I never really know whether to be jubilant or deeply
suspicious when Official Government Bureaucracy works in your favour.
The fact
that I was able to park immediately opposite the front door of the Social
Security Office in Gava was unsettling in itself, and I actually drove past the
parking space at first because, obviously, it couldn’t possibly exist – it was
far, far too convenient to be true. But
I backed into the space like a guilty thing and marched with a determined step
towards the fray.
I didn’t
even get through the door. The queue
snaked out into the sunshine and a glimpse of the inside showed a serried rank
of glum looking petitioners sitting waiting for a free official.
I had come
to the office to find out what an inscrutable official (stamped) letter
meant. It was important because it
concerned my state pension – of which more anon.
To make
things simpler there is a machine at the entrance to the office that takes you
identity number, links it to an appointment and spews out a numbered
ticket. You take it and wait, staring at
an LED notice board watching for something approximating to your ticket.
The machine
was surrounded by a vociferous crush of people who were treating the ticket
dispenser as if it were the sort of electronics that required a PhD at least to
make it work. I mean, I have to say it’s
not rocket science: you press a button, type in your number, push another
button and take your ticket. Old women
of all possible sexes were looking at the instructions on the machine as if
they were written in Glagolitic and were building themselves up into a frenzy
of incomprehension.
My own
situation was a trifle more complex as I had come on spec. as it were, in the
vague hope that “just a little information” would not necessitate the making of
an official appointment. I was, in other
words, trying to short-circuit the sacrosanct procedures of a Government
Office!
As the
harassed woman from the information desk made her way back from trying to sort
out the chaos by the number machine I waylaid her and in impeccably bad
Spanish, but with an irresistibly winning smile!
What
followed is, I have to admit, a refutation of the mythic stories of unhelpful
officials. She explained what the
document I was waving at her actually meant; she took me to a computer station;
she sat me down, brought up my details and explained further; she printed out a
new document for me and, most importantly, stamped it.
It seems
that I am entitled to a Pension in Spain!
This was completely unexpected and I could hardly contain my
enthusiasm. She was delighted at my
delight and told me that usually people were pissed off with how much they were
going to get. As I had expected nothing,
anything was a triumph.
It’s not
much, a couple of hundred euros a month, but, coming in is much better than
going out and even after tax, it will pay for a few lunches a week.
Like my
official state pension from the UK, the actual amount is nothing to write home
about, but my pleasure at receiving it is out of all proportion to how much it
actually is!
I have not,
you understand, got a single solitary penny of either pension yet, so I am
writing in a state of pleasurable anticipation.
This will last for a couple of months when something should be paid into
my account. The satisfaction will last
for a few months more, right up until I find out exactly how much tax will have
to be paid, then black depression will descend as I see exactly how much the
states (Spain and the UK) think I can live on!
At least I know what to expect and so I can put aside a sum to pay the
taxman in the New Year.
My state
pension from the UK is tax free as I don’t live in the country, but I
understand that Spain will claim the right to rake in the cash – and don’t
worry about my writing this and “letting them know” the UK and Spain have
already contacted each other and my status is known by both countries. No escape, in other words.
Still, a
Spanish Pension! I was so delighted I
wrote a poem, which I print below.
Pension bonding?
To those so young,
and dreading years ahead,
where work dictates the Moments of a Life,
or it apparently
does so,
I might say
there
is
a rite of passage,
not anticipated ‘til,
it’s inadvertently revealed.
And it is this.
There will, I
promise, come a time
when, out with friends, or at a meal,
you’ll chat, and when goodbyes are said
you will discover
that there’s been
just one, sole, topic taking up your breath.
Some years ahead, for you, maybe,
but talked about with passion
or with pride – or fear.
A life-target that,
so long as you’re alive,
you’ll make.
I’ve reached the age where
what was said some
“not-so-many-years-ago”
is now a near enough reality.
And I observe
a process that involves
a bouncing to and fro
between two states
that claim me both.
I’ve always said I lead a double life,
as here in Spain, what is in Britain
just a letter placed between the
‘fore’ and ‘sur’ of my two names,
becomes a patronymic force and
Señor Morgan suddenly exists!
And I found out today,
(I have the printed sheet
and the official stamp)
that ageing Brit’s
entitled to
a small (but welcome) sum,
paid monthly, right into his bank.
That illustrates
more surely
than my bad Spanish can,
that one belongs, one is a part.
For nothing is more real
than the cement of governmental cash.
For those who are interested my latest drafts of poems can
be read at http://smrnewpoems.blogspot.com.es
and I will be happy to respond to any comments you might make.
Meanwhile I continue to get up early to go and have my swim,
though I will have to do more if I am to lose the extra weight that the nurse
demands I do. And today a good swim was
not matched by a good and restrained food intake. And next week there are visitors and it will
be churlish not to respond to their desire to eat well. Perhaps I can limit the “drink well” part and
feel smug and justified – though the scales are impartial and glacial when it
comes to their view of reality!
Work continues on the anthology “Together Apart” with
discussions continuing with the printer about what, exactly we can afford. I think I see a resolution and I will have to
contact my fellow poets to keep them in the loop. I hope that publication will still be towards
the end of next month. I am, in spite of
the darkness of some of my poetry, essentially an optimistic person.
Honestly!
