Day Twenty Three - Christmas Day part 2

Towards mid morning on Christmas Day the rain stopped and the wind died down. Now the weather was looking a bit better I ventured out. I needed to do the dishes from this morning.

What is it with Germans? There are four sinks at the shower block for doing dishes. Of course, I could have done them in the van but the hassle of driving to the motorhome service point each morning to get rid of all the waste water makes that a bit pointless. Besides which, the sites hot water is free!
At the washing point were two Germans, happily washing away, each with a large pile of dishes and each taking up two sinks. Despite seeing me waiting they continued, leisurely chatting to each other, using one sink to wash and the adjoining sink to drain. Totally oblivious to the fact I was waiting. It's behaviour like this that causes wars. Selfish gypsy German bastards! I'll mention it to my German friend in Dusseldorf. Of course, she'll claim they are Bavarian and the Bavarians are quite different from normal Germans.

Eventually one of the 'Bavarian' Germans finished and I quickly got my breakfast pots washed. I'm quite impressed with my new non stick camping saucepans. They are actually non stick and this mornings scrambled eggs just dropped off the inside. I wonder how long that'll last?

It was only after wandering around the site that you could see how bad the winds last night actually were. A number of trees had broken branches and there appeared to be quite a bit of damage. An elderly English couple I'd been speaking to appeared worst affected. A huge branch off the adjoining pine tree had fallen on their awning and wind break and wrecked both, it did also leave about a dozen pine cones and together with the smell of myrrh was very Christmassy, albeit in a not too Christmassy for them way.

They were in the process of clearing up and I stopped to have a chat. Annie, the English lady had a black eye and a rather nasty gash above it. "What happened" I enquired "Oh, don't ask" she replied.
Given that Christmas is historically a period of domestic violence, I didn't ask.
I suspect that she'd been hit upon the head by the falling branch rather than beaten by her husband Tim, but I didn't pursue it. Best not too!

Today, being Christmas Day and all that, the swimming pool is closed. I'm not sure why, it's not as if it's manned with a strapping Spanish lifeguard or anything. The majority of time I've been swimming, I've been the only one on the pool. I'm now feeling a bit guilty having missed swimming yesterday due to my alcohol induced fragile disposition. Hopefully tomorrow I can continue my quest for a body like Tom Daly.

Surprisingly the bar is closed too. It was actually closed last night, Christmas Eve. Not that drinking alcohol was the top of my 'things to do' agenda last night. Strange, the cleaners are out, the bins are being emptied three times a day as usual but the bar and the pool are closed!

Although I didn't feel nearly as bad as I did yesterday morning, I still felt in need of a bit of fresh air so decided to take myself off to the beach and a walk by the sea's edge. Spending only a few minutes there I decided it was a bad idea. Although the rain had ceased, on the shoreline the wind was blowing strongly off a sea that looked more like the irish sea in the depths of winter than the Mediterranean. Within minutes I was soaked. Giving that up as a bad job I headed back to the site. A hot shower and start preparing the Christmas lunch.


So much for the hot shower, it's those fucking Germans again! Used all the hot water! Tepid at best, I did think, think hard about coming back later. Bugger, I decided, if I can live with the monks in the in the Kathmandu valley, for four months, with no running, never mind hot water, I can put up with this. Head down and in!

Once spruced up, complete with shave, it was back to the van and Christmas lunch. My turkey crown turned out to be chicken (a big fucker!) it had been thawing since early this morning. Veg prepped, paxo balls rolled and it's all in that little oven. Jesus, there's a lot going on in there! Better facilities than the 'unit' in the middle of the South Australian desert two years ago where I cooked a full turkey dinner with all the trimmings.

I even made my own Yorkshire puddings! Complete with onions and herbs. Iceland in town did actually sell aunt Bessie's but I resisted. To be fair, they weren't my best, although better than those in the south Australian desset. There I'd bought a 'pancake mix' , thinking it was the same difference, added onion and herbs and when I tasted it, it was sweet.. While this was the real McCoy, I did cook it in a small frying pan like a pancake,

Two hours later, bingo. A dinner fit for a king. A bottle of white was opened, for the gravy of course. By the time dinner was served I was about 7 on the Richter scale of sloshedness. It tasted all the better.

Now, I'm not a greedy boy but those melamine camping plates are too small for a 'fuck off' Christmas lunch. Out comes the matching serving platter. Good enough for me!

A small bottle of fizz, half a bottle of red and that's me done, replete and happy.

The kite runner on DVD, a buffet plate of bits and at 9:30 I'm in my bed. At 12:30 I'm wide awake and eating again, what is it about Christmas that brings out the glutton?

Can't say I'm not glad it's over for another year. Happy Christmas, Joyaux Noël, Feliz Navidad everyone.































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Location:Cabopino - Calahonda - Spain

Day Twenty Three - Christmas Day

' Boy, what day is it' I shout out to a passing youth from my van's tiny bathroom window, having a crafty fag and too nesh to go and stand out in the torrential rain.

'Why it's Christmas Day, sir' was the cheery response.

'Go fetch me the biggest goose you can find' I reply throwing him a €2 coin.

So, it's Christmas Day. Cold and pissing down with rain while blowing a gale to boot. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

My visions of eating scrambled egg and sipping Freixenet Cava, waving to the people passing my pitch, in their Christmas onesies or dressing gowns, on their way to the shower block, and wishing them a 'Merry Christmas' are dashed.

The weather during the night was appalling. Torrential rain and gale force winds came with a-vengeance and no one is about. Everyone locked in their little metal boxes having their own celebrations. Ho fucking Ho!

Those who know me would probably not use the adjective 'festive' to describe me at the best of times. I'm afraid a damp, blustery, cold day is not going to change that any day soon.

Christmas Eve was a bit of a damp squib, the glorious weather we had enjoyed for the last week or so had given way to cloud and bit of a chill in the air. I woke up feeling a bit fragile. I celebrated the fact that the gas was connected, not with a slap up oven cooked meal but with a bottle of red, a couple of rum and cokes and Jesus, do I know about it. Aside from a walk into town to get some fresh veggies and salads I did nothing bar take nana naps and try to read my ebook. So fragile I even missed my swim.

At 7 pm I decided I really ought to get something to eat, having had only a banana and water all day. Rummaging through the cupboards to find something I fancied that had to be quick, I settled on making a tuna pasta bake. It actually was quite nice, if I say so myself. I made the decision to empty the bin and go to the washing area to wash the dishes straight away. My rationale was that if I didn't, I'd have a van that had the smell of 'yesterday's sex' all Christmas. Not nice.

After dinner and my chores, at 8:30 I settled down with my book. I woke up at 1:00am, the noise from the rain was like shaking a tin of rice. I'm not sure I got back to sleep for more than 20 minutes for the rest of the night.

And now it's Christmas Day. I have had the usual eggs and smoked salmon, but with a cup of tea rather that cava. Still off the booze. My plan for the day? I was going to go for a walk in the morning then get down to cooking the traditional Christmas fayre. Given the weather it looks like I'm going to be confined to the van. I will have a shower and a shave, after all, it is Christmas.










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Location:Cabopino Camping - Calahonda - Andalucia - Spain

Day Twenty One - Calahonda

Did you know.....
Butane burns with a higher calorific value than propane, hence, things get hotter more quickly. Another interesting fact. Both Butane and Propane are bottled in a liquid form, as they are released from the bottle they vaporise, producing a gas. Butane will not vaporise at temperatures under about 5 degrees while propane will. Glad I read this. I've driven through some pretty cold areas on the way through France and Northern Spain where the temperature dropped well below zero. I'd have had no idea that the reason my butane wouldn't work was the outside temperature and probably had things in pieces.


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Location:Cabopino Camping - Calahonda - Andalucia - Spain

Day Twenty - Calahonda

Those following my foray into the world of gas engineering will be pleased to note.... I am now Corgi registered and have a fully functioning gas system working off my newly acquired Repsol K6 gas bottle. It's only taken two fucking weeks!

After returning back to base on Friday I was starting to get a little exasperated. Or should I say, Exgasperated.....

I went back into Fuengirola on Saturday morning to track down the all elusive 'thingy' ( it's "Corgi" talk) that would connect my pipes,gas bottle and adaptor to the gas regulator in the van. The bus ride into town was a huge disappointment, not nearly as exhilarating as the first one.

Once in town I set about tracking down the shop where I had purchased the other "thingys" on Friday. It was Saturday and quite a few of the shops only worked half a day so I had taken the 10:00am bus thinking it would give me loads of time. Not so... My first mistake was I got off the bus at the wrong stop. Try as I might, I couldn't for the life of me find the bloody place. I went in the direction I thought it was only to find my geographical attributes are similar to my mechanical attributes. Sadly lacking.

On my way, wandering aimlessly round the narrow streets of Fuengirola, stopping at every hardware shop I stumbled across, I had no luck. Each hardware shop I went into answered me in the negative. I've travelled enough to realise now that very often, in fact more regularly than not. When you are in foreign parts and the command of the English language is sparse, if someone doesn't understand you they tend to say 'no'. Knowing this fact, when they said 'no' I challenged them. Trying, in the little Spanish I know to draw a picture and speak louder. It usually works, but not this time.

After a good 90 minutes wandering around I had a thought. I had a receipt, on that receipt was an address, at that address was a lady who could provide me with a piece of milled metal that would enable me to have a Christmas dinner.

I took the receipt out of my backpack and asked the first person I saw. She didn't know where it was. I asked several more and got the same response. I was still walking at this stage, albeit aimlessly. By pure chance I had aimlessly walked to the very street I was looking for. I headed towards the shop. Guess what, it's closed. Fucking typical......

Not one to give up I headed up to a large retail park. I had noticed they had the equivalent of a B and Q there. Worth trying. No luck though, they had everything but the bit I needed. I was about to give up and head back to camp when I came across another hardware shop that sold BBQ's . Worth a shot, while they didn't sell the connectors, this very helpful English lad pointed me in the direction of a gas heating suppliers. I'm now sweating like the proverbial bacon pig. It's a warm day and I've walked miles and miles. I decided to give this place a go and sure enough, they didn't have what I needed either. The chap in the shop did speak English and helpfully told me there are only two places in town who would have the connector and they are both closed on Saturday. I showed him the receipt with the address. "Yes" he said. That's is one of them. With that I headed back to camp. I needed a glass of wine...

While I was in the Scottish highlands with Bill and Katrina a few weeks ago Bill showed me a very useful app for the iPhone and iPad. It's called 'maps with Me' using the inbuilt GPS in your phone and iPad it can pinpoint where you are, by downloading the country maps it gives you a street level view. The best bit, you don't have to be connected to the internet. Ideal for travellers overseas as it doesn't incur data roaming charges. During my daily 2.5km swim it occurred to me. I sure wouldn't get lost on Monday when I did my third trip into town.






Sunday was a leisurely day, breakfast of eggs on toast, a wander to the supermarket to replenish the basics. Wine and more wine. I thought it prudent not to buy the goodies for my Christmas dinner just yet, unless you can cook turkey and all the trimmings in a toaster, I'll be living on roots and berries.

A relaxing Sunday evening watching The Man who fell to Earth on DVD and a couple of glasses of wine. I need to watch the wine consumption. The wine glasses I have are huge and very deceptive. Pouring my third glass I realised I'd downed a whole bottle. Fuck it, it's Christmas and I'm on me holidays.

Monday morning, up at 8:00am. A cup of coffee and then off into town. Again, a pleasant trip with no dramatic and erratic driving. With the aid of my iphone I went directly to the gas shop and guess what. ? Got what I needed.. Not before I first got a 'no' and my heart dropped into my boots. Drawing and talking louder did the trick. Ding Dong. Christmas dinner is on again...

As I'm walking out of the shop I remembered I needed a flat screwdriver to tighten up the jubilee clips, oh and to be on the safe side, a couple of spare jubilee clips. I would walk up to the retail park and get them from B and Q (the Spanish version)

Having got what I wanted ( the day is turning out good!) I popped into Iceland. The sign outside promised 'English' groceries. I filled my bloody boots. Paxo stuffing, pigs in blankets, a pork pie and a turkey roast. I would pop to the local supermarket in the morning for the rest of the stuff. I hope I'm not being previous and I can rig up this bloody gas system....

There is only one thing worse than and excitable bus driver and that's a stressed out incompetent one. At the bus station I got my ticket and went looking for the bus. It appeared that the usual 'bendy bus' was broken and a replacement was brought. The only problem was the driver appeared not to know how it worked. The fact that he did not know how to set the destination sign on the front of the bus should have been a clue. As he weaved his way through the little streets of Fuengirola, the rear doors kept opening and closing.

Once on the auto via he had similar problems. You could see he was getting more and more stressed. His driving skills also appeared to be a bit suspect, narrowly missing a number of cars as he pulled out. A couple of stops from camp he picked up a lady, to be fair she looked a bit of a fuck wit. She got on the bus muttering in Spanish, paid her fare and walked down the bus. As the bus pulled off she screamed to the driver to stop, pointing behind her, it was. just as he joined the carriageway of the motorway. Everyone turned to look. Sat there by the side of the road was her suitcase.

Incredibly he stopped and started to reverse. A rather helpful Somalian chap jumped off the bus, ran back down the motorway, picked up her case and loaded it onto the bus. The driver stuck in first gear and carried on as if nothing had happened.

The Somalian was duly thanked by the woman and his mates. As I got off the bus I was sorely tempered to ask if they had any dodgy. DVD's. I'm running out! Where are those Somalian dodgy DVD salesman when you want them?

Back at camp I got out my screwdriver all the bits and bobs and I'm now up and working with a fully operational hob cooker. It's been a good day so far.
I shall now be mostly cooking myself a nice meal and getting shit faced. If this turns out badly and I go up like a new year's rocket. You read it here first.....and remember. Don't mess with gas or electricity. They can kill you.

By the way, I'm not really corgi registered ;-)

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Location:Cabopino Camping - Calahonda - Andalucia - Spain

Day Seventeen - Calahonda to Fuengirola

The saga with the gas continues......
Now I have a bottle, I have an adaptor, I have a hose but the nut that connects to the van supply I bought is the wrong size. It had to be didn't it...?

I took the bus into Fuengirola this morning. Despite the very windy start to the day, there was not a cloud in the sky, sure, it wasn't beach weather, but it was touching 17degrees. Probably 17 degrees warmer than it is in the UK.

Parallel to the beach is the N7 highway. It's a very very busy dual carriage way with cars and trucks pelting up and down at full whack. To get onto the highway you have to stop and wait for a gap, then go for it. I can't help thinking the planners got it wrong. Quite a lot of the towns and village are situated on the mountain side of the highway, to get to the beach, you have to cross it, to get to the next village, you have to walk on the hard shoulder. Believe me, it's not a pedestrian friendly road.

While there are pedestrian bridges from time to time, it still is a ball ache to get from the mountain side of the highway to the beach side. Because it is busy and I suspected that the traffic in Fuengirola would be heavy, I decided to take the bus. I crossed to the beach side to catch it. They are quite frequent, every 30 minutes in the week. And a bargain, 1.52 euro, not only for the journey into town but also the a white knuckle fairground ride to boot.

The driver was laughing and joking, chatting to passengers, taking fares as he pulled out into the main highway, dodging cars doing at least 70mph. By the time I got to Fuengirola I was thinking it would have been a good idea to drive myself. At least I would have had some control over my life rather than in the hands of laughing boy the psyco bus driver. I have taken some hairy bus rides in my time. In India, Nepal, the coast road of Vietnam, but this is up there with the hairiest.

The journey to Fuengirola was about 25 minutes. My intention was to find a large store called AKI which is apparently the equivalent of our B and Q. I was told they were bound to have what I needed. I knew where it was but when the bus stopped in town I decided that, rather than walk back to the retail park by the motorway, I'd have a look around for a hardware store in town.You never know, I may get the opportunity to do the second half of the two Ronnie's sketch.

Within only a five minute walk I found what I was looking for, unfortunately the very helpful lady didn't have what I was looking for but, pointed me in the direction of a store she thought could help. She even drew me a map. Having tracked the store down, I tried to explain to the young Spanish girl, in broken Spanglish what I was looking for. She tracked down the parts. A couple of bolts, a length of high pressure hose and a couple of jubilee clips. Once on the counter we set about building the connector. It was finished in no time and very nice it looked too. The price, only 6 euros. I was quite chuffed with myself. Gas mission accomplished. Or so I thought!

Having satisfied the reason for the journey I set about on a wander through town. This is the first time I've been here. Unlike quite a few of the 'costa' towns, it's a nice mix between the old and the new. Some beautiful architecture. I had a coffee at a little bar then a walk on the beach. The day was turning out quite nice and gone was the wind from further up the coast.

Fuengirola, in ancient times known as Suel and then Suhayl, is a large town and municipality on the Costa del Sol in the province of Málaga in the autonomous community of Andalusia in southern Spain. It is located on the central coast of the province and integrated into the region of the Costa del Sol and the Commonwealth of Municipalities of the Costa del Sol Occidental.
It is a major tourist resort, with more than 8 km of beaches and a mediaeval Moorish fortress. In common with much of this coast, it has been the subject of considerable urban development.
The area has a subtropical Mediterranean climate, with annual average temperatures of 18°C and average summer temperatures of over 30°C






























As I came to the end of the promenade I turned back towards the town and headed to the retail park. Now I'm here, I might as well have a look around.
The whole Mirramar retail park was a bit like Meadow Hall. Despite the heavy traffic in town and it being four days to Christmas, there were a lot less people than I expected. It wasn't like Meadow Hall which resembles trying to stroke a cat backwards at the best of times. After a wander I decided to head back to town and make my to the bus station for the white knuckle ride back to Cabopino.












The journey back wasn't nearly as hairy, maybe because the driver was paying attention to his driving rather than entertaining his passengers. Off the bus I took the short walk to the site. Tim the chap who tried to help yesterday shouted to enquire if I'd got what I went for. All sorted I cheered, Christmas dinner is back on.

Oh no it isn't. The nut that should connect to the vans gas system is the wrong size. I'll have to take the white knuckle ride once again tomorrow morning and get the right one. At least we are going in the right direction.....


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Location:Cabopino Camping - Calahonda - Andalucia - Spain

Day Sixteen - Calahonda

For several years now I've had the princely sum of £1.00 a week on the national lottery. When my numbers come up, which is less frequently than I would like, I tend to put the tenner back on with a series of lucky dips. A couple of months ago I won £10.00. It was the week that the robbing gypsy bastards at lottery HQ decided that £1.00 was too cheap and they would double it...

To cut a long story short I won £50. I decided to reinvest it, speculate to accumulate and all that shit. Anyway, the last of those draws was on Saturday 7th December.

As I was travelling, I had no access to the internet. Stopping off at a service station in south west France I logged into the internet to get my emails and up pops that email from the lotto people that started ' we have some news about the ticket you purchased on Saturday December 4th'

Generally, you would sign into your account and check your lotto messages which would tell you what you had won. But when abroad it's not as easy as that. Until last year you could sign into you account when you were overseas. You just got a warning that they thought you were overseas and if you bought or changed a ticket it would be void. You can't play lotto from other countries.
Obviously that didn't dissuade people enough as now you can't even check your account if you are outside UK, Northern Ireland or the Isle of Man.

This happened to me twice before, once when I was in Thailand! a few days before I was due home, and once in Australia last year. When in Thailand the ticket that won was one that was on direct debit and the winnings are paid into your bank account within to days. I got notification of that so I knew I hadn't won the 'big one' even so, the front wheels of the aircraft hadn't hit the ground at Manchester before I was on to the lotto site to see how how much I'd won.

It's not that I'm greedy. Seven years ago I got five numbers. I was like a dog with two dicks. The £1400 paid for a very enjoyable trip to Peru and Machu Pichu. All my friends could say was how unlucky I was not to have got the six and scooped a 3.5 million share of a £14 million double rollover.

As this latest winning ticket was not on Direct Debit there was no way of finding out if I was a millionaire or £25.00 better off.

Last night, exchanging a few texts with my friend back home. I couldn't wait three months to find out. I gave her my user ID and password and asked her to check. I'm really not sure what I'd do if it is a big win. But we'll soon find out......

And as I write this a text comes through "not the big one, £25.00"
Bollocks, Bollocks, Bollocks.... As I said, I'm not greedy :-)







At least the wind has dropped and the sun has come out.

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Location:Cabopino Camping - Calahonda - Andalucia - Spain

Day Fifteen - Calahonda

It's been a bit of a wild and windy night. I've not slept much at all, what with the sounds of the strong winds buffeting the van and the cheap B and Q garden furniture blowing around the campsite and large plastic bins being swept like tumble weed down the service roads.

When I did eventually drop off bloody pine cones the size of cricket balls were being blown from the tree above me, landing on the top of the van and putting paid to any chance of a snooze.

It rained for the first time yesterday, it was forecast so it should have come as no surprise. The timing could not have been better. I'd just left the van for the short walk to the indoor swimming pool to do my, now daily, 100 laps of the pool when the heavens opened. It's not the warmest of 'heated' swimming pools, especially as the heating is done by a huge bank of solar panels and there has been a distinct lack of anything solar all day.

By the time I got there, a short 5 minute walk, I was absolutely saturated. I did have the good sense to stuff my towel up my fleece so at least that would be dry. It was good to get in the pool to get warm. After I'd finished my swim and exited the pool, I was rather disappointed to find the rain had increased somewhat during my 45 minutes in the pool. My previously dry towel was situated under the only bloody leak in the pools roof and it was as wet as I was. If the wind keeps up during today, at least it's going to dry.

My gas saga continues. I am at least some way towards a solution though.
Yesterday I procured a 6kg Repsol gas bottle. I quite simply lied and made up an address. I was asked for proof of address so made one up. I'd written it down when I went to the supermarket. My friend Mandy had given me the idea. She has a place not far from where I am and suggested that I use her address. I didn't do that in case there were repercussions but wrote down some unsuspecting soul's address I happened to pass and gave that as mine.

The put on the confident look I used often as a sales person and Ding dong. I got the bottle. Now I have one it is quite simple just to swap it when I need a refill. But it's not quite as easy as that, it never is ;-). Although I have the Spanish adaptor that goes on the bottle to connect to the high pressure hose. , I appear not to have the right high pressure hose. I have propane, I need butane.So I now have gas but no way to connect it to my pipe. I know exactly what I need, it's just finding one.

I very helpful English chap who has pitch at the end of my 'street' offered it assist. I got chatting to him at the communal area where you wash your pots. He said be had a big box of hoses and offered to have a look. He came round to my 'house' with what only be described as a Heath Robinson array of pipes, connectors, regulators and jubilee clips. I'm sure, if I'd have let him he would have bodged something up. I'm afraid I declined. I really would prefer not to go up like a New Year fire cracker.

During the afternoon I wandered into the small town. There was a ironmongery shop there and a shop, owned by a Chinese bloke that seems to the equivalent of the pound land shop. I know he doesn't speak English at all as a couple of days ago I tried to buy a 30amp fuse for the battery charging unit that I know full well is broken but can't seem to let go.....

Trying to explain that I wanted a high pressure gas hose to the old Spanish man in the ironmongers was not unlike that sketch with the two Ronnie's. I didn't get one, despite him trying to persuade me that I could use a water hose. Fortunately I also didn't get any 'O' or 'fork handles'.

I did stop off at the Chinese shop, just on the off chance. No luck there although I did buy a few bits, including a 30amp fuse. I had already tried the 25 amp fuse which didn't do the trick. It was only 75c for a box of mixed ones and you can never have too many fuses....

For those that know me, they will well appreciate there are only a couple of people who dislike Christmas more than me. Ebenezer, somebody or other and Matthew Williamson. I quite like Christmas Eve but that's about it. It's a distraction to real life. Shopping is like stroking a cat backwards. It's tortuous and I dislike it a lot.

Today I mellowed somewhat, I saw something in the Chinese emporium that is my (so far) only acknowledgement of the season. I know it's a small step. I bought a mulled wine and cinnamon air freshener. It's now installed in my van and it smells like Christmas!

Today I will be taking a trip to Fueingirola in search of that elusive high pressure gas hose. I think I'll take the bus. Visions of trying to park a big van in a shopping centre car park meant for small cars, with that added nightmare of it being four days before Christmas and if the Spanish are anything like the Brits, they will be on a mission, wanting to buy anything that isn't nailed down whether they need it or not. No.... The bus it is.........


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Location:Cabopino Camping - Calahonda - Andalucia - Spain