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So, undaunted by yesterdays huge waste of time, we set off all scrubbed and optimistic for the Flying Man Competition
which is organised by Gina Maskill and starts at 3.00pm. We arrive at 2.30pm which gives us 30 minutes to hunt
it down. We ask every single person we meet but nobody is admitting anything apart from a man who thinks it is taking
place in Germany. Maybe it is?
After about 45 minutes we give up and depart while harbouring uncharitable thoughts about Gina. According to Facebook, she
has 1,891 friends. If she spends one hour per year talking to each of these friends that will take her a solid 40 hours
per week - not allowing for dialling time and wrong numbers. No wonder the whole weekend was a shambles.
On the way back from town we decide to stay on the number 3 bus all the way to Europa Point which is the last place on
earth that
Neanderthal Man
survived. I guess it was warm and the caves look pretty inaccessible to enemies - location, location, location.
We go for a walk but find after a while that the road has been closed for building work - oh for a boat.
In the evening we watch a TV programme about Winnebago Man,
Jack Rebney
which is very funny but also somewhat moving. The final fate of the world's grumpiest man is that he is living in a
tiny hut on top of a mountain by himself and has just lost his eyesight. But he has an army of fans so maybe things will
work out OK. Let's hope so - we grumps need all the help we can get.
We get a number 2 bus from town which leaves us high up on The Rock. Determined not to lose altitude (we are trying to
avoid the final 100 yards up to our flat) we keep going up endless staircases that go nowhere. On the way we encounter
endless pussy cats. Wisely, the local residents have hidden all the wheelie bins ...
Eventually, after about an hour of mountaineering we drop down towards The Rock Hotel. There is a sign telling us to watch out for falling rocks and sure enough there is the proof in the middle of the road.
In the afternoon we go to see a nice lady we know in Benalmadena.
In the morning a mystery ship goes past - is it a private yacht or something a bit military? The crew are all dressed in
black so maybe it is somebody who wants us to think he is a man of mystery.
In the late morning we are debating what to do when I suddenly remember our expensive tickets to the concert in Saint
Michael's Cave.
We duly get on one of a fleet of buses to the cave which is quite magical. Being amongst the first to arrive - mainly
because I thought it started at 8.30pm - we get good seats. Meaning we can not only see and hear but nothing is falling
on our heads - unlike the bass drum which gets a direct hit during one of the quieter passages.
The concert is a bit spoiled for me because the audience insist on showing their ignorance by
clapping between movements.
It's not hard - red wine you keep at room temperature and white in the fridge. And tear your bread roll, don't cut it.
Steak should never be "well done" and don't Christen your kids with names off the TV. Never, ever talk on a mobile
phone within 50 yards of people. And don't let your little bastards continuously scream their heads of like those cretins
in Sacarellos earlier on. If you can remember all that you will go far.
A few years ago somebody said to me "I know everybody thinks their kids are wonderful but my kids really are
wonderful". Wrong. They are not. They are merely very irritating and should be kept well away from grumpy adults.
Fortunately, the recession is doing its bit to keep them out of restaurants - it is an ill wind that blows no good.
I like fire boats - maybe we should get one? I guess you would get lots of good party invites with a fire boat and you
could accidentally soak people you don't like.
Since the weather is a bit cooler we set off on an expedition to the beach in La Linea. On the way we see an abandoned
chair and I feel an artistic urge coming on. As for the cloud streaming over the rock, I had not even noticed it before we
started shooting.
That's probably what happened in Psycho - they were all set to do some soft porn in the shower when somebody walked in
front of the lights carrying a bread knife on his way to the kitchen.
On the beach we decide to try out one of the new beach fron restaurants but they all have music blaring so loudly that
you cannot hear a word anyone is saying. Finally, we run out of places to eat and decide, through gritted teeth, to try
the one pictured where the bastards ripped us off for one Euro a year or so ago.
We sit down and prepare to wait for an hour or so before leaving in disgust. To our amazement, a waitress turns up and
takes our drinks order with a smile. Then a nice man who speaks English arrives and then another waiter. We eat delicious
sardines and stuff and the whole experience is delightful. Can you imagine it? A restaurant where they actually serve
you nice food and drinks without you having to keep craning your kneck and trying to catch a waiter's eye as they discuss
yesterday's football! Staggering but true.
In the afternoon we go to Morrisons where, to my intense irritation, the old hag who blew my ears off a few months back is still yelling her head off. There really is a case for euthenasia. We drive back slowly behind a scooter which has its work cut out getting up the hill.
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