I’ve been

Fourteenth Time Lucky

I am awaiting my new passport. When and if I get it, and there are no snags, I will be fourteenth time lucky.

I am the female equivalent of Clark Kent, AKA Superman. I am mild-mannered and a bit of a klutz. But that’s as far as it goes; the leaping tall buildings at a single bound and running faster than a speeding bullet is a bit beyond me. Also, you will be relieved to know, I wear my knickers on the inside of my trousers.

However, that all changes when I am faced with Technology. One failed encounter and I am cross. Two, and I’m furious. Three has me foaming at the mouth and filled with homicidal intentions but sometimes I have to take myself in hand. One such occasion was my passport, which was due to run out this January.

In June I set about renewing it, bearing in mind the Government’s admonition to renew any passports six months before they run out. I went on the web, found the site and was greeted by the message that they are very busy, come back later.

So I did – in July. We’re busy, go away was the essence of the message.

I left August alone, and returned in September. Go away, we’re busy.

They were still busy in October, so I tried again at the beginning of December, when they were still too busy to give me ether time. By now I felt it was getting uncomfortably close to expiry date, so acting on recommendation I passed the problem on to Claire at Total Entertainment.

I took all the things I considered necessary: the passport, my NIE, Residencia, and just in case, my Padron. I had not for one moment considered that they would want my bank access code, and I’m still not happy about that. I went home, got it, and went back.

Claire somehow managed to knock some sense into them, and I watched her put my old passport in an envelope and stick it down ready to send.

• When I got home there was a message waiting for me – we need your old passport. It’s on the way, you fools!
• Minutes later the message came up – disregard the previous message. That I’m quite happy to do!
• Between Christmas and the New Year I got the message; Send your old passport.
• Hard on the heels of that came; We’ve received your passport, but you must sign the new one. OK, send it and I’ll sign it.
• Next message; Here’s how to sign you new passport. First I have to have it, you morons!
• Next message; When you receive your new passport you must sign it. Duh!
• Next message - hopefully the last one. We’ll return your old passport to you under separate cover. Well, that’s nice!

I presume in the fullness of time I’ll get the new one?

*As I write Claire has phoned – my passport is ready! Thanks Claire, you’ve done all the heavy lifting on this one!

New Year Resolutions

Have you made any New Year resolutions?

It was the evening of the first of January, 2014. The three elderly men were sitting at the bar of Las Palmeras in the little village of Campillo.

They had all been born in the village, and although as youngsters they had been good friends, as they became adults their lives had taken separate directions, and they had lost touch with each other. Retirement had brought them back to the village of their birth, and they sat together, sipping their beer and comfortably reminiscing about times past.

Manuel, the youngest at sixty six, and who had always had an interest in the Arts, had left the village to go to University, from where he had made a career as an organiser of exhibitions, concerts and stage productions of all sorts. His career had taken him all over the world, but now he was ready to quit his hectic lifestyle, and had bought a large townhouse in the village, where he planned to quietly spend the rest of his days, enjoying the considerable amount of money he had made.

Francisco, a smart figure in his expensive casual clothes, had put his sharp mind and natural eloquence to good use, rising from humble clerk in the solicitor’s office in the local town to eventually become a nationally respected barrister. He had defended or prosecuted many high profile cases, but now he was looking forward to a life of peace and quiet in the countryside in his luxury farmhouse and his small but productive vineyard.

José, the oldest, his face browned by seventy summer suns, sat between his two friends. He had never left the village, making his living by taking whatever work was offered to him. He was well liked by everybody – even the children called him Grandpa, and as long as he had a roof over his head, and food on the table, he was content.

Soon the conversation turned to New Year resolutions. Manuel laughingly suggested that they each make a resolution to achieve the thing that they most desired, and that they should meet in the same bar on the first of January 2015.

‘Whoever has not kept their resolution will pay for the drinks for the others for a whole year.’ He proposed.
‘Done!’ Francisco agreed. ‘What about you, José? Do you want to join in the bet?’
‘What are your resolutions going to be?’ Questioned José quietly.

’Oh!’ Manuel laughed, and stroked his bald head. ‘My life has been so stressful that I lost all my hair by the age of forty five. I am going to grow a new head of hair! What about you, Francisco?’
Francisco laughed, showing his perfect white teeth. ‘My hair may be grey, but at least I have it! No, good living and good eating have rotted my teeth – these teeth look perfect, but they are all false; I will grow a new set of teeth.’
The two looked at José. ‘What about you, José?’ Enquired Francisco. ‘What is your resolution? A trip to Madrid, perhaps? Or a cruise?’
José finished his beer, and stood up. ‘I’m going to marry a Beauty Queen.’ He put his glass on the counter and left the bar.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t have done this?’ Manuel said seriously. ‘He has never even left the village, he’s never going to meet a Beauty Queen, far less marry one! I was joking, and I know you were too, but I think our friend took us seriously. I do hope we have not hurt him with our silly talk.’
Francisco stroked his elegantly cut grey hair. ‘No. By our standards José has not travelled far out of the village, we may consider him to be poor and his life very simple, but he is not stupid. I think he understands us very well.’

On the evening of the first of January 2015 Manuel and Francisco were sitting at the bar Las Palmeras, chatting and sipping their beer, waiting for their friend José to arrive.
Suddenly a familiar voice behind them said ‘Ah! Manuel, I see you have not grown any hair in the last year. And you, Francisco, I see you still smile with false teeth.’
‘José!’ The friends greeted each other warmly. ‘And who is this lady by your side?’ Francisco turned to the smart elderly lady with a smile.

‘May I introduce my wife, Maria.’ José took her arm affectionately. ‘I was lonely since my wife passed away five years ago, and Maria has been a widow for over two years, so we decided to marry last December. You might remember her.’ He added. ‘When we were youngsters, she was Maria Gonzalez, crowned Miss Campillo in 1957.

So, you see, I kept my New Year resolution, I won the bet, so I believe that you both owe us drinks for the rest of the year.’