa just before 3am Friday morning sent me into a panic; she was in Torre and was going to come down to my apartment. That meant that she intended to stay the night and then the both of us go over to Calahonda etc. etc. I told her that I would call back when I was finished in the bar and proceeded to plan a strategy - get closed, prep for Teresa and go. Sod's Law took over immediately, I had a few slow drinkers in who were disinclined to drink-up and leave. Eventually, at 3-45, I managed to close the doors behind a group of disgruntled punters clutching plastic cups. Too late to prep what with Lary waiting for a call so the closing procedure was hurriedly completed and on my minutes walk back to the apartment I made the call.

"Were you watching for me on your camera?"
"No, I watched from the terrace balcony as you saw."

I opened a bottle of Red Wine (Doctors orders) and we settled down to chat well into the small hours, going to bed at 6am or so (usual arrangements BTW). Apparantly, during one of her calls with Carolina in Majorca (we were discussing my impending move) the fact that none of Carolina's tenants, since I moved, have paid her any rent. She was bemoaning that fact and said that she "wished everybody was like Derek, Un hombre único (A unique man). I'm not blowing my own trumpet here, it's just that, for me, it is nice to know. Lary's point was actually that I should twist Cristina's arm and get a better deal here etc. etc.

Friday morning, somewhat after 11am I quietly made my first cuppa while she continued dozing on the sofa. What with me having to prep the bar and wait for a delivery we didn't get away until 3-45pm and, chatting like we hadn't seen each other in a long long time, we made it by train and bus to her place. During the journey we spoke to Katia on the mobile and I was told that another of Larisa's nieces is coming this weekend and that Katia is coming on Wednesday. Larisa showed me some papers addressed to Katia - a work permit and rights of residence here in Spain, valid for 2 years, which means that she doesn't have to apply for a visa for every visit. Larisa's expired some little while ago and she didn't bother to renew them so I guess that that is why she goes home regularly, to renew each 90 day visa. Maybe, now, Lary might overcome her dislike of bureaucracy and get her own again.

She did it!!
"You go to the pool" she said as a pair of Viktors shorts winged their way across the room, "I'll make something to eat and then we are going to go shopping." At this time of year pool heaters tend to be turned off so I opted to sit out on the terrace in the autumn sun and wait for what was coming to the table. Reheated paella (from the freezer) is not the best way to enjoy Spain's national dish but we both tucked into it with gusto, leaving nothing for the ever present flies. "Vale", after everything was cleared away, washed and put away, "nos vamos de compras" and with a pointing finger I was directed down to the garage. Its a Seat Ibiza with the steering wheel on the wrong side for me and, luckily, a manual gearchange (I hate automatics.) Having gingerly manoeuvred out of the garage, up the ramp and onto the road I was beginning to feel at home behind the wheel so off we went, to the Mercadona supermarket. In charge of the trolley, I dutifully trotted behind, only once ramming her backside in a moment of distraction, keeping quiet while she concentrated on what to fill the cupboards with for herself and her visitors although, when I saw a carton of Sangria coming off the shelf I drew the line. "Larisa, por favor!!" "No?" "No! If you want Sangria I'll buy the proper ingredients." "OK but not now. When you come back bring them with you," and with that the carton went back where it belongs, left alone on the shop-shelf. "Can you see Bomba Rice?" I've got her converted it seems but unfortunately it's either out of season or this branch doesn't stock it because there wasn't any to be had. So stuff for a Sangria and also some Bomba rice are now on my list for a future trip to my local Mercadona prior to catching the train and 220 back to her. Oh, great! It's now dark, we've finished shopping (for now) and I don't know where the headlamp switch is. She didn't know the way back either so, after twice round the roundabout and once up a dead-end we eventually got home.

Hoy no día de descanso para ti Mr Derek!
Saturday, 1pm, and a call to Lary's mobile announced that Julia (her expected niece) had boarded her flight from Moscow. Due here in Málaga at about 1930 hrs her arrival was to be preceded by last minute dusting, tidying and more shopping so here I am, very domesticated (maybe I should put in for the job as husband), out on the terrace with the aspiradora doing my bit. Remember, the shorts are not mine so I make no excuses!! "Vale, ahora nos vamos a la piscina, entonces nos vamos a las tiendas y entonces algo comer." I was right! The pool (and the poolside shower) was excrutiatingly cold on hot skin but we enjoyed a frolic overseen by an English lady enjoying a rest on her sunlounger nearby on the grass. Another trip to the shops saw Larisa happy that every eventuallity was covered and, back at the apartment, Sardinas, Russian something-or-others (pork mince and onions wrapped in a filo pastry like an overgrown ravioli, and all homemade), Prawns, Chorizo sausage and salad brought the clock round to about 4pm and my time to leave for work. "I'll call you, probably on Wednesday" she said as we parted, which could mean that maybe, just maybe, I might get to drive her and Julia to the airport to meet Katia in the arrivals hall.

More Crumpet(s)
Back at the bar I hadn't long been open before Ann & Bill came in. "We've got something for you" they said, and peering into a carrier bag I saw some Smoked Mackerel and a pack of six crumpets. Supper last night was a couple of those, followed by a couple more and then a couple more. The empty package was all too soon in the bin and I went to bed with a smile on my face and indigestion raging inside. A fine end to another fine time.