The Careful Movers

A shortish story to let you know about an encounter that I had with Pickfords, this was by no means a brief encounter....sadly!!

Him indoors and myself had decided to go off on one of our jollies to Andalucia. The trip was for many reasons, some connected with our cave house purchase and social reasons. The day had started reasonably well and we had made good time from Murcia to Andalucia. We called into our bank where we had opened our joint account some two weeks previously and asked if we could collect our bank cards. This seemed to be the start of our problems.

It seemed that the cards would be available for collection either Monday or Tuesday of the following week. Doh ! We could kinda live with that, so we thought we would ask to speak to the Bank Manager to see if the valuation had been done on the property and also find out how the mortgage application was going. The manager, we were told, had gone out for petrol and would be back soon, so we elected to go for a coffee in a bar across the road and await his return.

Coffee drank we headed off back to the bank where a long queue had formed, and it appeared that the bank manager was in great demand. We waited there for somewhere near an hour, and finally got our audience with Antonio the bank manager.

Great chap, very friendly and a supporter of British football, even though it seems he supports Liverpool, a somewhat dubious choice of British Club, but each to their own. The mortgage application had not been started and the valuation had not been ordered. This was starting to feel just a little bit dodgy, which is when we decided to phone the agent and get him to explain to the lovely Antonio that he either got the process started and with some haste or we would be taking our custom elsewhere. This seemed to do the trick and Antonio fervently worked on all the documents whilst we waited and within a short space of time all the paperwork had been set in motion.

For us this was a result, but the time spent waiting in the bank had meant that our next appointment was running late. We were due to meet a lady who I had contacted via the internet, who also had a business in one of the nearby towns. We thought that it would be nice to meet her and have a chat, and also have a quick look around the market which would have been in proccess. When we finally arrived at the market, there was very little of it left so I gave the lady a call to find out where I would find the bar that we had intended to meet in. Sadly, due to the late hour she was heading off to collect her daughter from school but arranged to meet us at a local garage so that we could follow her back to her cave house and have a coffee. We decided to find the bar in any event and have a quick drink and if possible a bite to eat as we had about half and hour to kill before we met up for our next appointment.

The bar was found very easily and we ordered a small beer and a brandy, and this came with a plate of paella, although initially we were not sure who the paella was for. We scoffed the paella and I have to say it was wonderful. I am not a great fan of paella, it is ok but not something that I would normally chose to order, this however was an exception.

Tummy's full we headed off to meet our new friend and head off to look at her cave home. We headed off the main road and onto a muddy track. The rain that we had over the days previous had made the road very muddy and we were sliding all over the place. Finally we reached her house but the road had been blocked by a very large Pickfords lorry who were delivering packages to her neighbour. We soon settled down and had a nice chat about the area over a cup of coffee and her friend joined us for a chat. We learnt quite a lot about this particular part of the area for which we were grateful.

We said our goodbyes and headed off for the final visit of the day with two very good friends we have made locally. Our plan was to meet with our new friends at their house, another cave home, and have a good look around and a natter before heading back to our current home in Murcia.

All I can say is "the best laid plans of mice and men" !!! As we were getting into our car the lady from next door told us that we would not be able to get out as the Pickfords lorry was stuck in the mud and blocking the road. Terrific we thought, but as the car that we were driving was very small we thought that there may be a way for us to squeeze our car past, where maybe a larger vehicle would not be able to pass.

Nope not a chance, how wrong could we have been. When we got to the lorry it was stuck fast and this was no ordinary lorry it was in two parts and some 69' long. Driver and mate were not looking happy bunnies, and once we realised our predicament we were not happy bunnies either.

Two young Spanish boys happened along on their mopeds and seemed delighted that this entertainment had arrived on their doorstep, their delight was evident, as they raced their mopeds back and forth, bombarding the two chaps from Pickfords with rapid fire Spanish. They were then joined by one of the gypsy farmers who had been tending his sheep. He also seemed to be greatly amused although he did not say anything, he simply surveyed the vehicle from every angle and grunted away to himself. The Pickfords vehicle and its predicament was attracting an every growing audience. Next came a chap in his 4x4 who managed to get passed the vehicle by using a ramp to the side of it and drove into the field below and out the other side. We did contemplate this operation ourselves but having watched the 4x4 lumbering around in the field we realised that at the very least we would get stuck but more likely inflict massive damage upon our little car.

People came and went and finally after some two hours a JCB arrived and pulled the huge Pickfords vehicle back and out of the muddy rut that it had been trapped in. Whoo Hoo at last we were free to go on our way.

I had to feel sorry for both of the guys from Pickfords, they had followed advice from the lady they had delivered the packages to, and she had told them that they would be able to turn around no problem. They pulled their vehicle forward and away from the rut and let us pass. How they got their vehicle turned around is anyones guess they may still be there now.

We continued on our journey and met up with our friends where we told them our tale of woe over a few beers and brandy. We eventually set off on our way, and to find some food. We had only gone about 2 Km when a bird flew into the side of the car with such a clatter we decided that this day was not panning out well and the sensible solution would be to end it there and then. We ended up staying in a hotel overnight having realised that it would be safer to take our chances travelling back on Friday 13th.

All I can say is Pickfords have painted on the side of their vehicle " The Careful Movers".........I beg to differ, as on this day they were neither careful, nor were they moving.

Top Bombing

This is a quick story two tales in one. I am sharing this with you as it made me chuckle, I hope it has the same effect on you.

Last week we took a trip to Carefour on a mission of mercy for a friend of ours; it was a Stella Artois mission. Now whilst in Carefour we wandered into the electrical section and more specifically the TV section. My mother had been complaining about our TV not being big enough, or clear enough for her to see, and she also had problems with the sound. We thought that it was maybe time to invest in a bigger and better TV as mother spends a lot of the winter watching TV.

I think that it had already been decided that the new set had to be either a widescreen Plasma or LCD, size however had not really been considered, and price was going to be the decider. We looked at virtually every set on show and came across a 42” Plasma which was very keenly priced. Decision made and TV purchased, but they could not let us have one until Saturday but they would deliver. We could live with that as we did not think we would be able to get it into the car we had brought.

Saturday came and went and the TV was not delivered, the next day was New Years day so we had to wait until yesterday to contact them to find out what was going on and where our TV was. We rang them in the morning and they did not understand what we were talking about, so we rang our friend who teaches Spanish and asked for her assistance. Now anyone who has dealt with or tried to deal with Carefour, will be aware of their reputation and know how unhelpful they can be. I have to tell you the tales you hear are very true, having experienced this first hand. Carefour said that they knew nothing about the transaction but they would look into it and call us back. They did not call us, and as it was getting late we decided to go and collect the TV.

We set off and picked up our friend Mike to help us lift the set into the car, it seems as a girlie I cannot lift heavy things!! After much ado we managed to find a nice little man who was prepared to locate our set and asked us to come back in 10 mins and the set would be there. I had a little food shopping to do, and Mike had to replace some tools so we set off in different directions to do our shopping, whilst him indoors went off to get a trolley to put the TV in.

We all met back and sure enough the TV was there and had been loaded into a trolley ready for us to collect. Mike and I put our baskets into the other trolley along with a dozen cans of John Smiths bitter that him indoors insists threw themselves at the trolley as he walked past. The chaps headed off to the checkouts to pay for the shopping whilst I manoeuvred the trolley with the TV out of the shop at the other end. I met them at the checkout where Mike had packed his bag of tools and him indoors was packing his cans of John Smiths into bags. I was just packing my chicken into a carrier bag when there was this almighty explosion. The chicken had an instant flying lesson, narrowly missing the girl on the check out who was now under the checkout. My ears were ringing from the explosion, and my first thoughts were a terrorist attack. I felt something trickling down my face, and instantly thought I was bleeding. I looked back to Mike and then to him indoors, they were ashen, and the whole of Carefour in Murcia was silent and people stood with their mouths open, with a look of horror on their faces. Trust me there were some very frightened people and I was one of them, and I think underwear changes were required all round.

I looked back at the chaps again in the hope that they knew what had happened and realised the look of horror had turned into one of relief followed by hysterical laughter, and then the appearance of the store manager. You know it is a well known fact that in a terror situation some people react by laughing, although I am not sure why. However on this occasion it became apparent why they were laughing, and I then joined them followed by the checkout girl and then the store manager. Now just try and imagine this situation, there has been some sort of explosion in a very busy store and there are three Brits, the store manager and a checkout girl screaming with laughter, whilst the rest of the store looked on in horror and disbelief. Trouble was they could not see what we could.

When Mike put his bag of tools into the trolley it moved slightly and the bag of tools fell over and the hammer in the bag of tools hit one of the cans of John Smiths and the damned thing exploded, it ripped the can from end to end. It was by far the loudest explosion I have ever heard. We were all covered in beer in fact anyone in the vicinity was covered in beer. The crowd in the store were still standing open mouthed and all staring at us wondering what the hell was going on. The store manager having regained his composure leaned forward and said “Happy New Year”. Mike then lifted the mangled can of John Smiths to show the crowd in the store what had caused the explosion and shouted “Top Bombing”. That was it I was laughing hysterically again.

At least we got to see a widget!!

Irish Pubs in Spain??

The area where I formerly lived in Spain was well known as a cosmopolitan town, with many nationalities living side by side, and many different types of restaurants offering a wide variety of cuisine.
Having now moved to the more Spanish region of Murcia, I have noticed that the bars and restaurants are more traditionally Spanish and likewise the food on offer is very Spanish. There seems to be only one exception to this and that is the Irish Pub.

I have to confess that I thought that the Irish Pub was peculiar to the areas of Spain where many British/Irish lived, a bit like the British Pub with Sky TV, but I found that the Irish Pub seems to crop up in the most unlikely places. One night I went out with one of our Spanish friends Anna, and as she is at the University in Murcia she decided to show us the night life in the Town.
We went into lots of different bars that night but Anna felt that the nicest bar she knew was a bar called the Marathon Bar, and insisted on taking us there. As the name suggests this was not a Spanish Bar and certainly the title had a very English feel.
The bar turned out to be an Irish Bar, and I have to confess that the décor was very Pub like. It was a very dark bar with lots of wood, including the floor. The bar itself was very long and all dark wood. There were cubicles all along two of the walls with wooden benches and tables, and walls were adorned with old signs, and bits of racing memorabilia. On each of the tables there was a beer pump, glass washer and glasses. A very good idea we thought and somewhat of a novelty. A young Spanish girl came to our table to take our drinks order and we gave her €20.00 and as soon as she went back to the bar our pump showed the amount of beer we had, and we just served ourselves.

For me the beauty of this pub was the décor, every inch of the bar looked very authentic and I was impressed by the amount of vision the owners had when they designed it. The idea of a beer pump on the table was also splendid, as it meant we did not have to queue at the bar to be served, and as this was one busy bar it was appreciated.
The only thing that intrigued me was the nationality of the owners, were they actually Irish?? It turns out no they were not, and they had never set foot in Ireland, and no they did not sell Guinness.

I know of other Irish Bars in the locality, one of the most popular is owned by an Argentinean. But by far the best was found in Almeria. Now this bar was again decorated in a very authentic way, and did not sell food, just drinks. On the walls there were plaques which were intended to depict the tales of an old Irish Mariner. They were beautifully done with lovely painted images and writing on wooden plaques. It was only when I started to read them that I realised that they made no sense at all to and English speaker. This is when the penny dropped, yet another Spanish/Irish bar which was confirmed by the lady behind the bar. She was gutted when I told her that none on the writing on the plaques made any sense at all, mostly gibberish.

The Big question that I have is WHY?? In the areas that the British frequent having an Irish bar generally means that you can charge over the top prices for everything you sell, but why would the Spanish follow this theme and then not charge higher prices, where is the benefit to them? And do the Spanish like the idea of being in an Irish themed bar?? I guess the answer to the last question has to be yes, based on the numbers of Spanish that seem to drink there as they all were packed when I visited. Views on this one would be appreciated.