Hola Muy Strumpetas.

Evening Strumpets,

Well it`s been a while hasn`t it? I`ve been away with the Family to a lovely part of Spain called Orihuella. Which literally translates as "Place that is nowhere near anywhere else". Or rather "Place which would be walking distance to other places, if it wasn`t surrounded by mad Spanish Motorways".

The weather was hotter than a fat lad in July, and the food and drink was tremendous. The kids loved the pool, and me and my sweetheart loved the cerveza and Vino de rosada (her) y blanco (me). Of course it wouldn`t be a Davies holiday without a couple of stories. so here we go.

The first night we arrived there we decided to walk to the local Shops and Restaurants a journey of about a mile and a half. We inevitably got lost, and very kindly (as we turned a corner to find a dead end) an Irish lady pulled over and offered to drive us to where we wished to go. We enjoyed good food and drink, and the kids got up and sang a couple of songs on the Karaoke (Harry stole the show with Yellow Submarine, Gracie thrilled with Mama Mia). It was this point I asked Louise if she knew our address so we could book a Taxi. Unfortunately, she did not know our address. Well that`s alright I thought, we could text the guy who`d brought us and ask him. Unfortunately neither of us had remembered to bring our mobiles out with us.

If you haven`t been to these urbanisations which are taking over Spain, it`s like Disney does Espana. Every house is the same (Casablanca) every street identical. We knew were staying at number 22, other than that, it was a white house in a street with white houses. And we`d had a drink. And the kids were shattered. And we didn`t know where we were.



I figured (in the best Jackie Pigeon tradition) I had a decent idea which way the Irish woman had come, so off we set. All the way (as we followed the English waddling home to their "known" abodes like some Romero epic, Louise kept saying, this isn`t the way, we should have turned right further down. It was a very long ten minutes walking, until Grace recognised a parkbench we had passed earlier. Unbelievably, and through better luck than judgement, we made it home. If any one is interested, it was 22 Castillo Del Rio.

We found a lovely little Spanish restaurant, where I could pretend to be fluent in Spanish, "Hola, Mesa Para quattro Por favor" etc and so forth. The second time we went in there was a Spanish fella playing Flamenco on the guitar, whom Grace became very fond of (I think it`s a Puss in Boots thing, Louise begs to differ). As all the other English families were regarding him as if he had asked them to wash a tramps backside, to gain a bit of encouragement he was over like a shot.



He began playing "La Bamba" for Grace. Now then (and you can probably see where this is heading) anyone who knows music can tell you that La Bamba is pretty much Twist and Shout, or vice versa. So I began singing Twist and Shout. He nearly dropped the guitar. Spouting stuff in Spanish I tried to reply, but as all I know how to say is "Table for four please" and "thank you, I am full" this was not much use.

The next thing he`s thrusting the guitar into my hands and asking me to play to the English. I was worried I might put them off their Sausage and Chips, but being the whore that I am, I gave it a bash. It went down really well, and the waitresses and waiters came in to have a look at the English buffoon singing the wrong words to La Bamba. Finishing, I got a nice round of applause, and a couple of free drinks for the family. A really nice night to remember.





At the end of the holiday, I was more than ready to come back (Yeah I know, I can`t believe it either,but it`s true).

I`ve been back a week, and now feel almost ready for another holiday. As Northern Banjo Boy notes in his excellent website, you take two weeks off, and have three weeks worth of work to come back to.

Till the next one,

learn something new,

Mark.