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Whoever invented alcohol and digital cameras has a lot to answer for. Finally we leave at 2.00am but our hostess is so
disappointed that she runs down the street to persuade us to stay. Which is very flattering. But as I express to my
girlfriend "better to depart when they are sad to see you go than when they are relieved".
Later on we go for a trip round Gibraltar in the brilliant sunshine. Wherever we look, constructon work is going on - part of the property boom that permeated every area of Europe and probably the world for all I know. Who is going to buy all these apartments? We might manage one but that still leaves a lot to go at ...
The wind is blowing hard as some dinghy sailors find out in the bay.
Late at night we go to look at a beautiful apartment from the outside to see what the area is like when it is dark. There
is virtually no traffic but as soon as I park a huge white dustcart careers towards us flashing its lights and blowing
it's horn while the driver yells something incomprehensible out of the window. Possibly, "nice car, well parked" but I
think not.
After twenty minutes or so we drive off but as the road is clearly going nowhere, I do a rapid U-turn whereupon the
ghostly white dustcart hurtles right on top of us again out of nowhere, flashing its lights and blowing its horn. What is
a dustcart doing hurtling round the streets of Gibraltar at midnight? Clearly, this is a paranormal experience. Maybe a
reincarnation of Moby Dick come back for my other leg? Or perhaps the truck from Steven Spielberg's
Duel made real?
Either way it is a clear warning not to buy the Apartment as the area is haunted by the ghost of a giant dustcart that
patrols the streets looking for innocent victims to terrify. Nice view though.
Later, I realise that the dustcart could well have been on it's way to the main Gibraltar rubbish tip which is just up
the road. Why didn't the agent mention that? Perhaps he forgot.
My girlfriend has decided that we need a cocktail shaker. Quite why, I'm not sure, since neither of us know anything about
cocktails apart from what we have seen in the Bond films ("a dry Martini, shaken not stirred"). Come to think of
it, she has also bought a bottle of Martini from Morrisons. Would James Bond buy his Martini from Morrisons? Probably
not.
Eventually she finds one in "We Sell Everything" for £2.80 who, for once, live up to their name.
We go to check out the location of the rubbish tip and find that it is tucked away right at the end of the peninsula. On the way back we pass yet another development perched high up on the edge of a cliff.
We have a few people round to watch
Om Shanti Om but even before we start
our giant bottle of Bacardi, bought two weeks ago in Andorra, is showing serious signs of wear. Maybe it is evaporation?
After three or four hours the evaporation has reached alarming proportions and we may have to make a trip to Morrisons.
We finally shovel people out of the door at 2.00am which is always a sign that everybody had a good time.
Later, there is the most incredible thunder storm - at one point the flash and the bang are simultaneous and absolutely
deafening (even for somebody who is already deaf). This is something few people ever experience without being
actually struck. I assume that the lightning has hit one of the maintenance towers which are STILL there while they
await some glass from Denmark (don't ask). My girlfriend sleeps through all this without a murmur.
We get up late, clear up and then get ready to flee the country via Malaga airport. On the way we drop off a few
perishable items at Katey's place where we all have an opportunity to admire her beautifully straightened teeth.
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