Telling Tales: The Confessions of a Handy Man

Copyright © 2016 E. James Chapman

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 978 1785896 101

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

I would like to dedicate this book to all of my clients who I have enjoyed serving over the last thirty or more years.

Almost without exception it has always been a pleasure to handle their affairs – although some of the affairs were much more pleasurable than others.

CONTENTS

Telling Tales

Prologue

The Community Meeting

Helga

Brian

Pepe the Plumber

George

Donald

Salvi

An Ode to my Wife

TELLING TALES

THE COMMUNITY MEETING

If you have never attended a Community’s Annual General Meeting then you have missed out on being witness to what invariably develops very rapidly into a totally confused and often outrageous fiasco. Something best described by the neutral observer as a proper pantomime!

In fairness to most of those present, this nearly always comes about simply because it is taking place in Spain and the vast majority of those present don’t speak a word of the lingo!

Community AGM’S are for sure places where angels definitely fear to tread. But more than anything else, it is a fantastic place for intense theatrical entertainment in which words are more often than not replaced by extreme gestures and wild bodily actions. After all, there’s no point at swearing at someone if he doesn’t understand your insult!

Then, in contrast, there is the Community Board Meeting which is performed behind closed doors and where members of the general public are only, on very rare occasions, invited. This is where the atmosphere has a more relaxed and congenial air to it and where the board members discuss the day-to-day problems of the complex with, on most occasions, a smile on their faces.

Their task is simply to sort out the many and often pretty incredible events that have somehow befallen the community since their last meeting.

Lots of decisions have to be made – and without the need of a martial arts qualification – although sometimes that would help!

HELGA

The discipline and demeanor of regular cleaning ladies could set an example for those following other callings. Normally they tend to keep themselves to themselves. They are trustworthy and always work hard. Some are chatterboxes but most are without doubt amicable, polite and friendly.

There is however always an exception to the rule and for this exception I have called the lady in question, Helga.

Even though she had an outward appearance that closely resembles one of a Viking warlord in a skirt, once you got to know her, Helga was in fact quite a sweet and conscientious woman who actually enjoyed her time cleaning and patrolling the labyrinth of corridors and stairways in the sprawling apartment complex where she was employed.

Over the years there had naturally been several ups and downs for Helga as she came in contact with the owners of the apartments and their guests, but all paled into insignificance one day in September with the arrival of two innocent rentals who fell foul of a cat that suffered from a seriously antisocial bowel control.

BRIAN

Buying a second-hand holiday apartment in a foreign country could be regarded by the majority of purchasers as both a really exciting chapter in their book of life and a huge step into the dark. However, getting the builders in to do some of the all-important renovations needed in order to convert said property into your house of dreams when you’re not going to be there to oversee the work is, without doubt, an absolutely massive leap of faith! This is clearly the time when the buyer puts their confidence well and truly in the people they trust the most and they don’t even dare to think that there may be a need for a back up Plan B.

But when things do start to go wrong and nothing is going according to plan, then naturally hope will fall upon the shoulders of their trusted help – which in this case is our man, Brian – who is not only there on the spot but is also relied upon to come up with that all-important solution to whatever the problem may be.

But bizarrely when, even with his vast expertise, things continue to go inexplicably downhill, one begins to wonder if there is another plot afoot. A Plan C perhaps? Could this plan be a secret and cunning plan with, maybe, some hanky-panky on the menu?

PEPE

Pepe the plumber is a ladies’ man and he knows it.

He is also pretty good at his job too – and especially when the lady client’s plumbing is in need of a little attention to detail.

In the past he has always had complete control over all his romances until one day he beholds a vision from heaven called Monika. What happens after that throws every wrench, spanner, not to mention plunger, clean out of his tool bag, and especially so when he sees the light – and where he thinks it’s coming from!

GEORGE

George has a problem with his teeth.

Now the use of the word teeth is often employed in a way to explain a situation that we find ourselves in.

‘Teething problems’, for example, describes the problems that arise at the start of a project. ‘Armed to the teeth’ obviously suggests that one has prepared to the greatest possible degree for whatever the task was, and ‘to get one’s teeth into something’ is taken to mean that you have become heavily engrossed in what you were doing. However, when someone is described as ‘having no teeth’ it does give a really negative indication that the person referred to doesn’t have the power to produce the desired effect that is required of them. And that’s George’s problem, he hasn’t got any!

For those of you who are still in possession of the teeth their maker blessed them with, you will almost certainly use this simple turn of phrase just as it is metaphorically intended without giving it another thought. But for those who, for one reason or another, are obliged to leave their teeth in a glass of Steradent every night, can often be characterised into two groups. Type A are those who aren’t too bothered about their set of gnashers – so long as they do the job intended. Type B are folks who are very particular about their looks and want to look as ‘natural’ as possible.

This tale is about a happy-go-lucky fellow called George who easily falls into Type A until his doting wife books them a holiday on the Costa-Del-Sol! Although by now he’s fairly long in the tooth, an inspired George opts for a life change to Type B, completely oblivious of all its unexpected ramifications.

DONALD

When a fellow has been the office manager for more years than he cares to remember, and is used to dishing out the orders to his staff, expecting an instant action, there is a high probability that a similar attitude may be unconsciously repeated once he gets back home to the trouble and strife. Most wives will have long since perfected the art of ignoring this type of niggling irritation but when he unexpectedly opts to take early retirement without giving her the chance to talk him out of it, the seismic shock of having him suddenly under her feet seven days a week can only spell disaster to her and her routine.

Things can easily go incendiary and especially so when the chance of a holiday apartment and an attractive sales lady appear on the scene. On the face of it a fairly charged set of events are on the boil and when you add the ‘fuse’ of a delayed arrival, a dodgy meal and some faulty Spanish plumbing then the result is destined for an explosive ending!

SALVI

This is the tale of the youngest son of an impoverished tenant farmer who, along with the rest of his family, is living under the threat of imminent eviction from their home. Innocent and unaware of certain traits of human behavior, Salvi met and was befriended by an unchaste Dutch artist at a time when grooming still referred to brushing down your horse and not as it is now. Although it is a tale of seduction, it also shows how the shrewdness of a simple and insignificant peasant woman can make the most out of the situation and create a totally unexpected twist in the tail.

PROLOGUE

It is a safe bet to say that most of us hope to spend our all-too-brief lives on earth as satisfyingly as possible, and, of course, to enjoy the good health needed to do so. But, as Alexander Pope surmised, ‘to err is human’ and that after all is what makes up life’s rich tapestry.

It goes without saying that we are all creatures of circumstance and, being mere mortals, it’s only natural for us to always hope that when things do go wrong they will always go wrong for someone else. However, when the dreaded fickle finger of fate points your way and promptly dumps you into something really soft and smelly then your excuses as to why it happened are often simply dismissed as just plain rotten luck. Nevertheless, it can be said that pretty much all of these unexpected hiccups could have been easily avoided with a little bit of forethought… Unless, of course there was a chance that maybe someone had cunningly engineered the course of events in the first place!

Should that not be the case then it is certainly not your fault when something totally out of the blue drops on you from above. In this case, you will be judged on your reactions and how you deal with the disaster you are faced with. Dealing with all these types of problems is tantamount to giving the roulette wheel a spin, especially so when at least one of the characters are completely oblivious to the motives and maybe hidden desires of the other.

The tales I’m telling in these stories actually took place and because the truth is often stranger than fiction I have kept poetic license to a minimum.

I have chosen my first tale, ‘The Community Meeting’, for good reason as it will give you a good insight into how a great many folk interact with their fellow expats here on the Costa. It also contains passing references to some of the other tales, which in turn mention another tale, and so on – I’ll leave it to you to spot them!

The only caution I would offer for those predisposed towards getting an attack of the heebie-jeebies is to proceed with caution. Should you find yourself in this wonderful part of Spain, then I would advise you to be careful to whom you are talking with as you could so easily find yourself in the company of one of the novel’s characters. However, to add to your concerns I have deliberately changed the names of the characters and have done so, not so much to protect them, as to protect you.

When it is fate that deals the cards, you could easily find yourself in the company of Toothy George or the Major. If you become acquainted with the alleged fairer sex then it might as easily be Marsha. If it is your lucky day, you may encounter Monica but you are unlikely to pass Derrol as a ship of the night unless you take the highway to heaven as he has done. Be not too glum though as Salvi is still about somewhere running a garden centre.

THE COMMUNITY MEETING

It was the day of the regular committee meeting of the apartment complex known as Vistas del Mar. Apart from the usual niggling issues that occur at this type of resort, for some reason it was experiencing several unexpected, if not unusual, events that had cropped up – and for no apparent reason.

Normally these committee meetings were fairly predictable affairs whereas the Annual General Meeting nearly always tended to rapidly degenerate into a free for all melee with every owner insisting on trying to put their two pence worth of opinion into the pot.

As the general public weren’t usually allowed to attend these regular committee meetings they invariably turned out to be rather jovial affairs – especially when most of the members were not only seasoned longtime residents but also pretty used to the type of disasters that tended to regularly happen from time to time in this type of holiday home apartments.

The day’s meeting was just about ready to get underway and, with the summer season now in full swing, even at ten in the morning it was already hot. Above them an ancient ceiling fan slowly turned with a repetitive squeaking sound. A couple of the assembled members busily fanned themselves with the order of the day papers whilst the rest chatted merrily amongst each other.

Suddenly, and with a loud crash, Ramondo, the community’s administrator, banged his hand on the table as if to signal the start of the meeting. Everyone jumped.

Buenos días a todos, he coughed as he quickly remembered this was not the best language to use at this particular meeting. I… err… Good morning everybody. He cleared his throat. I have in my hand a long letter of complaint from a Miss Whitt. I am sure you all know that she is the owner of apartment C-3. In her letter she informs us, along with one complete page of colourful descriptions, that some man unknown to her keeps jumping into the pool with his socks on.

All those present stopped talking amongst themselves and stared at him. Apart from the rather unusual complaint they were all clearly somewhat surprised that he had actually started the meeting before the president, and therefore chairperson, had turned up.

Major Smyth, the committee’s Vice-president, however seemed completely unfazed and quipped back, Only in his socks? With a childish grin on his rotund face he glanced with mischievous glee around at his fellow committee members.

If he only had his socks on, joked Ted Harris, a retired former army soldier, Then I would have thought it would have made her day.

Everybody burst out laughing at his display of sharp wit, with the exception of Mrs. Muir, who as it so happened, was the only female present in the room.

She was a rather dour middle-aged lady who always seemed to have a stern expression on her face. Even at the best of times she appeared to be quite without a sense of humour and, apart from being teetotal, she also frowned on anything that wasn’t proper and above board. To her fellow committee members, she reminded them of their childhood days and conjured up in their minds the vision of a strict school teacher they used to know and still dreaded. As a result few engaged her in small talk and they all tended to avoid her for fear of being scolded, or worse still, risking the possibility of getting 100 lines for misbehaving!

Their humour was promptly cut short by Ramondo, who again banged his hand on the table. Please, gentlemen, this is a serious matter. There are several potential health problems here. Miss Whitt also says in her long letter, that other people have been jumping in the pool and, depending on what time of the night it was, with fewer and fewer items of clothing on.

Definitely made her day then, repeated Ted.

No one laughed this time – no doubt in fear of the wrath of Mrs. Muir.

Anyhow, continued Ramondo, it goes without saying that we don’t want a reoccurrence of the same problems as we had last year, do we?

You mean, like the time when the pool pump got clogged up by some lady’s bottom bikini thongy-thingy, said George Barman, a retired accountant and the community’s treasurer. How on earth it got there heaven knows, he muttered as much to himself as anyone else within hearing distance.

Well some of them are little more than converted shoe laces, grinned Ted.

And that’s just the ones for the men! added the Major.

Ramondo appeared to be a little rattled. No, I am not referring to… err… lost swimwear that keeps clogging up the filtering system. I am talking about all those ear infections that people complained about after using the pool.

Jules, the last of the committee members there, raised his hand. Then I guess that means there wasn’t much point in us putting up all those signs about showering before getting in the pool, was there? You know when I was running my electrical shop back in Antwerp we sold a contraption that would zap any bugs that were in the water. Maybe we should have one of them installed. I seem to remember it works with ultraviolet rays, he added thoughtfully.

"Surely you don’t know if that machine would kill all of the bugs, do you? The Major interrupted. Yuck, just the thought of all that toe jam inside dirty sweaty socks, splashing about in our pool. It’s enough to make you feel ill, let alone be ill. Thinking about that, it hardly makes me want to go in the pool again!"

"You go in the pool?" jumped in George, in an exaggerated way.

Everybody burst out laughing, except of course for Mrs. Muir. Instead she looked up from the papers in her hands and continued looking up to the heavens as if searching either for divine retribution to fall upon all the men surrounding her