Chapter 21
One of my worries, as I built up El Campo was that there was no natural successor to me when I finally departed this worldly place, I didn’t want it to die with me, or worse, be turned into a hotel/theme park. Robin was happily reproducing in Coventry, he was obviously ‘not being sent to Coventry’ as they were now on their third, and Alice was following in hot pursuit on the Norfolk Broads – but hopefully not on a boat – she is a terrible swimmer, but a possible solution reared its head when I visited Wroxham that first time. I must admit that I did fall in love with the Broads the day before I fell in love with Sue, so later, when the timing was right I started to tentatively discuss the possibility of moving in with her in the summer months. Holiday makers from the cooler climes flock to coastal Spain from mid-July to early September, but if they were to venture just a few kilometres inland they would find the pueblos (villages or small towns) deserted, their inhabitants fleeing to their campo’s - their ‘families’ country homes - to escape some of the heat. Whilst parking and driving may be a nightmare in Torrevieja during that time, Crevillente, just a few miles inland would be deserted - it is the only time you can have the pick of the parking spaces. It had always been a veritable ghost town as and the bars and smaller shops took it in turns to shut down for two weeks (or more) for ‘vacaciones’, but because of global warming it was now getting hotter and longer.
‘Let’s rename your pad ‘finca Coola’, and escape from the sun?’ I suggested.
‘But the temperatures can go well into the mid-twenties, or even higher’ she said.
‘Shear bliss’ I said ‘I’ve had Christmas dinner on the patio when it’s been even hotter', it was a slight exaggeration, but not by much, and I ‘was’ on my veranda earlier this year - in my tee-shirt, when Robin rang me to say that they were ‘snowed in’ yet again, apparently it was very unseasonal, but it was still snow, and he had joked that they might just become ‘snow birds’ – people (usually retired) from UK, Germany and Holland that spend the winter months in Spain, usually in Motor-homes or Caravans.
Alice had made it clear on several occasions that Mi Casa was not her ‘favouritest’ place in the world, ‘it was like a prison’, with only the staff to keep them company - a slight exaggeration but I took her point - so I went and dug out some of Pauls (my long-time friend, and Architect to El Campo) plans: I had a plan.
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Just after I had moved into El Campo I’d (I’d as in, those with big guns on their hips, at the front gate) had a visit from the ‘Police Local’, apparently someone had seen one of my snakes on my beach, ‘and could I please ensure that it didn’t happen again’. Vicente had got back to them post haste and told them that what I allowed on my beach was up to me, so go and prosecute the trespasses, or words to that effect, but it didn’t change the fact that apparently I not only owned at least one snake – but I also owned a beach. El Campo was on a plateaux, raised above the surrounding area, but unfortunately Mother Nature is not symmetrical so it was neither a perfect square nor a circle, it had a very ‘odd’ footprint, and one of the odd features was were my snakes and beach were situated. On its western perimeter, the plateaux, just before it reached the sea veered off to the left, cutting off the corner. It didn’t look much on the ‘bigger picture’, but if you looked really closely, my actual boundary line did not veer off; it made a bee line for the sea.
Many, many years ago, whilst it was still a military base there must have been a problem, perhaps with squatters or gypsies, and their solution on how to get rid of the problem was to plant a long row of very, very large concrete blocks, running from the cliff face (it wasn’t a very large cliff face, but it was my cliff face) to the sea, enclosing a large triangle of waste land, and a fairly presentable portion of a very beautiful beach along with it, and between the two sections was a very dilapidated red and white (or it used to be) pole that could be hinged up to let the traffic through, what traffic? Fire Engines, I was reliably informed, that came through one of several CRASH GATES in El Campo’s fence, and down a dirt track to it, I certainly didn’t want any ‘crashes’ off the airfield, for the gates to be used for, but unfortunately the Aviation Authorities said that I did: so end of story. When somebody found a ‘universal key’ to fit the ‘universal crash gate lock’, I - that is me, Paul and Uncle Tom Cobbly and all, went to have a look, but I stayed on the public side of the blocks, I prefered the view from there, unlike the rest of the ‘wusses’, who hoped that the snake/s respected the boundary: I they obviously don’t ‘do’ snakes. It was the only time that I have ever seen Charlie ‘toting’ his gun in public, he said it was for my protection ‘just in case’ – but he didn’t put it away when I was safely in the Land Cruiser.
My solution at the time was to have the waste land cleared, it was several meters high in places, relocate any snakes that they found, preferably onto another planet – in another solar system, treat the ground so no fauna or flora would return, and replace the lock on the pole. The nice policeman had apparently thrown that one in, over his shoulder, as a parting gesture. I also had a wooden landing stage built on my side of the blocks so that I could motor around to it and let Bonnie and Clyde go ballistic on the sand.
As time progressed, each time I visited the beach it became more cluttered with litter, and the waste land looked more like a BBQ recycling plant. People could walk between the concrete blocks carrying picnic paraphernalia, but apparently the blocks wouldn’t allow litter back out, and once I almost came to blows with a local Brit who insisted that I remove Bonnie and Clyde as ‘no dogs were allowed on the public beaches’.
I told him that this was a private beach.
‘Who’s’ he said, squaring up for a drunken brawl.
‘Mine’ I said, and produced five gentlemen dressed in black, and carrying pump action shot guns that could verify that fact.
‘OK’ he said, and left - most likely to change his shorts.
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The moral to that story was that I was getting fed up with having to fork out to have the area cleaned up behind inconsiderate people, so I now thought ‘sod them, let’s wall it all in and plant a few houses for my kids, so they can become ‘snowbirds’.
It had only been a ‘throw away’ comment by Robin but the next time we ‘facetimed’ on iPad, to gaze in awe at yet another tooth that was to be despatched to the tooth fairy, I dropped it in the conversation, as one does, ‘You know that bit of land and beach by the crash gate, well, how about I turn it into a walled estate and plant a couple of houses for you and your sister, to ‘overwinter’ in, and I’ll even put central heating in for that one cold day of the year’.
I almost dropped the iPad when his reply came back ‘just as long as you put Air Con in, for the summer, as well’, he was definitely not happy at being sent to Coventry all the time.
We then had a chat with Alice and Algie, and Sue explained to her that we would most likely be using her home (Sue’s, not Alice’s) as our base throughout the hot season next year, but ‘how about your Dad getting you a beach front villa, in a lovely area in Santa Cristina. It’s away from fortress Mi Casa so you can have sun, sand and visitors to your hearts delight, and it might make a lovely warm retreat for baby if it gets too cold in the winter, I’ve seen the broads freeze over you know,’ but I looked at her fingers – they were crossed. Santa Cristina was the other Pueblo that also bordered El Campo, by the crash gate.
‘Is it that bit of land by the beach?’ she said sulkily.
‘Yes’ Sue said, suddenly seeing our plans going down the toilet.
‘Great’ shouted Algie from the background.
‘I don’t know, I will have to think about it, I’ll get back to you’.
‘Sorry I asked’ I thought, but decided to put my plan into action anyway, if she didn’t want to take up residence then I could always rent it out to some passing millionaire.
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