The unwary would consider the time and not
note that it was just a little too precise; and doesn’t the B28 sound like a
1960s American bomber rather than a workaday number like those you get at the
deli counter in a supermarket?
The office, when we got to it was packed
with an unmoving queue of UN composition waiting to get on to the system so
that they could be ignored. People with
appointments and numbers looked around with a superior sneering pity at the
queue unless, like us, you were experienced in such things and knew that
appointment time and ticket number were just concepts not entitlements.
I waited in the queue and eventually got
another ticket number (A29) which allowed me to sit down and watch other people
gradually realize that the letters and numbers which they clutched unto
themselves (sometimes, quaintly, on a computer printout) had no currency in the
hard world of governmental bureaucracy.
Their weary head shaking resignation on finding out the truth was no
more than acceptance of their allotted fate as a citizens of Spain. Fooled again!
After a period when every letter in the
alphabet and every number combination except mine was flashed up on the
electronic display board and enunciated in the dulcet tones of an exclusively
Catalan lady my number was at last voiced.
I was dealt with by a man who gave no
impression whatsoever of actually knowing what he was doing. Which probably accounts for his sitting next
to a finger restricted gentleman to whom all others came to ask the sort of
arcane questions that paper pushing encourages.
A few pointed indications and within a long time I was on my way with
every promise of the Spanish State actually considering paying me back some of
the lavish gifts that I have given to the black hole of government grasping!
I should mention that all of my payments during
the time that I have worked in this country connected with pensions have been
on a strictly non-beneficial basis, as you have to work for fifteen years before
anyone considers that you have made a significant enough contribution to get
any return.
Next month will show if things have worked
out when I check through my bank account and see an amount not preceded by a
minus sign!
On the strength of putative success we went
out for a celebratory meal in our newly discovered tapas restaurant hidden away
in a residential area and it neither disappointed in terms of taste or value
for money. A real find!
My swimming is still being enlivened by my
waterproof cheekbone transmitting music thingies. I am ashamed to admit that the very first
track that accompanied by inaugural swim was “The Green Berets” – hardly very
flattering to my musical pretentions, but that’s life. Just when you purchase a whole series of operas
for the next season in the Liceu, some musical lapse comes up on you
unexpectedly and brings you down to earth!
The noise from our neighbours today has
been almost unbearable and the only way to escape is to go to the beach and put
up with a different sort of noise and there is the extra delight of swimming in
a sea which does not attempt to kill you with its icy clutch.
The OU situation is now becoming critical
and I have to address the issues that have arisen with some dispatch. On the other hand I have had more encouraging
news about my Grown Up Camera which has now been released from customs in Great
retain and is now somewhere between the UK and Barcelona. I am supposed to be sent an email when the
thing is about to be delivered and I am waiting with barely concealed
impatience.
Bring on the toys!
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