The story began yesterday morning. Around 10 o’clock, our son-in-law was on his way to us via the horse
shoe lane which leaves the
Motril-Puntalon road just after Puntalon and meanders it’s way back to the
Motril-Puntalon Road just before the new roundabout.
Having passed through the tunnel, over which will eventually, one day, run the
new carriageway from the long promised missing section of the coastal autovia
down to Motril Port, he happened upon a large pile of rubbish. Empty rum, vodka, beer and whisky bottles, rotting
oranges, avocados and fruit, smelly bags of prawn shells, stale bread & rolls, waste paper, black bin bags in fact, all the usual mess left over after a two day,
large, family fiesta, and more.
Son-in-law was on his way to take his mother-in-law, up to Villa
Tranquila to ‘do’ a changeover in between paying guests and as they drove back
along the lane past the rubbish, son-in-law remarked that something needed to
be done about this basura.
That ‘something’ took the shape of a large
wooden notice on which was written, in Spanish, ‘The person who dumped this rubbish is a Pig’. Now,
this language might not seem very strong to an English person but, we are
assured that, written in Spanish, it has a much greater impact and later in the
day, on his way back to us, the son-in-law placed the sign next to the pile of
rubbish.
This rubbish, basura, had not been where it now was on the previous day, so it was deduced that it had been dumped overnight and with a little detective working out it soon became obvious exactly who must have been responsible for dumping it.
This rubbish, basura, had not been where it now was on the previous day, so it was deduced that it had been dumped overnight and with a little detective working out it soon became obvious exactly who must have been responsible for dumping it.
There had been a huge enormous all night party
in ‘Cortijo Ja Ja’ half way along the
lane over the New Year. A Cortijo that is
normally very quiet, where nothing much ever happens and where the elderly
owner is rarely seen but, suddenly, there were so many cars blocking the lane
and the raucous noise could be heard hundreds of yards away so it didn’t really take a
great deal of working out to guess who the 'pigs' were.
This morning, fairly early, himself was out and about and reaching
the tunnel was dismayed to find that overnight, someone had added a large pile
of building rubble to the rubbish heap which now made the lane almost impassable.
Animals too had been scavenging overnight
and he decided he really had no choice but to attempt to clear up some of the
mess. Anything edible he threw behind the low plastic red & white barrier,
which is supposed to stop anyone silly enough to want to drive or slide down the
roadworks, and the larger pieces of rubble he moved to one side.
As he was finishing this ‘good deed of the day’ the farmer from back along
the lane, a largish fellow, drove past and recognising
‘himself’, stopped at the tunnel, turned
around and drove back to see what was happening. Catching sight of the son-in-law’s
sign, which ‘himself’ was attempting to secure in a more prominent position,
he jumped out of the landrover and proceeded to heartily slap ‘himself’ on the
back shouting ¡ Bueno Hombre, Bueno Hombre! for quite some time. Translated this means Good Man, Good Man.
Himself attempted to explain that his
Spanish wasn’t nearly good enough for him to have actually written the sign himself, but the farmer would have not of it. Si, Es perfecto, Es perfecto he said, which needs no translation. The farmer kept shouting all the while slapping 'himself' around the shoulders then went on to complain about the
rubbish that was constantly being dumped on the edge of his property. He eventually went
on his way shouting about the bueno hombre and that how he was now going to
phone the council immediately and report the people responsible, not
remembering that today is a Public Holiday and there certainly would not
be anyone at the Town Hall to take his call until Monday. Will his enthusiasm to make the call last until Monday?
No doubt, by Monday morning, the rubbish heap will have become a small mountain. That sort of thing happens here.
Himself arrived home weak with laughter
saying it had been like a scene from ‘Monty Python’. He said that he felt like the ‘Caped Crusader’.
