It's Easy To Talk

IT'S EASY TO TALK

By

James Gardner

I’ll begin this with a statement

‘There is nothing I say or write that someone, somewhere won’t find offensive, so fasten your seat belts'

TABLE OF CONTENT

1Pain in the ass

2Trouble

3Orca

4 D’Grue

5 Dykes

6 Clientèle

7 The Big. KO

8Kitz/Jane of Wales

9 Finland

10 Break down

11 Dutch courage

12Beware the Greeks

13 Ten

14 Harry

15 Footing the Bills

16 Black Dog

17 X Mas

18 Valentine/Walking the line

19 The Germans

20 Sydney

21 Own Goal

22 Gambling Man

23 Opinions

24 Uncle Buck

25 Leo and Co

26 Marta part 1

27 Punch and Judy

28 One singer

29 Teeth

30 Divorce

31 Marta part2

32 Keep them close

33 Monkey on our back

34 Wind/ fooled again

35 Bureaucracy

36 Up shit creak without a paddle

37Stuck in the middle

38 The Choice is yours

39Silence in court

Chapter 1

Pain in the ass

Living in a Multi cultural community was always going to be a problem, given the complexity of our lives and the inevitable baggage. I guess in our defence it was all about survival, after all like most of the World we’d seen our assets half overnight and we were, not to put too fine a point on it, struggling. Things may have been different had one or 2 issues been resolved in the beginning however as one wag said ‘There’s no point in looking back you only strain your neck’

These days everyone involved in my/our acrimonious divorce had moved on and the once bitter acrimony to some extent a memory. Back then we were living with Helens parents and one evening over dinner we explained our predicament. The following morning, having had time to digest both the food and our predicament Helens father suggested we speak with an average golfer/ Professional lawyer by the name of Robert. This we did, however as history will show we chose not to heed his advice and instead do our own thing which I guess in hind sight was irresponsible. Fast forward to today

Due to an impending wedding taking place in Edinburgh we that is Helen and I were invited back to the UK and given it was one of our daughters who was tying the knot, a ‘no show!’ wasn’t an option. A quick call to Robert was required. I guess, after all this time he may have considered my call for advice a shade impertinent, then again, given he was a Lawyer perhaps not, anyhow niceties over I cut to the chase explained my predicament and asked for advice and to be honest he was extremely helpful.

With a visit to the UK on the horizon and the possibility of returning permanently I figured it made sense to take advantage of the money we’d paid over the years for private health cover by having a few potential problems resolved. For me, both problems were recurring. One was the pain in my right knee and the other; my bleeding ass.

1st port of call was to Doctor Valerie. As per usual she did what she did with aplomb; pity really considering I was made to drop my trousers while she viewed the passage to the abyss. Inspection over she confirmed the obvious, I did indeed have piles problems. As for the knee: again it was self evidently buggered. While I sorted what needed sorting Valerie made a couple of calls and hey! presto, in the wink of an eye I had appointments with two specialists; Pile expert Dr Salgado and Knee specialist Dr Martin

Within days I met with Dr Salgado and his female assistant and endured the humiliation of dropping my pants in preparation of having a thorough inspection of my bum innards. Inspection over I pulled up my strides, again tucked in what needed tucking in and sat down to hear what the Doc had to say. Basically he couldn’t assess my situation i.e. cancerous or otherwise without going in! And going in meant a general anaesthetic and an overnight stay in Malaga hospital holly molley!

Next stop; the knee doctor. From the word go I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Doc Martin. He showed more interest in my beloved than my knee and his salacious innuendoes were what one would associate with a near the knuckle comedian than a doctor. As for his diagnosis! Unsurprisingly, the knee had to be x rayed before he could comment. I could have told him that.

A few days later having completed the x rays we returned to Dr Martin where, once again we were forced to listen to his double entrées while he perused the results of the x ray. Seems I had the knees of a 70 yr old and given I was-- well considerably younger, this was not good news. Apparently all was not lost and on the basis I was prepared to shell out 300€ for some magic Gel (the equivalent to silicone) the knee could be given a stay of execution. When questioned as to why? I had to pay for the gel he simply said that my private health cover didn’t cover this procedure oh! And by way of helping me reduce the cost of the product he suggested I buy from a place down town, who it would appear could sell it to me for 200€! Perhaps this is/was a scam in the making.

One week later around mid day saw me and Helen arrive at the Hospital in Malaga and by 9 pm that same evening I’d been done so to speak, that is to say the doctors assistant had prepared me, Dr Salgado had gone in and did what he had to do; end result, overwhelming success. No sign of cancer, only an understandable pain in the ass due to the operation. When I awoke I was lying in a comfy single bed and lying adjacent in a single bed, Helen, spark out

The following week Helen, having decided she should also take advantage of the situation made an appointment with Doctor Valerie and two days later we arrived at the doctor’s surgery. Lest you were unaware; when Helen puts her mind to something, that something is carried out with military precision. No stone is left unturned; everything is put under the microscope and analysed. The doc having known Helen for a number of years expected nothing less and she wasn’t to be disappointed. Every sinew, bone, nerve put under the microscope and every nook and cranny investigated apart that was from the saga that was the ongoing menopause

Due in the main to the political agenda surrounding the urbanisation I was ‘in effect’ sacked by my beloved and with the sacking came a loss of income. This of course was a huge dent, to my huge ego; however, the silver lining was that I wouldn’t be called upon to prostitute myself by doffing my cap and bowing to those I despised. The real down side to all of this however this was we had a substantial mortgage to pay, food to buy, and very little by way of income. How on earth were we going to square this circle?

Fortuitously via a genuine, long term friendship we were being paid €60 per month to manage an apartment in the urbanisation and with the management came repairs and opportunity. Opportunity No1 came by way of a web site; a ‘holiday’ web site to be precise and within days of logging on we received more enquires than we could handle. Opportunity No 2 came by way of a neighbour. An English female neighbour, as it happens who was going through an awkward divorce and by way of persuasion figured renting her apartment would at the very least pay for the community fees, which to be honest at circa 5k/annum was substantial. Only slight problem for her was the apartment needed freshening up before it could be let and of course for the meagre sum of €300 I was the very boy to do the freshening Opportunity No 3 was the involvement of transportation. Helen had, at one time worked for a closet gay chap who’s business it was to organise golf ‘T’ times, transportation to and from golf courses and pick-ups to and from the airport etc. consequently we cut a deal whereby we would promote his transportation facility to those who rented property from us and in return he would pay us a10% commission

Once again we had a business; albeit a tiny business, nevertheless given we had this god awful mortgage hanging around our neck it was a start. Problem was I struggled to come to terms with charging friends for my services. Especially when each and each time they arrived at the urbanisation for a break they treated us like royalty. Whenever we ventured out for dinner they invariably picked up the tab and believe me picking up the tab in Marbella can be as much as a small village’s debt. Don’t get me wrong I was more than happy to be out there working. It kept me from the house and saved me and Helen from killing one another. I wasn’t however prepared to ask for the cash. Asking for money just wasn’t’/isn’t in my DNA. For a while; metaphorical speaking Helen carried out the financial dirty work, until she tired of baling me out and told me to grow some balls. Insults not withstanding, I looked towards my nether regions and agreed and; albeit reluctantly, began raising invoices which my friends duly paid, without fuss or enquiry.

Life on the coast was similar to life in most places. Some days were good and some bad. Naturally the weather was a bonus; however truth is nobody does anything different, Human nature and its frailties transcends everywhere, as I will now demonstrate.

We bumped into a female friend of ours recently. A woman, who too all intents and purposes had embraced the Spanish way of life. Amid the chat she recalled a few stories of her recent dealings with the Spanish

Story 1

One bright morning, having just moved into her apartment our friend heard the familiar sound of the fruit and vegetable guy announcing his arrival and so, given she lived in a relatively remote area she figured why not! and off she went. Shopping over, she figured she the guy around €18 and so she handed him a €20 and waited, but to no avail. When confronted with regards to the outstanding €2 the man in the van grunted like an ape, shoved 2 oranges into her bag and in effect told her to fuck off! Somehow or other she kept her council and walked off. Moments later having given the incident some thought she returned to the van, pulled out a banana, tore back the skin, grunted like a gorilla and handed it to the monkey behind the counter. I’m betting he didn’t, nor will he ever, understand the significance of her actions. P.S. She never did go back to the fruit and veg/man.

Story 2

One bright sunny morning en route to the bank the same woman decided to pull over and stop for coffee. Coffee over she stepped inside the bar handed the girl €5 and in return was handed 3 Euros! As she was about to leave she noticed that the man who had been drinking a coffee opposite walked to the bar, put down a Euro and walked off. Intrigued by the apparent disparity she asked the girl why? She had paid more for her coffee than the man, to which the girl simply shrugged her shoulders and said it was because he was a local.

The following day I wandered into the local Builders merchant. A place where normally I feel charmed if the guy behind the desk refrains from spitting in my face and lo and behold ‘Sad Sack’, as I’d christened him actually said, albeit begrudgingly "Buenos Dias (good morning) jumping Jesus! You could have knocked me over with a grape.

As I say, life was fractious and money tight and I often wondered if our relationship could withstand the pressures. Not that we had a choice, as Churchill once said ‘if you are going through hell; keep going.’

I guess it was around February when the daughter who married in Edinburgh on November called to ask for our help: Well not so much ask; as plead with us and in particular me to get my sorry ass back to the Capital ASAP, the reason? She and new hubby, having spoken to people in the industry decided to rent their property over the Festival period and surprise, surprise their apartment wasn’t anywhere near the standard required. Stevie Wonder could have made that call.

Due in part to emotional blackmail/ compassion, Helen and I agreed to return to Edinburgh on the 16th of February, on a mission impossible. Well not really a mission; more an undertaking to transform our kids apartment from a slum environment to habitable surroundings. No big deal on the grand scale of things. I’d been fitting kitchens, bathrooms and re modelling apartments for years. Only difference this time was it was a non paying job: a labour of love if you like.

The renovation work in itself was no big deal; Travelling to Edinburgh and back on the other hand would be arduous. Helen, as was her privilege opted to fly from Malaga to Edinburgh. I on the other hand was left with little option but to take the planes, boats, trains and auto-mobiles route, alone.

Ironically in November 2012 when the Bride and Groom craved my attendance at their wedding they pulled out all the stops. Nothing was too much trouble. Back then when I arrived by ferry on the West coast they both travelled all the way from the East to collect me and had done so without so much as a whimper. On this occasion however the newly-weds were less accommodating. Apparently, due to work scheduling; and get this; having to walk the dogs; they were struggling to come get me, ergo; could I see my way to getting myself through to Edinburgh via the bus.

And so it was that on the day of departure we left our apartment around 10 am and by 10,45am had arrived at Malaga airport. 2 hours later having bade my beloved a fond farewell I was in the sky along with 200 human beings, each and every one fighting for storage space as if their life depended on it. 4 hours later, having arrived in Dublin airport it was once again onwards and upwards, destination Edinburgh, well not quite. From Dublin airport I boarded a bus which would take me to within ½ mile of the train station. Suitcase in hand, I negotiated my way through the town to the station and 3 hours later, having paid the equivalent of what it may cost for a new suit I arrived in Belfast. Two hours later, having taken care of business I hopped into a taxi, heading for the port where, having loitered with intent for 2 hours I embarked on the PO ferry; destination Scotland. By around 10pm the ship docked on the other side of the Irish Sea, whereupon, having collected my gear I disembarked and set off in search of the bus. Bus duly located, I boarded and by around arrived in Edinburgh. Again I disembarked, collected my luggage and via shanks pony i.e. on foot, made my way from the bus station to the apartment. Final time of arrival; Midnight

Around 1am I collapsed into a bed beside Helen and by 3am awoke to the unendurable sound of traffic. Swear to God for one horrible second I thought we were ‘sleeping in a bed, on the road’ To be honest had we been ‘sleeping in a bed on the road’ the noise could not have been more thunderous. The root causes of the problems were (a) we were in fact sleeping above a major road and (b) the windows were so thin I swear I could have thrown a tea leaf through them. For the remainder of the night we both lay partially awake and partially asleep and in the morning rose like the waking dead. Nevertheless sleep deprivation or otherwise we had a job to do and do it we would. It was time to don the superman vest. That same day we hauled out the old kitchen, had it taken away and by around 9pm we both ground to a halt. We needed beverage and sustenance; big time, and so it was off to the local pub/bistro.

To be fair; Edinburgh is a major player in terms of history, culture etc. it’s also happens to be the Capital City of Scotland, thus expectations regarding dining etc. are always going to be high and rightly so. Byblos was the bistro we entered and I’m glad to report it was befitting the area in that it ticked our boxes and almost before our bums hit seats we had ordered. Don’t quite recall what we ordered that evening but whatever it was it fitted the bill. Having said that, I guess on this occasion a plate of dog food and bowl of tap water, would have been welcome.

Duly fed and watered we returned to the apartment only to be greeted by our Kid, her two pedigree dogs and her new hubby. Amid chat I mentioned the bedroom road noise, to which they both seemed perplexed. ‘Had they ever slept in that room’? I enquired, ‘no’ came the reply! ‘Would it be OK? For us to sleep in the pull down bed in the lounge’ Said I ‘No problem’ they muttered, in unison. And so, having pulled down the bed and clambered in, it was ‘goodnight’ from me and ‘goodnight’ from her. I would like to say we slept like babies; truth is we didn’t sleep at all. Unbeknown to us, directly below the apartment was a disco/night club. Not just any old night club I might add. in terms of decibels probably the most raucous/ noisiest night club known to mankind. The din kicked off around midnight and carried on until either the police arrived or Dawn came up. Either way it seemed to last forever. The thing that struck me most about this event was that throughout the night I could actually hear what the people on the street were saying to one another other to such a degree I almost wanted to question some of their statements. ‘Was Pete a dirty rotten bastard for cheating on Debbie?’ ‘Was Tania a slag?’ ‘Did Roger have a spare joint?’ etc. all discussed and debated with remarkable clarity

Around 7am we rose bleary eyed. Initially we both felt irritated by the late night shenanigans until; over a brew we realised it had been an eventful; nay educational; experience. Problem for us now was where to go. Where, within these walls would we get a good night’s sleep? And on the assumption that the answer would be assuredly negative; how would we cope? Transpire because of the hours and effort we were putting in, the noise wasn’t really an issue, there could have been a brass band marching down the street and we would have simply looked to one another before turning over; although having said that we had our moments

One morning around 4 am, while the party downstairs was just beginning we heard in the distance the familiar sound of a fire engine. Although the noise seemed to be coming our way; we initially paid little heed, until the decibel level increased and the fire engine seemed in close proximity and sure enough when I peered through the tattered curtains, there it was, a bloody great fire engine, so close to the apartment I felt I could have climbed on board.

The 3 weeks spent in Edinburgh were on occasion thought provoking, especially with regards to our daughters. Although all four were successful and self- sufficient in their own right; their chosen beaus were less so. Our oldest Daughter, aged 30 years had a 45yr old boyfriend/ hypochondriac with a personality disorder. The second oldest, aged 28 had only recently hooked up with a 24yr old boyfriend fostering religious tendencies. One of the twins aged 25yrs of age had married a Mexican dentist with insecurity problems and the one we were staying with had married a guy who relied on his new wife the way a child relies on Mothers milk.

One Saturday morning, amid torrential rainfall my partner in crime decided she needed a coffee and so in the interest of having an easy life off we set; destination Starbucks. As per usual we waited patiently in the queue until finally it was our turn. ‘Two coffees please, in a cup, not a plastic container if you don’t mind; a cup!’ His response to this day astounds me. ‘Sorry sir, can’t do coffee in a cup on a Saturday.’ clearly I didn’t hear correctly so I repeated the request to which he again replied ‘sorry sir, don’t do coffee in a cup on Saturday’s. We both looked at each other in bewilderment. Whoa! ‘Pray tell why can’t you give us a coffee in a cup?’