This is the blog I wrote during covid lockdown whilst trapped in my apartment in Spain. The restrictions were extremely severe, so this was my attempt to lighten not only my own mood, but that of those who were also feeling the pressure. The response on social media was fabulous, so it ended up developing a life of its own.

If you want to start at the very beginning - a very good place to start, as Julie Andrews once advised me - click here.

14th April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 30 ***

Well... who’d have thought it?

30 days in captivity when we were originally told 15. But I always knew on Day 1 this diary would be running a little beyond that... though not as long as now seems likely. We’ve just heard that, although Spain has relaxed the restrictions for certain workers, the word on the grapevine is WE won’t be allowed out to go into the parks and outside spaces until at least the 23rd of May.

As much as I’m trying, I can’t find anything funny to say about that.

It would mean this diary running to Day 69 (an appropriate comedy number)... which would entail an awful lot of work on top of what I’m already trying to do. As much as I’ve thoroughly enjoyed writing it, folks... I need to press on with my “other” writing now and get the final book of my “Master” trilogy finished.

So... a massive, heartfelt ❤️ thank you 🙏 to all those who have hit the like, love and laughter button... and those of you who have taken the trouble to post fun and encouraging comments and kept me wanting to do more. It’s been an absolute blast from this end. 😜

As I don’t expect a full return to sanity, I might sporadically check in... as I cannot envisage my role as a deity running as smoothly as One would wish... and I still live in hope that my binoculars will eventually be returned. What’s the betting it’s on Day 69? I’m also going to miss the interaction with everybody! 💕 But I’m going to enjoy using this time to continue doing my “proper” writing now. 😀

The irony is... the CAA regulation, anti-collision lights for my glider finally turned up from Amazon today. I think we’ll use them to set up a home disco. That should REALLY annoy the neighbours... AND keep us from being hit by low flying aircraft. After all... we ARE on the top floor.

If... by some incredible stretch of the imagination... you’ll miss my daily lunacy... can I humbly point out that you can get 400 glorious pages of it on Amazon in both Kindle and paperback formats... except far better thought out... deeper... funnier (I hope)... and with a really decent plot that twists more than Chubby Checker. In fact... I believe it’ll make you wonder why you ever bothered wasting valuable reading time bothering with this silly old diary. It’s called MASTER PIECE, by the way.🙂

If you want a taster before committing... here’s a free excerpt. It’s a cameo character that appears in the book and won’t spoil the plot. It’s not a detective novel, by the way. That would be FAR too normal!

Much love ❤️
Andy
x

Though now retired, former Chief Inspector Hedonist still smelt like a policeman. It was a curious mixture of serge and disinfectant, instantly recognised by tracker dogs and those leaving premises with things that didn’t belong to them.
    He’d been on duty for as long as he could remember, donning his first outfit at the age of eight. It had plastic handcuffs and a hollow truncheon that bent in two when used on Grandpa Hedonist for failure to signal whilst manoeuvring a walking frame.
    His first citizen’s arrest was performed two weeks later on Mr Pugh – his next door neighbour – who he caught watering his dahlias during a hosepipe ban. Mr Pugh was fined fifteen shillings and sixpence by the magistrate, shamed on page four of the local newspaper and died of a heart attack… brought on by stress, the doctors said. Hedonist junior received a clip around the ear from his dad and a certificate of commendation from the local constabulary.
    School gave him the perfect opportunity to hone his law-enforcement skills. From the more serious misdemeanours like smoking and extortion of first-years’ pocket money to lesser ones like cheating at marbles and violation of the school dress code… he reported them all. By the time he’d left, he’d reduced such incidents to zero… along with his circle of friends.
    He sailed through police training school… counting as the proudest day of his life, the moment he first stepped out on the beat with a truncheon that could finally do real damage.
But that truncheon was quickly swapped for plain clothes, as he set about solving some of the nation’s most notorious crimes.
    It was Hedonist who was responsible for putting behind bars such infamous men as Glasgow’s Jack ‘The Utter Bastard’ McRatchet… Liverpool’s Frank ‘The Murdering Psycho’ Cleaver… and the Home Counties’ Crispin ‘The Frightful Rotter’ Heatherington-Ashe.
    Regarded as something of an honour in the underworld for villains to have their collar felt by the great man, some even grassed themselves up to obtain credibility.
He was the first to advocate a policy of zero tolerance, long before it was fashionable with politicians or referred to by that name. In his day, the obsessive and wholesale pursuit of those developing dyslexia when it came to the letter of the law became known as Hedonism.
    Awards and commendations punctuated a spectacular career, it being widely held in police circles that he would’ve been knighted for services to law enforcement, were it not for fears that – during the ceremony – he might attempt to arrest the Monarch for possession of an offensive weapon.
    His obsession with work eventually led to the break-up of his marriage. Not because of the endless hours spent alone in the office when all others had gone home… but due to an incident one Christmas Day, when he arrested his wife for being drunk and disorderly, having helped herself to an extra portion of sherry trifle. He found out the hard way how painful being a victim of zero tolerance could be.
    But it was not just his unflinching dedication to duty that facilitated a meteoric rise through the ranks. Whispers in the canteen suggested it was also due to a readiness to roll up a trouser leg in private and adopt a funny handshake in public. This was a side he kept to himself. He took oaths of allegiance very seriously… especially those that involved unmentionable things happening to his body should he spill the beans.
    He might have risen to greater heights still, had he not refused further promotion on the grounds it would take him away from the action. This only brought further admiration from his colleagues… as well as a flood of wish-you’d-change-your-mind cards from most of London’s villains.
    He was the copper’s copper. A fair cop, if ever there was one.
    But all that was history. His mantelpiece was now home to a set of golden handcuffs tackily mounted on a mahogany base, a plaque on the front wishing him all the best from the lads at the station.
    He’d come away from the force with this keepsake, a pension, a lifetime of memories and, most treasured of all… his one hundred percent clear-up record.
    But the latter was now under threat.

You can find out why by reading Master Piece.

13th April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 29 ***

Today I’ve been reflecting on the fact I'm currently worshipped by the inhabitants of a small island somewhere in the South Pacific Ocean (See Day 23).

I’m sure some you have found yourself in a similar situation. But for those who haven’t... it’s a very bizarre feeling.

Sarah says... whilst her parents are pleased I’ve finally got myself a “proper” job after all these years... it doesn’t mean I have to keep walking around with a haemorrhoid cushion on my head... even if I HAVE gone to a lot of trouble decorating it with flowers and various bits of flora.

You might like to know I’m using a bedsheet as a toga... though it’s due for the wash on Wednesday... and I’m concerned about how I maintain my authority whilst standing around in just a haemorrhoid cushion and sandals, waiting for it to dry.

“Reflecting” is a very apt word, as my people have switched allegiance to me from their old... and now redundant... moon god.

At first I was extremely flattered... not to mention, incredibly grateful for the votive offerings they insist on sending. Although our local supermarket does a fine range in olives, hams and paella rice... it’s woefully short on jackfruit, guava and sea grapes. Although... if I get sent another soddin’ coconut...

Our diet is now far healthier... with our frozen pizzas pimped beyond all recognition and looking well beyond anything like they do on the box.

On the face of it... it seems I’m in a win-win situation with this gig.

I mean... when things are going well... I’m being profusely thanked for the bountiful harvest of food the island seems able to provide... and the fact the sun continues to rise above the horizon every morning allowing everyone another day. When they’re NOT going well... like when a recent storm caused some crop damage... and you’d think they’d all be shaking a fist at me... they contritely beg forgiveness for having obviously caused me offence in some way... and insist on sending even MORE bl**dy coconuts!!!

You’d assume... therefore... being a god was a pretty safe bet.

But then I found myself feeling envious about the relationship they’d had with their previous deity. After all... it hadn’t actually gone away, and was still hanging about... like an ex-boyfriend.

Now... previous-partner envy is not something I've ever experienced before. But as I stood on my balcony last night and gazed into the night sky... it just so happened to ever-so-slowly drive by our apartment... waning gibbous against a gently coruscating curtain of stars... quietly reminding me that it had been around for billions of years... thanks to the actions of trillions of gas and dust particles within the Solar System and the assistance of gravitational accretion.

I... on the other hand... have only been around since 1959... thanks to the actions of my mum and dad and the assistance of Edgware General Hospital.

I suddenly felt very inadequate... which is quite unusual for a god.

It got me thinking.

My people have watched this bewitching orb dance its ritual cycle... lunar month after lunar month... waxing and waning in perfect tempo and NEVER letting them down. And if their ancestors ever DID start taking its presence or punctiliousness for granted... along came the odd lunar eclipse to make them hold their breaths for a troubled while... and have them rapidly doubling up on the coconuts.

But what can I offer that’s so impressive? How can I compete with the eternal ticking of Heaven made manifest?

If my glider ever gets blown down in one of those strong winds, I'm completely cattle trucked. And... myself forbid... what if that island has termites!!!

Is it back to the day job, which has rather deserted me at this present moment in time? And what’s even more worrying... who’s gonna want to sit on a haemorrhoid cushion once it’s got pieces of holly stuck in it?

Who knows what fate has in store for me? One only hopes it’s going to be kind.

It seems I’ll just have to have faith in something I can’t see, and pray that everything will be alright.

Which is rather ironic... don’t you think?

Happy Easter.

12th April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 28 ***

We’ve now survived 4 weeks in Spanish lockdown... and I’m proud of how we’ve tackled the challenge so far... even if I HAVE managed to reduce the flat to a shell of its former self.

Sarah and I made a conscious decision on Day 1 to get through it all by making sure we kept our minds active. Sarah now says she didn’t mean THAT active... but I think she’s just upset at not being able to practise her castanets, due to me using them as brake pedals on my escape glider.

She was actually becoming quite proficient. I’d regularly hear her click-clacking merrily away upstairs... and that “Play Along With Stormzy” tutorial I bought her last Christmas had her coming along leaps and bounds... literally.

In fact... she got quite addicted to them... and I have to admit to wiping a small tear from my eye when I caught her yesterday DESPERATELY trying to join in with a Spanish Zoom class for castanet players... using two tablespoons she’d painted black. The other ladies didn’t say anything to her... but I reckon they knew and were just being kind... especially when one of them suggested they next have a go at performing “My Old Man Said Follow The Van”.

In order to maintain our active brain regime, we’ve only watched TV in the evenings. I have to say... this hasn’t been too much of a challenge. I’ve never been a great Philip Schofield fan... and am not particularly interested in baking a lemon drizzle cake... winning a trip to Barbados... selling the tat in my attic... or learning how to survive the menopause. Though... apparently... the latter might help me understand why Sarah keeps messing about with the thermostat on the radiators.

But one of the programmes we both love watching is “10 Years Younger”... a feel-good show that takes people who look 70... but are only actually 52... and makes them look 60.

At the beginning... a hapless soul stands on the street with a face like a slapped-arse, dressed in their lounging pants. Passers-by insult them by trying to guess their age. An average is then calculated and revealed to the unfortunate individual... who usually breaks down at that point and cries. We... of course.... all have a good belly laugh.

They then enjoy the services of a team of top specialists... who inject them with botox and filler... miraculously turn their remaining tooth into a smile worthy of an American gameshow host... dress them in something OTHER than lounging pants... fix their hair... before finally finding themselves in the hands of a makeup expert who’s been perfecting their skills an entire lifetime... and being given tips, during the next 5 minutes, on how they TOO can achieve the same Vogue-cover results, between making breakfast for the kids and rushing out to work.

Then... voila!

After a grand reveal, they come to the astonishing realisation that bothering to spend several thousand pounds on clothes, hair, teeth, makeup, and various temporary facial treatments... can not only make you look younger, but also help you feel a better person... at least until the free botox wears off and their roots start to show.

I just hope they appreciate it’s their smile that’s helping make the biggest difference and that they can always get THAT for free.

The results can be quite dramatic, though.

My favourite bit is seeing the confident, sassy, new “them” being reunited with their gobsmacked partner... and seeing that look in their eyes that says “I think you’d better be bucking up your OWN ideas, now, kiddo!”

I also love watching the toe-curling embarrassment of their teenage sons when they realise that the unrecognisable “mum”... who’s just sashayed through the reveal curtain... is not only theirs... but a bit of a sort.

I can’t help feeling there’s an awfully good reason we never see “10 Years Younger Revisited”.

So... being the now-famous inventor of Balcony Noughts & Crosses... it gave me yet another great idea to entertain myself in these unvarying times. I’m going to do my very own version here in our apartment... but with a twist. I’m calling it “10 Years Older”.

Basically... it means... in order to achieve that goal... I’m going to have to make a conscious effort to slob around in my lounging pants all day... not brush my hair... or bother to clean my teeth... and set about growing facial hair that should really belong on a baby primate in a zoo.

Oh...

Wait a minute.

11th April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 27 ***

There are many things I miss, as we come close to being a month in isolation... our sofa being one of them. But of all these... too numerous to mention and not particularly funny... the one that hurts the most is not being able to sit down and play the piano. For those wondering... I can’t even stand up and play a piano here. I don’t have a keyboard. What I would give for the chance to give my fingers & brain their regular... and much needed... workout.

Now... I’m able to stretch my legs by walking up and down the corridors that link the apartments. I take the lift down to reception and then work my way up the nine flights of stairs, covering the entire length of each corridor as I go. I’ve even sneaked out to our underground car park and walked up and down that.

But my fingers need exercising too. If not... our theatre show is in danger of looking like it includes a guest appearance by Les Dawson next time I attempt “Thank You For The Music”.

It’s all a question of muscle memory. When you’re really going for it, there’s no way you get time to THINK about what you’re doing... though many of the musicians I play with regularly suggest that perhaps I SHOULD.

I’m trying to avoid the obvious of saying I miss being able to amuse myself in isolation with my fingers. I wouldn’t stoop so low.

But it’s true. Just to extemporise and give that creative part of the brain a work out would be a joy, in these extremely difficult times.

So... in an effort to get as close to that state of nirvana as I can, I’ve built myself a substitute piano.

It consists of two rows of cleverly arranged wine and champagne glasses... tumblers... empty jars... and the pyrex mixing jug for bottom C. For a full-bodied tone, I’ve chosen to fill them with wine... rather than water... and tuned each one accordingly. All I have to do is run a wet finger around the rim and... voila!

So... I’m now about to give it a go. I’ll attempt Chopin’s Etude Opus 10 No. 4. It’s so difficult, I may need to take my socks off and use a few of my toes. Back in a minute.

🎼 🎶 🎵 🎵🎶 🎵🎶 🎵 🎵🎶 🎵🎶 🎵 🎵🎶 🎵🎶 🎵 🎵🎶 🎵

Goodness me... that was hard work! Old Choppy certainly loved his black notes, didn’t he? My fingers are worn to a frazzle! It was like Nijinsky being asked to do five minutes of fouettes whilst juggling a set of kitchen knives and reciting the Cyrillic alphabet backwards... and I’m talking about the racehorse. I have to say... that was thirsty work. I think I need a drink. Excuse me.

BUGGER!

So... I’m now missing middle E, top F sharp and half the low octave. I guess I’ll just have to attempt something next that’s not quite as demanding.

Okay. I know... Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14... or his “Moonlight Sonata”, if you must. That’s nice and slow... and shouldn’t present too much of a problem. Back in a minute, folks.

🎼 🎶 🎵 🎵 🎶 🎵 🎶 🎵 🎵 🎶 🎵 🎶 🎵

Crikey!

My finger bowl ran out just as I reached bar 157 and I had to resort to licking my fingers to get to the end! I’m almost out of saliva. Excuse me. I’ll need another drink.

Right... Sho we now have a liccle problem. I sheem to have run out of black notes.

Never mindee... As part of tonight’s performance... I’d like to play Percy Grainger’s “In An English Country Garden”... (I bloody wish)... Ha! Ha! Ha! Anyway... here we go... In the key of C.

🎼 🎶 🎵 🎵🎶 🤡 🎵🎶 😖 🎵 🎵🎶

Oh, dear! Shorry about the bum notes. I’m having a shlight pwoblem wiv me acquarcy. I fink it mush be the spacing. Perhaps another drink’ll fix it!

F#@K AND B@#$CKS!!!

Erm... ok... “Down, Down” by Status Quo, ladyboys and gentlegerms. ‘Ere we go. Join in. See ya... whhhhhhhenever...

🎼 ⚙️🔩⚙️🔩⚙️⚙️🔩⚙️🔩🚜🔩⚙️⚙️🔩⚙️🔩⚙️🚜🔩🔩⚙️⚙️🔩🔩

OH... €#@* ME... THAT WAS BLEEDIN’ AWFUL!!! And I don’t mean the playing. I DEFINITELY need a dwink now!!! ‘Scuuuse... me.

ANDY!!!!!!!!!

WENNN WLL U *EVER* LEARN??????!!!!!!!!!!!

Riyyyht.

Fank u al fur cuming.

I hop uve enjoied it.

Id lik 2 leeve u wif a particililiar favuwit of myne.

Laydies and... phhwww... those uvver fings... I give u...

Chopsticks.

🎼 🤢🤮

10th April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 26 ***

It’s Day 26 of my diary and my original target of thinking I’d have to write 15 entries is now but a distant dream. At this rate, I’m going to be rivalling Samuel Pepys.

He... ironically... also wrote about empty streets, as he chronicled the plague... and his musings are used in infant schools to teach children about life during that time. Sat crossed legged and read excerpts... they are then given the task of painting scenes from the Great Fire of London, using cheap powder paint and brushes as thick as their thumbs... when they’re not even capable of holding a knife and fork properly. No wonder it never gets framed.

Which begs the question... will school children of the future one day badly illustrate my own exploits? Will a blotchy representation of my beautiful glider... garishly painted using only primary colours... adorn a fridge door, sandwiched between an optician’s appointment card and the timetable for the recycling?

Will a devoted grandma have to force a smile and say... “that’s nice... aren’t you clever”... as she’s proudly handed a botched attempt to depict me having my binoculars confiscated... praying to God she’s actually holding her sensitive little budding Cézanne’s masterpiece the right way up?

Of course, this probable scenario goes further.

Will people then opt to spend future Easter Friday bank holidays wandering around our apartment here in Spain, marvelling at how I managed to keep myself completely sane for such a long period of time? And does that also mean we’ll finally have to clean it?

Will they cheekily jump over the red rope... whilst the guide’s not looking... to have a sneaky selfie done with my waxwork effigy? I’ll no doubt be represented sitting at a desk... pen in hand... staring up at a point just in front of my forehead... whilst a waxwork effigy of Sarah stands loyally behind me... a reassuring hand resting lovingly on my shoulder.

Or they might choose to go for her stuck upside down, in reference to us playing Topsy-Turvy on Day 4. I expect the latter would prove more popular with the kids... and confuse the HELL out of grandma when she’s handed the painting for critique.

Let’s just hope they don’t decide to have ME depicted doing One-Handed Tree Pose on Day 22!

I’m not sure where they’ll put the gift shop, though. You want to catch people on the way out... but our corridor’s a little tight... and I’m not sure how they’ll fit in a till.

I expect it’ll sell the usual things like... pencils... rubbers... writing pads... fridge magnets... jigsaws... Lancaster Bomber Airfix kits... fudge... plastic dinosaurs... false beards... calendars... kaleidoscopes... my first novel and work of comedic genius, *Master Piece* (EVEN THOUGH IT’S CURRENTLY AVAILABLE FROM AMAZON & ELSEWHERE 😉)... and various other trinkets to remind people of their wonderful day out.

Not that I’m trying to compare myself to the great seventeenth century diarist and his chronicling of life during the English Restoration period. But HE never constructed anything out of a sofa... had the foresight, when he looked out of his window on the 6th September 1666, to invent *Burning Balcony Noughts & Crosses*... AND didn’t risk being handed a €30,000 fine when he then went out into his garden to bury that soddin’ parmesan cheese everyone goes on about.

There will... I expect... be a disproportionate amount of visitors from a small island somewhere in the South Pacific Ocean.

When they are done falling prostrate in front of my waxen image... they will flock, en masse, to that corner of the gift shop that displays gaudy statuettes of me standing with my hands outstretched like the wings of a badly built aircraft. Other people will have walked by these resin iconographies and thought... who on EARTH would want to buy one of those? But this over-priced souvenir will grace many a wooden hut... and bring luck and virility to all those who place a ring of scented tealight candles around it. Perhaps the shop should sell those too. No harm in doing a little up-selling.

And THUS shall it be.

Anyway... back to the here and now. Just like my counterpart Pepys... who chronicled close to an entire decade of his life... I need to get on and finish Day 26.

Now... let me think.......

SARAH!!! I’VE TOLD YOU BEFORE... WILL YOU TAKE YOUR BL**DY HAND OFF MY SHOULDER!!!!!!!!!!!!

9th April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 25 ***

As some of you may have gathered... yesterday was my birthday.

It wasn’t quite the day I’d planned... and I don’t mean the fact I ended up dancing naked on our balcony like no one was watching. Unfortunately... they were.

It seems it warranted a heavily-pixilated spot on the local evening news bulletin... thanks to one of the neighbours I’d previously upset... and it’s now trending on Youtube.

It’s not quite Gangnam Style... and it’ll probably be banned in playgrounds, when the kids eventually return to school... but I understand Ed Balls is thinking of doing it when he appears on this year’s Strictly Come Dancing Christmas special. At least it’ll hopefully remind people to remove the giblets from the turkey before they stick it in the oven.

We’d originally planned a birthday trip to the Murcia region of southeast Spain. I was particularly looking forward to visiting Cartagena and being able to wander around its astonishing Roman ruins.

I’m a history nut and I love that sort of stuff. It never ceases to amaze me how an empire... that encompassed one quarter of the planet’s entire population... established itself by ensuring its soldiers were feared throughout it... despite them dressing in sandals and skirts.

Well... most of them had pants on and a fair bit of armour... but you get my drift.

They didn’t believe in ring roads... sitting up straight at the dinner table... NOT owning slaves... and a day out with the family at the Colosseum could leave the kids having nightmares if the emperor was in a particularly foul mood. 👎

Their empire... having lasted 500 years... was eventually ended by intransigence... and a group of hairy opportunists from Germany who apparently dressed in black and liked listening to The Cure. It now stands as an apposite reminder that you should NEVER take anything for granted...

... including birthday trips.

So... Sarah surprised me on mine by providing a clever substitute day out. She invited me to tour the ruins of our apartment... taking in the various sights of destruction my glider building had caused.

There was a large, laminated picture on the wall showing how the kitchen would’ve once looked when containing cabinets... and a clever schematic showing how it was possible to harness constantly gushing water by using things called taps.

I was particularly moved by being able to see the actual marks where the castors of the sofa used to be. It was like being transported back in time. Absolutely fascinating!

She’d even gone to the trouble of displaying in a glass cabinet... three different buttons... an earring... the broken cap from a writing implement... and a post-Franco peseta that had been discovered when excavating the remains of the seat cushions.

It was a lovely touch, and a very thoughtful and inventive present. The only thing I didn’t like was being charged €5 for an ice cream. What a rip off!

The rest of the day is a bit of a blur. 🤪

This morning I woke to a massive headache... and an email from my new anthropologist friend.

Apparently... having informed the tribe he’s living with that their new god was celebrating the anniversary of his own creation... they’d asked their outgoing moon god for one last favour. They’d requested it appear in its largest, pinkest form that night as a sign of its capitulation to the new kid on the block... and THEIR devotion to me. How sweet was that? But... get this... He asked me if I’d seen it!!! What an Idiot!!! As if such a thing could ACTUALLY happen!!!

I... in return... suggested he go on Youtube and see ME in my pinkest form. He’d find that EQUALLY unbelievable.

I bet you’ll all be googling it now.

Oh, well... if you do...

Sleep tight. Don’t have nightmares.

Andy
x

8th April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 24 ***

Ish me brfthdy an Sarah n mi hve ben celeb... celebr... celabr... cel... passin th tyme wiv a copla drinx... or tooo.

I dn’t fink I’ll rite much todae, as weeeve now fynshed offf the thurd jug ov sangreea an mi fyngers arnt doen wot their suposed 2.

Neeever iz mi hed... cum to that.

Fanx fr al tha luvbly brfthdaze massages u snt mi. I em vry lacky to hev soch gut frenz.

I luv u al fairy mush.

Plise excuus mi now... as eye fink i neeeeed to goe und cule God on the beeg porclin telefon.

Mandy
x

7th April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 23 ***

Today I received news, pertaining to my glider, that I’m struggling to get my frazzled head around.

As you know... I launched it on Day 13... and had been monitoring its progress using the GPS tracking device I’d previously secreted in Sarah’s handbag.

By the way... some of you have been in touch to say it was wrong of me to do such a thing. Not to launch the glider... but to put a spying device in her handbag. I’ve thought long and hard on this and now agree. You’re absolutely right. It was an appalling and unforgivable lapse of judgement on my part. She could so easily have forgotten to take it with her when she went out on her own. In future, I’ll attach one to her car.

Anyway... back to the glider.

After it reached Saudi Arabia, it continued on over Pakistan... the mountains of Nepal... and found itself briefly skirting the southernmost provinces of China. I thought it would be rather fitting if it chose to gently finish its journey at this point... seeing as the shopping trolley I’d used for its undercarriage would finally have returned home.

But no... catching a strong north-westerly wind, it headed out into the Pacific Ocean, and was last seen off the coast of Papua New Guinea. I say “last seen”... as it was at that point that I suddenly lost contact with it.

So you can imagine my astonishment when... opening my emails this morning... I found one from an anthropologist who’s been working on a remote island somewhere in that vast expanse of water.

He informed me that he’s spent the last three years studying a tribe, living there, that have yet to be assimilated into modern culture.

They have their own, perfectly good culture, thank you very much... but he’s already made a documentary about that and would now like to see them put some clothes on.

Apparently... when they were first discovered... they had never had contact with the outside world, and were wandering about naked... with the exception of a few grubby Manchester United t-shirts.

He tried introducing them to smartphones, in order to vastly improve their lives. But... apart from the fact the 4G signal was frustratingly weak... they didn’t have pockets to put them in. Some of the tribal elders eventually found an ingenious way around the problem... but the anthropologist had to put a stop to it, as it was incredibly unhygienic.

I’d previously gone to the trouble of etching my email into the glider, just in case it landed somewhere inappropriate and I was required to pay for any damage. That’s how he knew how to contact me.

According to his email... it finally came to rest... tail first... in the precise centre of this tribe’s village... and is now standing upright, with its wings outstretched... and being venerated as a god from the sky.

But that’s not the weird bit.

Before its launch, Sarah thought it would be fitting to paint an image of my face on the outside of the cockpit... seeing as it wasn’t going to be inside it. The anthropologist has informed me that it’s not the glider they’re worshipping... it’s ME!

Do you know what my first thought was? About bloody time.

My second thought was... where on EARTH are Sarah and I going to put all the coconuts he says he’s now going to have to send me? They keep piling them up around the base of the glider as votive offerings.

He also said he’ll be in touch... as they’re bound to have requests.

This could be interesting.

Andy
x

6th April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 22 ***

We’ve now entered week 4 of lockdown and things are getting painfully predictable.

We wake up... We ask each other how we slept... We both say badly... We have our cereal in bed... Sarah washes... We talk about the weather... Sarah cleans her teeth... We catch up on the news back home... Sarah puts deodorant on... We check our emails... Sarah gets dressed... We check our social media... blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

In fact... the first hour of our morning is so busy, I’m glad I no longer have to shave.

Suffice to say... there’s a definite problem emerging that I’m sure you’re able to spot.

That’s right...routine.

It’s really started playing tricks with my head again.

Today... in a bid to relieve the boredom, I found myself staring at the drum of the washing machine and wondering if it would be possible for me to fit inside. I’d try it feet first of course... I’m not stupid.

Then I wondered... if I managed it... would I be able to reach up from my contorted position and operate the controls. Assuming I could... I figured it would be best to test the waters... literally... with something like a silk wash... the “delicates” cycle... followed by a half load, slow spin. I don’t want to overdo it first time around... and around... and around.

Then... once I’d become acclimatised... I’d be able to move on to a normal load... like I was a sock... a t-shirt... or a pair of soiled pants.

Finally... and I think we’d probably be talking a few days in... I’d be ready for the “heavy duty” setting... full load... fast spin... 90 degrees... with rinse hold.

It was only when I realised that I wouldn’t be able to open the door when I was done, did I snap myself from such madness.

I couldn’t believe what a fool I’d been. After all... today’s Monday. Wash day is Wednesday.

Sarah was upstairs watching the box set of “Ice Road Truckers” I’d bought her as a Valentine’s gift... so I thought I’d use her iPad and see what was occurring on House Party. I figured I could stick something over the camera and pretend we’d been having trouble with it lately. That way, I’d get all the benefits and none of the pain.

But turning it on, I saw a message inviting her to a yoga class on Zoom. Curiosity getting the better of me... half an hour later, I found myself engaging in Mountain Pose and Downward Facing Dog with a group of leotard-clad women.

Now... I’ve never attempted yoga before. I always thought it would be a bit like playing Twister... but with the opportunity to fart without being disqualified. How wrong I was. I think I’d have been better off in the washing machine.

It’s really difficult!

It also gets rather draughty, if... like me... you hadn’t bothered to get dressed before you joined in. Not that it mattered. They couldn’t see me.

Everything was going smoothly... albeit hurting... until we got to One-Handed Tree Pose.

It was at that point, I should’ve made my excuses and left the experts to themselves. But never one to give up... despite a breeze from the balcony increasing my discomfort... I attempted a move requiring great strength and balance. As the name suggests, you set yourself up in a handstand... then remove one hand... and... whilst trying to shake as little as possible... slowly spread your legs.

It was at this point that the small piece of chorizo I’d stuck over the camera lens chose to fall off.

My mistake was trying to style it out. Instead of dropping to my feet and scuttling away out of camera shot, I tried to pretend I was a piece of artwork we just happened to have in the apartment... a bit like a Rodin, but with a surrealist edge.

Even though... from my upside down position... I saw numerous eyeballs filling the screen, trying to figure out what it was they were looking at... I thought I’d gotten away with it until I heard one of the women say.... isn’t that Sarah’s Andy?

My pain was further compounded when another added... I’d heard he was growing a beard... but THAT’S ridiculous!

I think from now on I’ll give these multimedia apps a miss.

I’m going to go back to safer forms of amusing myself. After all... If I can get through the boredom of Tuesday... after that it’s WASH DAY!!!!!!

See ya tomorrow!

Andy
x

5th April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 21 ***

So... as regular readers of my diary will know… yesterday I was unexpectedly introduced to the world of shared social media.

With apps like House Party, I discovered it is now possible for a huge number of your friends to see you in an unwashed, unkempt and barely-dressed-for-decency state... all at the same time.

It was quite a shock... though obviously not as big as theirs.

It’s a very unsettling thing seeing a dozen people lurch back in horror at PRECISELY the same time... and then... in perfect synchronisation... lean towards the screen to confirm that what they THOUGHT they had seen, they HAD.

Curiously... no one mentioned the beard. Sarah said afterwards that they probably didn’t notice. I can’t work out if she was being kind or being cruel.

But just when I thought things couldn’t get much worse... they did.

We received a request, from a couple we met briefly on holiday a few years ago, to join them in a virtual dinner party that evening on the app. We barely know them... but, Sarah being Sarah... she’d got chatting to them on the beach, the way she always does.

It never ceases to amaze me how she does it... or, if truth be told... WHY she does. She can literally be standing next to a complete stranger in the street... I bend down to tie my shoelace... and by the time I’m vertical again, they’re swapping contact details and promising to let each other know how they get on.

It takes me a LEAST 2 years to get to know someone well enough to even WANT to bother talking back to them during a conversation. For the first 24 months, I usually zone out... having enough things going on in my head, not to be REMOTELY interested in what’s going on in THEIRS. There is one huge problem with this, of course.... QUESTIONS!

Anyway... I digress. This couple had been trying for ages to arrange a first dinner date. Neither Sarah nor I were that bothered... having friends we’d MUCH rather be spending our time with. So we’d always given the excuse that we were busy working... the second biggest advantage to being musicians.

The FIRST is having the pleasure of watching people... who you’ve just been introduced to at parties... struggling to get their heads around the fact you don’t also have “REAL” jobs, yet can both afford to wear shoes.

The trouble was... we couldn’t pretend we were otherwise engaged, as the woman told Sarah she’d been reading my diaries and thought they’d come to the rescue. Whether she meant both of ours... or just Sarah’s... is another thing I’m still trying to work out.

I figure that virtual dinner dates at least have one major upside. They eliminate my pet hate of taking a thoughtfully chosen, and not inconsiderably priced, bottle of wine to an event and watching it being taken to the kitchen... and a suspiciously familiar bottle returned in its place, that you swear has been doing the rounds at the last few dinner parties you’ve attended. You’re then forced to drink some cheap muck... knowing your hosts are going to be enjoying YOURS in private at some point in the future.

So... we reluctantly accept the invitation, and eventually end up eating a meal whilst staring at each other on our computer screens.

It doesn’t get off to the best of starts when... early on... she leans in and says... she hopes I don’t mind her pointing it out... but I appear to have some food or something stuck to my chin. I informed her it was my beard.

Then he... in a male bonding ritual going back to the invention of the first combustion engine, asks me what car I’m driving at the moment. The cheeky f@#*er! Chance would be a fine thing! He KNOWS I’m in Spain and not under the benevolent jurisdiction of Papa Boris!

Anyway... the evening progresses, and everything eventually seems to be going smoothly... from my perspective... until I hear those dreaded words... “and what do YOU think Andy?”.

Bo***cks!

I’d been trying to work out if it was feasible to build a second glider out of the remaining wardrobe doors.

I tried to bluff my way out of it by saying “Oh... is that the time?” and announcing that we had to get back for the babysitter. But... unbeknownst to me... Sarah had already told them we didn’t have children... and... well... you can work the other bit out for yourselves.

(I think our ages might’ve been a bit of a giveaway, too... but you can always hope.)

At least we didn’t have 10 minutes of awkward silence whilst we waited for the taxi.

But the worst bit of all was... I’d bought a really nice bottle of wine to have with our meal... and Sarah... having cooked the food and forgotten she wasn’t the host... out of habit, went and swapped it for a cheap one!

Still... at least Mister “I drive a Saab” won’t get the benefit.

I can’t believe I wasted time bothering to have a shower for all that. After all... they wouldn’t have been able to smell me anyway.

Andy
x

4th April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 20 ***

It’s official. There can no longer be any doubt. After 20 days of pacing like a tiger in a Romanian circus cage, I can say with certainty that the cheese has finally slid off my cracker... I’m half a bubble off plumb... the wheel’s still spinning, but the hamster’s dead... and... for my American friends (turn away now, if you’re the sensitive British type)... I’m nuttier than a porta potty at a peanut festival.

Yes... a sandwich short of a picnic.... a sofa short of a living room... though that last one doesn’t work, as I really am.

I... Andrew Dane Nye... at the age of 61 minus 4 days... have decided... [drum roll]...

to grow a beard!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now... to the average Y chromosomed male, this is as normal as washing the car on a Sunday... or pretending that you know more about football than the manager of any team in the Premier League. Facial hair could be said to be the grooming equivalent of manspreading.

BUT... to someone who, as a teenager... and embarrassingly well beyond... was in danger of requiring a skin graft if they attempted to shave every day... this decision is as great a sign of mental decline as you’re ever likely to witness.

But that’s the point. You’re NOT going to be able to witness it... are you? Nobody is!

I’m stuck here... for at LEAST another month... cut off from any social interaction... realising that a dressing gown isn’t JUST for night time... thinking... what IF I let that bum fluff finally have its moment? What IF I gave it a chance to show what it was capable of? Is it REMOTELY possible that I could finally acquire a certain rite of passage?

I should point out... for those who don’t know... I’ve had to spend the last 22 years gluing a beard on every time I go out on stage and pretend to be a certain hirsute Swedish gentleman. OH, THE IRONY!!!

I’ve never had the courage to actually get past day 4 of not shaving... not wishing to leave the house with the surface of my chin looking like that of the old tennis ball I’ve been keeping in my garage as a keepsake of my childhood.

But now’s the PERFECT time. Sarah says she’s OK with it, as she’s in desperate need of entertainment and a good belly laugh. So... I’ve been trying now for a little over 10 days and the results are... how shall I put this...

Well... I doubt you’ll see me wrestling bears in the foreseeable future.

It currently looks like I’d expect an archaeologically excavated Tudor toothbrush to... and a child’s one, at that. Not at all what I had hoped for.

In my mind... it would conjure up a picture of a smouldering Bradley Cooper singing “in the sha-ha-sha-ha-ha-low” to Lady Gaga in A Star Is Born. Unfortunately... I’m getting the image of Wilfred Bramble squawking “Harold! Harold!” up the stairs to Harry H Corbett in Steptoe & Son.

But I’m only on day... whatever it is. There’s plenty of time ahead... I fear.

I figure it’s the chance of a lifetime. A one-off journey of personal discovery that is without ANY repercussions. I mean... it’s not as if anybody’s ever going to see it. Any embarrassment... and it’s currently BEYOND excruciating... goes no further. At the end of my private experiment, I shall shave it off... what there is of it... and no one will be any the wiser.

Even Sarah’s too engrossed in all those new apps she’s been loading onto her iPad to pay much attention to it.

Look... here she is now... coming into the room, talking to herself, playing with yet another.

What’s that, darling?

Why do I need to look at your iPad?

I’m sure it IS interesting... but... as you can see... I’m busy writing my diary and growing my beard.

House Party?

Never heard of it.

Is it like Pac-Man? Here... let me have a look...

OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH, FUUUUUU......... Hello everybody!!!!!

3rd April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 19 ***

Last night we watched the BBC news to catch up on what’s occurring back home.

Apparently... the whole country joined in with us here in Spain... and with many others around the world... by going outside to clap and bang pots & pans to show its appreciation for the astounding work the health workers and others are relentlessly undertaking on its behalf.

Admittedly... some of you looked slightly embarrassed, as the camera focussed in and caught you doing that most un-British thing of being demonstrative and showing some emotion.

But... you’ll be pleased to hear... it was balanced by those adopting that OTHER British characteristic... which surfaces when media attention suddenly comes upon them... of feeling it’s compulsory to emit a cheer like they were Dick Van Dyke on the prowl for Mary Poppins in Magaluf... or that Alan Sheeeeeeeaaaaaaaarer had just walked by.

Good old you, Britain.

But then... having done so... and to the astonishment of the rest of us watching... you went back indoors... until... NEXT THURSDAY!!!!!!!

WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO FRIDAY, SATURDAY, SUNDAY, MONDAY, TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY AND ALL THE OTHER DAYS THOSE BRAVE SOULS ARE PUTTING THEIR LIVES ON THE LINE FOR YOU???????!!!!!!!!!!!

What’s so pressing that... despite the torrent of comical memes flooding social media, riffing on how BORED everyone is stuck at home... come 8 o’clock tomorrow night, the whole country will miraculously be too busy doing OTHER THINGS to show its heartfelt appreciation again?

Still... to be fair... jogging kits don’t iron themselves.

Plus... it does take quite a while to browse the entire Argos catalogue. Thank God that ESSENTIAL store has stayed open... eh? What a wonderful act of corporate altruism THAT was. I mean... it’ll do the morale of the nation a power of good to be able to walk into a shop where you can’t see that the shelves have all been stripped.

The silver lining to the country only applauding those trying to save it on a weekly basis, of course, is that at least everyone will have time in their diaries to go outside at 8 o’clock and thank the owners of Argos on one of those OTHER nights. You’ll probably find they sell those vital party poppers you’ll be needing.

But cynicism aside... I really DO appreciate how much time it takes up in a day, trying to find out who to complain to... when someone’s had the temerity to fly a drone over a car park, and film people driving themselves & their family to a popular beauty spot so that they can share the delights of nature with other like-minded people for a couple of hours.

I mean... how ELSE were they gonna take their mind off the strain of all that social distancing?

But there you go. I rest my case. Perhaps if they’d bought those vital running shoes from Argos, they wouldn’t have had to take the car.

I’m looking forward to catching up on what you’ve all been up to again tonight. It’s funny the slightly different slant you have on the news when you’re watching it from afar.

Enjoy the night off. 🙂

Andy
x

2nd April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 18 ***

The question Sarah and I have been asked the most during our incarceration in Spain is... would we prefer to be here or back at home.

Now... I know that in Blighty we would be allowed to roam freely outside, with the fresh wind blowing in our hair... or jogging, as I believe many of you are now calling it... and that, if we happened to be stopped by an over-jealous and ill-informed police officer... who had the temerity to politely question our actions... Sarah and I would be fully-entitled to cheek them back, accuse them of being racist and report them to the the Daily Mail. From what we’re seeing on the news out here, we could also take pleasure in visiting food shops as a couple... watch goats eating our privet hedge... and travel together in a car... providing we were undertaking essential journeys, like visiting our local skateboard park.

We would also be able to enjoy the freedom of our garden... instead of a €30,000 fine if caught in the communal one here (I kid you not)... and finally use the gym I built above the garage but have very little memory of.

But... despite all that... I would still choose Marbella.

We have the massive advantage of the weather, of course... one of the main reasons for us being here. But we’re also incredibly fortunate to be able to enjoy the most spectacular of views from our apartment.

For those who follow my wife on Facebook and Instagram... you will not be aware... but her guilty little secret is that she likes to take pictures of sunsets. She takes them in the morning... she takes them during lunch... she takes them in the afternoon... but I always think the best ones are taken just before it starts to get dark. She’s so good at it, I often say to her... why don’t you post the odd one or two on social media so as to REALLY rub our friends’ noses in it... especially those that live in Slough. Given it’ll help brighten up their days of eternal winter, you might want to stick in the odd palm tree while you’re at it... and ram the point home by adding #NOFILTER.

She’s also very good at taking pictures of the view I’m bragging about... though for a reason I’ve never been able to fathom... always insists on blocking it with toenails and fingernails that have just been painted.

I’m often tempted to post a picture of it myself... alongside that smug, witty caption that never fails to raise a smile... *View From Today’s Office*. But I don’t... because I’m not a nob.

So... I thought I’d paint a picture of it instead... in words.

To the right we have the Sierra Blanca. That’s “white mountain range” to you Gringos. It’s white because... and did I mention this... we get an awful lot of sun out here.

Nestling below it, and wrapping themselves into the distance, are the lesser peaks and green hills... dotted with pretty white fincas and traditional Andalucian villages, promising merriment at actually seeing a man on a donkey... plus beer at €1 a pint.

Directly in front of us is the coast, with Puerto Banus curving it to the left. It’s where people with low self-esteem go to stand and gawp at people with too MUCH self-esteem... and seem happy to be ripped off for the privilege of doing so. I like to think of it as the sh*t magnet... leaving everyone living here alone, and able to get on with REAL life.

And then in the distance is Gibraltar.

The “Rock”, as it is imaginatively called, has a very strange quality. On a morning like today’s... when the sun...

did I mention we get a lot of it here...

strikes its jagged contours... it seems as if you could just reach out and touch it. But on others... when the sky blends with the sea... it magically disappears... even though you know it must be there. It’s like Brigadoon... but with much cheaper cigarettes.

Finally... and most impressive of all... when it cares to show itself in the late evening light... is the magnificent coast of Africa... the Atlas Mountains of Morocco and fabled southern Pillar of Hercules whetting your curiosity and tempting you over.

It’s all so breathtakingly beautiful... and could only be bettered by God himself... or... apparently... the addition of glittery, pink, shellacked nail extensions.

Can’t wait for the sunset.

Andy
x

1st April 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 17 ***

I’m not sure if any of you have noticed... if you’ve been bored enough to keep reading my diary over these past few weeks... but my behaviour could be said to have become slightly erratic as these days of confinement have passed.

Well... I’m delighted to be able to announce that I’m feeling 100% my old self today... with everything appearing to have returned to normal! 🙂

I no longer have conversations with myself or think I’m separate individuals. In fact... I’m currently working on a game called *Balcony Solitaire* which only involves our own. I haven’t worked out what the rules are yet, but you’ll be the first to know when I do.

On that point... Last night I wrote an apology to our neighbours in my best Spanish on a spare bedsheet, and hung it out so that they could read it when they all came out to boo me at their regular slot of 9pm.

At first there was total silence. Then... to my astonishment... I heard the sound of a solitary person clapping... followed by another... then another... and another... until the whole neighbourhood were standing and applauding me. It seems my gesture was appreciated and that I’ve finally been forgiven. I can’t tell you what an incredibly emotional moment it was for me... and I felt so proud of myself... even if I had foolishly used the nominative instead of the accusative case when referring to the direct object of a transitive verb.

To make amends to Sarah, I brought her breakfast in bed. She’s been an absolute rock these past few weeks, having put up with my unusual behaviour. I even offered to go out and get myself arrested, so that she could finally have some quality time to herself. But... bringing a lump to my throat and tear to my eye...she said life wouldn’t be worth living without me beside her and, although my antics have caused her a little bit of frustration recently, the smiles they have raised have helped her get through these most difficult of times. ❤️

I was delighted to be able to repay such beautiful words by announcing that I’d managed to order a top-of-the-range, 3-piece suite from Amazon... and that I’d even opted for next day delivery so that she would be able to watch her favourite programme “Ice Road Truckers” in comfort tomorrow night.

As if the day couldn’t be much better... half an hour before starting to write this, an officer from the Guardia Civil knocked on our door and apologised for some of his men’s “enthusiastic” application of the rules. Accordingly, they’ve cancelled all my fines. 😀

But this is the best bit...

Wait for it...

To make amends... and as a sign of reconciliation... he handed me back my binoculars!!!

Ahhhh...

I think I PROBABLY overdid it with that last bit.

Oh, well...

Anyway...

APRIL FOOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

31st March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 16 ***

So... I finally managed to settle the argument I had with myself yesterday by reluctantly allowing “Pain” to be the “something beginning with P”. It seemed a shame to ruin a good game... let alone a relationship with someone I usually get on quite well with. I then spied with my little eye something beginning with R... and took great delight as I struggled to come up with the answer.

With countless failed attempts, I managed to keep myself guessing right up until bedtime... when Sarah insisted I put myself out of my misery, as she said it would keep me up all night if I didn’t. It was only then that I smugly announced what it had been.

REVENGE!!!

How I laughed.

Well... part of me did, anyway.

I decided to clear my head this morning by asking if Sarah wouldn’t mind it being me that went to the shops today. You can venture out to buy food... but only on your own. They’re very strict about it out here. If you’re seen with anyone else, you’ll get heavily fined... or even arrested. It’s the only chance we get to stretch our legs and see something different for a short while.

She seemed surprisingly willing to forgo that opportunity and be left on her own in the apartment.

So I took our shopping bag and my identification... mindful of what had happened in my dream the other day (see day 9 of my diary). I didn’t want it to turn out to be a prophecy!

As I walked up the road... appreciating being able to see chewing gum stains on the pavement and vowing NEVER to take them for granted when this whole thing was over... I heard the now familiar *qwwiiiipp* of a police siren, as the short burst warned me that they wanted to have a quick word.

I stayed calm... knowing I had my bag... my identity card... and was on a legitimate errand.

So you can imagine my horror when the officer in the passenger seat got out a small pad... which I recognised, from my astral adventure, as the tickets they use to fine you... and licked the tip of his pencil.

Didn’t he realise you could get lead poisoning that way???!!!

But I was even more horrified when he proceeded to write me out a fine for 100€.

When I enquired why, he informed me that I should only be travelling alone.

I looked about myself... and at the deserted street... and then back at the officer.

It seems a shrug is understood in any language.

Handing me the ticket, he explained he recognised me as the inventor of Balcony Noughts & Crosses and... as I’d become something of a local celebrity... was now a keen follower of my diaries.

It seems a second shrug... in Spain, at least... translates as wasting police time... and warrants a further 100€ fine... even for celebrities.

As he held out THAT ticket, he explained that I shouldn’t be out walking with my I Spy partner... let alone the person who told me to “LEAVE IT!!!!!!!” when things looked like they might turn ugly.

I must say, they do things differently out here. I’ve never been fined by a policeman who’s then gone on to “high five” his partner.

But that wasn’t the most annoying bit.

To make matters worse... and presumably to regain the intellectual high ground and show him how stupid he was being... the other two he was referring to said.. in that case... how come he wasn’t fining all of us INDIVIDUALLY!

So he did.

I couldn’t believe it!!!

400€ in total.

I was absolutely fuming!

Just WAIT till I get the three of us home!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

30th March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 15 ***

I can’t believe I’ve still managed to keep my sanity. God KNOWS what this diary will look like if I ever lose THAT!

Not that it’s been easy... ‘Cos here we are entering our third week of lockdown... and there still seems an awfully long way to go. Not that we really know how many days that journey will entail. We’re already hearing on the grapevine that the Spanish government are looking to extend our incarceration to at least the end of April.

AND WE NO LONGER HAVE A BL**DY SOFA!!!

According to my tracking app... most of it’s currently above Saudi Arabia, having caught a strong westerly breeze just before reaching Mali.

It was sad to see it go. Not down the greased ramp... but as it slowly disappeared into the azure blue sky... my emotions exponentially stretched as I watched my beautiful creation grow ever smaller and smaller. As I gazed in respectful silence, I knew there would come that heart wrenching point in time when I momentarily blinked... and it would be gone... and I would think...

IF ONLY I HAD MY RUDDY BINOCULARS!!!

At one point... when it was but a speck in the distance... I thought I saw it dip towards the ground. Instinctively following its perilous trajectory, I stared in horror as it rapidly quickened its descent... getting faster and faster... until I was forced to look away, before I witnessed the cruel inevitable.

But... to my utter astonishment... it suddenly reversed its trajectory... as if the Universe had felt my parental pain and offered me a miracle... then decided to tease me with a cycle of bizarrely similar occurrences.

It was at that point I realised I had a floater in my eye.

I quickly looked back to where it had last been...

... but it was gone.

Though, not entirely. Luckily, I kept the upholstery springs... which I decided to use to entertain ourselves.

Having once owned a pogo stick as a child... that used to give me minutes of fun... I attached them to an old pair of sandals.

You should’ve seen Sarah and me... bouncing up and down, trying to see how high we could get! It was hilarious. Well... for me, at least. Sarah’s currently in bed with a headache.

I’m now reduced to playing *I Spy* with myself... which I’m finding extremely frustrating... as I’ve just petulantly refused to tell myself what the something beginning with P is. I think it’s because I’ve guessed it right and I’m such a bad loser.

I’ll tell you one thing, though... It definitely wasn’t “People”.

What?

Sorry... Excuse me a minute...

Are you serious?

Pain?

You CAN’T have “Pain”. That’s cheating! It’s an abstract concept not a physical thing.

Pardon?

No... I’m not having that! Physical pain is just a saying!

Alright... I’ll give you it seems PHYSICAL when you FEEL it. But FEELING is an abstract concept too... like love... hate... and ever getting out of this soddin’ lockdown.

Bo**locks! You’re talking absolute rubbish! You’ve lost it, Andy. This time, you’ve really, REALLY lost it!

Oh, yeah? You and who’s army? You want some? You really, really want some? Pain, you say? I’ll give you bl**dy pain!!!!!!!!!!

LEAVE IT, ANDY!!!!!!! HE’S NOT BL**DY WORTH IT!!!!!!!!!!!

29th March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 14 ***

I can’t believe that by the end of today we’ll have been stuck inside our apartment for 2 weeks.

Followers of this diary will know that a lot has happened during that time... including me managing to lose half our furniture, even though I haven’t been allowed beyond the front door.

On top of that, I’ve managed to upset the entire neighbourhood, who now come out on their balconies at 9pm each night... in a sign of solidarity... to boo me.

To make matters worse... some of you have been leaving comments on my FB page that suggest you’re actually having a laugh at my expense. WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU SICK PEOPLE!!!

So I was eternally grateful when one of my friends left a suggestion for escaping this misery. He suggested I use astral travel.

My first thought was that I hadn’t heard of that particular airline, so they probably didn’t fly from Malaga. But further research enlightened me, and I decided to give it a go.

The idea is that you basically go out of your body. Well... given I’ve already gone out of my mind, I figured I was halfway there.

After a few attempts, I managed to achieve the necessary state of meditation and, to my utter astonishment, felt my soul leave my body. I felt myself floating up towards the ceiling and then slowly turning to look at myself lying in bed.

It was incredibly strange and a total eye opener... I always assumed I looked younger... and my hair’s not as thick at the back as I thought it was.

I was attached to myself by what looked like a silver umbilical cord. I figured this was either a spiritual tether to stop my soul from becoming detached... or the drawstring from my pyjamas. I need to investigate that further.

Having become acclimatised to my new situation, I took the bold decision to float through the walls and finally free myself of their material constraints.

It was so liberating. I could see the empty streets below and the birds all around me. They couldn’t see me, of course... and, at one point, a seagull had the temerity to pass through my solar plexus and momentarily unsettle my chakra. Apart from that, I didn’t feel a thing.

As I got bolder and bolder, I travelled further away from our building, until finally setting myself down upon the pavement just outside Zara.

As I was admiring their spring collection... having realised their locked doors were no longer of any consequence... I was shocked to hear a Spanish voice calling me out and demanding to know my name and address.

I turned to see the astral projection of a member of the Guardia Civil... who subsequently fined me 100 euros and threatened to cut my spiritual cord if I didn’t quickly ping back home.

It seems they’re taking this lockdown a lot more seriously than they probably are in Blighty.

28th March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 13 ***

It’s been a bitter sweet day today.

Bitter... because I clearly messed up with my glider.

Not only have I failed to get myself and Sarah back to Blighty... we’re now stuck with the prospect of staying here until at least the 12th of April. We’re going to have to do some SERIOUS squatting.

When I say squatting... I don’t mean breaking into one of the other apartments, so that we can enjoy the luxury of a bathroom with a door on it. I mean squatting, as in... I’ve now left us with so little furniture... by the time this thing is over, we’ll have thighs like the back legs of a kangaroo.

Given there was little point in trying to reclaim the materials I’d used on my glider, I thought I’d launch it anyway.

One... if only to prove to myself that it actually would have worked.

Two... I thought it prudent to get rid of any incriminating evidence, just in case the Guardia Civil called round to return my binoculars and measure me for a statue.

Three... Sarah needed the floor space back in order to do her squat jumps.

On this last point... I’ve told her to be careful. With the leg muscles WE’RE about to develop, she’s in danger of going through the ceiling.

The SWEET part of the day came immediately after the launch.

Having watched my beautiful creation slide effortlessly down the launch ramp (I suggest using UNSATURATED margarine, if you’re thinking of trying this at home)... and take its leap for freedom... it soared majestically into the sky... as if blown by the breath of an angel... the sun glinting magnificently on the aluminium frame of the shopping trolley I’d used for its landing gear.

Like a child being left at the school gates for the first time, it seemed to hesitate awhile… struggling to defy the tide of time... as if desperate to bid a last and fond farewell to its teary-eyed father.

But it may well have been due to an opposing thermal generated by wind coming in from the sea and striking the large metal “HAVE YOU WASHED YOUR HANDS?” sign outside the communal garden’s toilet block door.

I’d stuck the GPS tracker l usually secrete in Sarah’s handbag to the fuselage, so that we could keep an eye on its progress. According to my app... it’s currently 10 kilometres south of Marrakesh and heading towards Burkina Faso... so maybe it’s just as well I glued the cockpit on before we had a chance to get inside.

Some may say it didn’t help launching it on the 13th day of our lockdown.

They’ll be the ones who believe in fate... no doubt happy to listen to clairvoyants and read their horoscopes.

Which leads me to an important point..

Surely THOSE professions will be the first up against the wall when this thing is all over.

I mean... I’m sure I remember reading a fortnight ago that I had to “stop dwelling on the past, as new opportunities were just around the corner”. CHANCE WOULD BE A FINE BL**DY THING!!!!!!

How come I didn’t read this?

AQUARIUS - Make the most of what you have now, Aquarians. You will shortly come to realise that it really IS the dawning of a new age. GOOD LUCK!

PISCES - You’ve been thinking of improving your diet. Perhaps even embracing Veganism? Well, now is not the time. Being the sign of the fish... the coming weeks will have you wishing you’d stockpiled as much of the stuff in your supermarket shopping trolley as embarrassment allowed.

ARIES - YOU’RE COMPLETELY FU**ED!!!

TAURUS - Ditto

GEMINI - Ditto

CANCER - Learn to appreciate the little things in life... because those opportunities are about to get even smaller.

LEO - With everything rising, and the exciting prospect of future activity around Uranus... you will soon encounter your soul partner. But it’ll be best not to rush into anything.... and keep at least 2 metres apart.

VIRGO - Why waste time just dwelling on the past? You’ll soon discover you can waste it any way you like.

LIBRA - As your star sign traits suggest you enjoy “sharing with others” and “the great outdoors”, you’re about to experience great irony.

SCORPIO - An important life lesson lies just around the corner. You know all those times you’ve told people your star sign and smugly added that people shouldn’t cross you? Well… You think YOU’VE got a sting in the tail!

SAGITTARIUS - You’ve been thinking recently of giving up your day job and embracing your creative side by pursuing that long-held dream of a career in the arts. Well… perhaps not right now.

CAPRICORN - With all those jobs around the house you’ve been meaning to do, but never got around to... don’t worry. You’ll find there’s going to be EXTREMELY productive times ahead.

I’m an Aries, by the way.

‘Nuff said.

I’ll hopefully see you tomorrow. Who knows what the future may bring?

Andy
x

27th March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 12 ***

Thank you to all those who sent me advice on how to build my glider.

However... if I get ONE more message suggesting I use the inner cardboard tubes from toilet rolls... followed by a long line of laughing emojis... I swear to God I’ll personally pay them a visit and demonstrate ANOTHER unoriginal suggestion for them.

The same goes for those involving various comical uses for a sombrero... stick of chorizo... and the tray they serve your paella in. Though I HAVE embraced the suggestion of using my castanets as rudder pedals.

Furthermore... to the person called I. Carus who warned me it was a bad idea, given I’ll be using it in the sunny skies of Spain... What the hell’s it got to do with YOU what type of adhesive I’m using?

Incredibly... some of you are taking me for an idiot!

But this is no laughing matter... I’m absolutely SERIOUS... which is precisely why Sarah and I had to watch TV standing up last night... there’s no door on the bathroom and you have to whistle when the other person approaches... and she’s stoically foregoing margarine on her tostadas until I’ve satisfactorily greased my ramp. That’s not a euphemism, by the way.

For those GENUINELY interested... I constructed the basic framework around the memory of an Airfix model I once built as a kid.

By the way... I ruined that model like every other one I tried to make in those days... hastily putting together the easiest bits and NEVER learning from my mistakes. Having stuck the wings to the fuselage, I’d always glue on the cockpits before I’d bothered to paint and stick the pilots in... so they never actually got to fly their planes.

Unfortunately... the only memory I could safely rely on was that of ruining a WWII Lancaster Bomber.

That said... I’ve done away with the bomb bay doors... but have decided to keep the machine gun turret... just in case we find ourselves chased by drones. Sarah’s going to have to man it... even though she hates travelling backwards. I’ve told her she’s welcome to use the ends of those chistorra sausages I used last week... seeing as she’s probably going to need some earplugs.

I’m currently eyeing up the dining room table, as I think the cross struts need reinforcing. But I think I’ll wait until after dinner, as I’ve already used our lap trays for aerofoils.

Sarah’s hard at work upstairs unpicking the hems on the bedroom curtains. I told her to have more faith in my handiwork, but she’s insisting on making herself a parachute. I told her I was that confident in my calculations, she needn’t bother making one for me.

She said “OK”.

I appreciate there IS a risk to this. That’s why I considered whether there were other Colditz escape strategies that might’ve provided a better option. But being on the top floor, a tunnel was completely out of the question... and carving a gun out of a bar of soap seemed incredibly problematic, given we’ve only got hand sanitiser.

Sarah’s been getting rid of the wood shavings and sawdust by dropping them out of her culottes as she walks to the local supermercado. It was going extremely well until she started being followed by someone’s pet hamster who’s escaped and gone feral. I’m petrified he’ll give the game away, so have told her to bribe him with as many seed sticks as it takes.

All that’s left for me to do now is double check the angle of the launch ramp and then the naysayers and Mr. I. Carus will be laughing on the other side of their faces.

Mind you... if I get it wrong... so will I... LITERALLY.

Is there an emoji for that?

I should point out... I’m not afraid of death. It’s the “getting there” bit that concerns me the most.

But as I told a worried Sarah last night... I’m totally committed.

She replied... “YOU BL**DY WELL SHOULD BE!”.

The only hold up could be the set of CAA regulation anti-collision lights I’ve ordered from Amazon. I flatly refuse to subscribe to Prime... so have had to opt for the 5-7 working days option in order to get free delivery.

The thing I’m proudest about though, is my clever use of a Perspex salad bowl for the cockpit. I’ve stuck it upside down over the pilot’s seat and it looks amaz......

BUGGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

26th March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 11 ***

Seeing as it’s highly likely the Spanish government will extend this 30 day lockdown period of ours further, Sarah and I decided to take our minds off that possibility by discussing where we should spend our summer holidays.

Sarah favours the back bedroom... but I’m leaning towards the corner in the kitchen where the pedal bin sits.

The trouble is... it’s hard finding a spot you haven’t stared at a million times before. I spent the best part of yesterday peeping through the holes of our plug sockets, trying to generate some excitement. Tomorrow... if things don’t improve... I’m gonna try sticking a licked finger in them. The day after that... my tongue. The day after that... who knows..

For those of you in Blighty, this excruciating boredom won’t make a lot of sense. Apart from the fact you’re only on day 3, I can’t help feeling you’ve been given *Lockdown Lite*.

Not that it’s a competition, mind. But... for crying out loud... Papa Boris has even allowed you and all the family out for a JOG!!!

What next... being able to feed the ducks?

Because... of course... the rest of the world instantly recognises that quintessential British trait of the entire family going out running together once a day... grandma leading from the front, and the youngsters struggling to keep up.

Every other country on the planet is slapping its forehead and cursing itself for having grossly misunderstood our sceptred isle all these years. NOW they get why so many of its inhabitants spend their day going around in shell suits and trackie bottoms.

Still... at least it’ll give you a chance to burn off the calories from eating all that pasta we hear you’ve been hoarding.

And what a bonus they’ve moved the Olympics! By the time we get to next year, the UK will be so much fitter than every other nation, we’ll win every medal on the table.

I just wonder what the “yoof” of today are gonna make of it all... actually having their human rights infringed by being told they can’t do something. Imagine... There’ll be teenagers moping around the house doing bugger all... AND moaning about it.... or staying in their bedrooms all day playing on their Xbox.

ABSOLUTELY SURREAL!!!

Still... I’m keeping myself sane (just) by planning to escape.

I’ve had enough of this situation. I’m finally putting all those hours spent watching Colditz on TV as a kid to good use.

I’m going to build a glider.

Think about it... we’re on the top floor. It’s the IDEAL spot for a launch. I’ve even got a couple of swimming pools to aim for if I get the speed to weight ration wrong.

I’ve been studying the seagulls for the past few days... and reckon if I can catch a decent morning thermal, I’ll have Sarah and myself back home in Berkshire by teatime.

We might even take a slight detour, as I’ve always promised I’d show her the sights of Paris. We won’t land, of course. I’m not a COMPLETE idiot! The shops & restaurants will be closed, so there’d be no point.

I’ve asked her to pack the ABSOLUTE MINIMUM of things she needs to travel with, bearing in mind the critical weight factor. So far she’s managed to get it down to 107 kilograms.

I can’t wait... By this time next week we could both be out enjoying a jog... with my brother Nick in Plymouth... cousin Susan in Coventry... and hopefully having time to take in the sights of Manchester, if my mum’s self-employed second cousin twice removed on her father’s side hasn’t had to pawn his running shoes to feed the kids.

Thank you, Boris!

To top it all... and if it works... we’ll also be changing our holiday plans and looking forward to spending the middle two weeks of August in the garden shed.

Wish me luck.

Andy
x

25th March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 10 ***

Dear fellow detainees.

You know that thing where, because you’ve been confined to the same space for so long, you start seeing giant spiders coming out of the walls?

Oh, no... sorry... I forgot. You’re only on day 2.

Anyway... when they do... I was going to suggest you give them pet names, as it makes it less horrific when they start crawling all over you.

Actually... come to think of it... I’m in the PERFECT situation to give advice to help you get through this ordeal, having empirically learnt what’s best and what’s NOT best to do when confined to a very small space with someone else.

OK...

So... here goes...

Number one... and MOST important of all... Men.... don’t leave the toilet seat up. If it drove your partner mad before your incarceration, you have absolutely NO idea of the cataclysmic consequences that will ensue if you do.

Number two... and my second most important advice of all... Men... don’t leave the toilet seat up. I obviously can’t stress this enough.

Number three... Tell whoever you are having to spend your time locked in a room with that you love them. This is extremely important. Tell them regularly and with absolute sincerity... making sure you look them in the eyes when you do so. However... if it’s not coronavirus that’s the reason for you being detained... but Her Majesty’s pleasure... I advise you skip this one.

Number four... Laugh. Laugh like you’ve never laughed before. Laugh like you’ve seen me dancing. This is the key to getting through this awful situation. I know it’s not actually funny... but that doesn’t mean we can’t thumb our nose at it and show it that it will never beat us.

Sarah’s been exceptionally good at this. Since day 8 - when the police refused to remove me from the apartment - she’s been laughing hysterically... and hasn’t stopped. Having kept going for the last 48 hours... she’s currently curled up in a ball in the corner of the room, her mascara-smudged face soaked with tears. An example to us all.

Number five... Dance. Dance like you’ve never danced before. However... don’t dance like you’ve never danced before at the same time as laughing like you’ve never laughed before. It’ll give you a stitch.

Number six... Don’t eat too many beans.

Number seven... Find time to talk to any plants you have. It not only helps reduce the stress you may be feeling... it also comes with an additional upside. By day 9... you’ll find they actually start talking back.

Number nine... Make sure you help your children with their maths homework... especially when it comes to sequential numbering. You never know when it’s going to come in useful.

Number ten... Men... DON’T LEAVE THE TOILET SEAT UP!!!!!!

You’re welcome.

Andy
x

24th March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 9 ***

So today I managed to finally get outside the apartment.

It was amazing! There were people everywhere and everyone was smiling at each other. Some were even singing and dancing in the streets!

I think this whole thing has reminded everyone of the REALLY IMPORTANT things... like simply HAVING this amazing & precious gift of life... and how incredibly important it is that we value it... ALWAYS use it wisely... and NEVER EVER take it for granted.

Then a policeman approached me. I realised I should’ve had a shopping bag with me to prove I was going for food, but in my rush to get out I’d forgotten to take it.

He asked me for identification... which you’re supposed to carry out here. I told him I’d forgotten to bring that, too.

He immediately became aggressive and demanded my name and address.

I told him... and then... to my utter surprise... his demeanour completely changed. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped, as he asked me in a tone of deference if I was THE Andy Dane Nye.

How many did he think there were???!!!

Having confirmed I was, his mouth dropped even more. He asked me if I was THE Andy Dane Nye... the inventor of Balcony Noughts & Crosses.

I told him OF COURSE I BL**DY WAS!!! AND COULD I NOW HAVE MY BINOCULARS BACK, PLEASE???!!!

He looked at me in awe and pointed to a large statue in the park opposite.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. They’d only gone and erected one of me!!!

And then it was my turn to get angry. They’d depicted me naked! They hadn’t even afforded me a fig leaf! AND they’d got the size wrong!!!

He asked me why I was so upset.

I told him.

He asked me what had happened to just focusing on the REALLY IMPORTANT things in life... like simply having this amazing & precious gift of life... etc. etc.

He was absolutely right.

I realised that if we’re to find one major positive in this whole ghastly situation, it’s that we don’t forget the lessons we should be learning right now, and simply return to old habits when it’s finally over.

Besides... he told me... they were only trying to depict me as a I REALLY was.

He pointed down to my gentleman’s area... and I realised I was naked.

And then the penny dropped.

IT WAS A SODDIN’ DREAM!!! AND I’D GOT THE SIZE WRONG!!!

I woke up to the same walls...

the same ceiling...

the same me...

the same Sarah...

... and suddenly appreciated how incredibly LUCKY I was to be able to do that.

Lesson learnt.

Ironically... this insightful dream was followed by one of the most shocking NIGHTMARES I’ve ever experienced.

In it... people we’re blatantly and unnecessarily stuffing shopping trolleys with whatever they could get their hands on, so as to ensure that THEY were alright... at the expense of absolutely everyone else... which included the old, the vulnerable and those who were away caring for the sick and would be rewarded by coming to the shops at the end of a gruelling and extremely testing day, only to find the shelves empty.

And as if that wasn’t hellish and dystopian enough... there were people gathering in large groups, despite being REPEATEDLY told by EXPERTS that this would increase the chances of the actual DEATH of others... but had decided... and get this... because it’s the most CHILLING part of it all... that them having a drink and a laugh with their mates... or congregating en masse at beauty spots, just because the sun had come out... was FAR, FAR more important than someone, in a few weeks' time, drawing a final, painful breath.

To make it all the more frightening... it didn’t contain just a handful of such self-centred idiots. There were so many... the actual prime minister of the place was eventually forced to step in and send them all to their rooms!

HOW’S THAT FOR THE NIGHTMARE OF ALL NIGHTMARES???!!!

I hadn’t fallen asleep again, of course... I’d simply switched on the news.

Welcome to the club.

Stay safe.
❤

23rd March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 8 ***

I admit the days have been getting weirder... but today took the biscuit.

It started off positive enough, with a knock on the door.

It took Sarah and me a while to work out what it was... given how long it’s been since we heard such a noise... but eventually realised we had to open it and discovered two members of the Guardia Civil standing in our hall.

I smiled politely, as I had a fair idea why they were there.

I’m not sure if they smiled back, as they were wearing face masks.

I was thinking... Great! My plan’s worked! The neighbours have complained about me using my binoculars again and now they’re about to cart me off to somewhere DIFFERENT. I’ll even get to ride in a police car. Perhaps... if I ask nicely enough... they’ll turn on the flashing lights! After a full week of lockdown, and the boredom of staring at the same walls, it’ll be heaven!!!

They demanded to see my binoculars. So whilst Sarah went to fetch them, I filled the awkward silence by explaining the rules of Balcony Noughts & Crosses. When done, I placed my arms out to make it easier for them to put the cuffs on.

But no!

To my horror, they informed me that they were simply there to confiscate them! I implored them to arrest me, but they were having none of it.

The most amazing thing was... Sarah pleaded even more rigorously than I did for them to remove me from the apartment. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have found someone who’s prepared to sacrifice being with their partner to the extent she was. The most moving part was when she finally got down on her knees and begged them with clasped hands to take me away. She must REALLY love me!

I think she overdid it a bit, though, when she refused to let go of their feet... despite being dragged along the corridor as they tried to leave.

I’m a very lucky man.

But that’s not the weird bit.

An hour later, I hear a buzzing outside... so go to the window to investigate. The police are using drones to keep an eye on people and warn them off the streets. I find one hovering in front of our building, studying all the apartments.

Then blow me... ten minutes later... it’s joined by another... and then another... and another... until there are dozens of them hovering and studying our particular block.

Then... just when I think it can’t get any weirder... a full size police helicopter comes and joins them. I look into the cockpit and... would you believe it... see one of the occupants using MY BL**DY BINOCULARS!!!

I run out onto the balcony... just in time see the cheeky bugger break into a broad grin and give the pilot a high five.

And then the penny drops.

THEY’RE PLAYING BALCONY NOUGHTS & CROSSES!!!!!!!!

THE RUDDY THINGS GONE VIRAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

22nd March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 7 ***

It’s day... erm.... day...

Mmmm.

Is it Monday... or perhaps Wednesday. No... that’s wrong. Wednesday was last Tuesday... I think.

Oh, I don’t know. Not that it matters anyway. They’re all blurring into one now.

I’m sorry if you’re tuning in for some light hearted banter, but my humour muscle seems to have atrophied.

Oh... alright... try this one...

What do you get if you cross a sneaky trip to the park with a Spanish policeman?

FINED!!!

Or maybe this one...

What do you get if you cross a second sneaky trip to the park with a Spanish policeman?

HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW!!! I’M NOT BL**DY WELL ALLOWED OUTSIDE TO FIND OUT, AM I???!!!

I’m really sorry. I know this is all for the best, but the monotony of the situation is starting to take its toll. I know every mark on the wall... every crack in the plaster... every hair on Sarah’s head and.... Well... you get the drift.

You just get desperate to look at something different for a change.

Last night I went into our downstairs cloakroom... not something I do very often... and it was like entering Chessington World of Adventures! There are taps and everything!!!

Did you know you can perch on a toilet seat in over a dozen different ways? Me neither!

Sarah got upset because I was in there so long she assumed it was down to her cooking.

I can’t blame her, given how many times I flushed the toilet.

The trouble is... even THAT novelty finally wore off.

Having rejoined her... and to keep the two of us amused... I decided to round off the evening by giving an impromptu shadow puppet show on the ceiling, using just my toes hovering over a table lamp strategically placed on the floor. Unfortunately... I think I was a little ambitious in trying to re-enact Shakespeare’s Hamlet. By the time I got to Act V... and Laertes and the star of the show were having their big fight... my feet started to burn.

I guess I should’ve stuck to animal impressions.

This morning, to relieve the boredom and take my mind of my blisters, I managed to produce a pretty accurate replica on our balcony table of Caravaggio’s “Crucifixion of St. Peter” using pasta twirls and some out-of-date lentils. I felt quite pleased with myself, given I did it all from memory. Then... just as I was standing back to admire my work... a seagull came down and made away with the friggin’ cross.

The most gutting bit was... we were going to have that tonight with a tomato, basil and black olive sauce.

I guess it was the final straw. It’s sent me into a bit of a funk... that and the fact the Spanish government have just announced a further 15 days isolation on top of the week we still have to go!!!

I really need to get my head back on track. Find myself a purpose.

I know!

Perhaps I could create a life-size replica of the Venus de Milo using damp washing powder baked with a hairdryer. The seagulls are hardly going to be interested in that.

Mmmm... Only problem is... I’m not going to be able to wash my socks.

Come on, Andy.... You must be able to think of SOMETHING. Sarah’s always accusing you of having an overactive imagination. You’re the man who invented Balcony Noughts & Crosses, for crying out loud!

THAT’S IT!!!!!

Genius!!!!!

I’ll learn some more Spanish words!

SARAH!!! WHERE HAVE YOU HIDDEN MY BINOCULARS???!!!

‘Cos let’s face it... the inside of a Spanish prison cell is gonna be like visiting DISNEYLAND!!!!!!!!!!!

(To be continued)

21st March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 6 ***

Hola amigos.

Well... the Spanish have decided to emulate the Italians and sing to each other from their balconies in a show of neighbourly love and camaraderie. Unfortunately, there’s a sizeable Irish community in Marbella... and if I hear “Danny Boy” ONE MORE F***ING TIME!!!!!

They’ve also taken to clapping on their balconies come 8:00pm each night in support of the health and emergency workers who are doing such a fabulous job out here. It’s quite moving to hear. Unfortunately, I keep forgetting who it’s meant for and find myself taking a bow. Old habits die hard.

Talking of old habits... I don’t know how long it’ll be until Sarah and I get a chance to perform again. I’m not even sure people will remember who ABBA were by the time this is all over and we finally get home.

Some of you have suggested that we go out on OUR balcony and entertain the neighbourhood with songs from our show. But can you imagine us wanting to sing “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” enthusiastically at the top of our voices when everyone’s desperately doing all they can to AVOID getting something? You really haven’t thought that one through, have you?

And I’ll be honest with you... I’m a great lover of the arts... but if someone comes out on their balcony and starts screeching songs from Tristan and Isolde all bl**dy day, I might just have to find another use for those binoculars!

As you can probably tell... my patience threshold is now at rock bottom. That’s the trouble with this confinement. It slowly eats away at your sense of fun. I found this out to my cost when I tried to lighten the mood - following yesterday’s unfortunate *tanning* incident - by comparing Sarah to a 5’7” pork scratching. It’s DEFINITELY put me in the dog house. (Figuratively speaking, that is. I don’t want you thinking I’m enjoying a change of scenery). I only managed to escape a thumping by dint of the fact she’s not exactly up to much movement right now.

Talking of dogs... The one I wrote about on day 3 has made a surprise appearance on the beach with one of his *owners*. I say surprise, as he was noticeable by his absence on days 4 and 5. He now looks suspiciously stiff... seems completely disinterested in sniffing other dogs’ poop holes... and has what I swear to God are furniture castors duck-taped to his paws.

People seem to be doing all they can to flout this pet walking situation. It’s starting to get ridiculous. Thankfully... the police finally put a stop to the man who’s been constantly dragging the plastic Dumbo kiddie ride, that usually sits outside our newsagents, up and down the paseo.

Mind you... the child on the back of it couldn’t believe the value they were getting for 1€.

Oh well... time to go. The neighbours have started singing again and I think I know the words to this one.

See you tomorrow... hopefully.

Andy
x

20th March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY5 ***

Oh sweet Mary mother of God... it’s only day 5 but it feels more like day 50!

I think I’m slowly losing my marbles.

It’s bad enough Sarah and I have taken to calling each other silly pet names over the last few days... not necessarily as terms of endearment, but to pretend we’re meeting other people... but I keep thinking I can smell burning bacon. The curious thing is... there’s no one in the apartments either side of us or... given no one banged on their ceiling yesterday to complain... directly below. Perhaps it’s just as well.

Maybe it’s one of those olfactory illusions... You know... the sort of thing you can claim whenever you pass wind in company.

It’s probably connected to my tiredness, having been kept awake by the constant wailing throughout the night... and I’m not talking wind again, in this particular case. In fairness... it was to be expected. They don’t do carpet over here and those marble floor tiles are rubbish at retaining any heat. Poor Sarah.

I thought about going downstairs at one point and making her a hot cup of tea... but decided against it when realising she wouldn’t be able to drink it upside down. On a positive note... the ends of chistorra sausages make excellent ear plugs.

The other good news is... I finally managed to get her back on her feet by rubbing an incredibly greasy and pungent homemade balm over her entire body. I concocted it from some extra virgin olive oil, the remaining half of the chistorra sausage, and the fat from a leg of jamon we were hoping to take home for Christmas.

The bad news is... we’ll have to make do with turkey again this year.

She’s currently recovering in bed, having gone straight there... but the flies are driving her mad.

That’s the trouble with this heat. It’s one thing laughing your head off at TV news clips of people digging their cars out of snowdrifts in Swindon whilst you’ve been sunning yourself on the beach in February... but it does have its drawbacks when you can’t leave the apartment.

Not that we need to go out to get a decent tan. Luckily, we’re west facing... which means you can sunbathe on the balcony all afternoon... or even inside the apartment at certain times of the day. Though this does mean you do have to be extremely careful, as I learnt to my cost the other day. Normally-unexposed parts of your body are in danger of getting SERIOUSLY sunburnt if you take a siesta in the main bedroom without your clothes on and forget to close the curtains!

Anyway... back to my day. I decided to.....

Sorry!

There it is again!

What IS that? It definitely smells like burning bac......

oooooOOOOH SHIT!!!!!

SWEETIE POPS!!!!!!!!!!!! HANG ON IN THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MISTER PINKIE WINKIE’S COMING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

19th March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 4 ***

Day 4 and spirits are starting to flag.

It didn’t help that the Guardia Civil slipped a note under our door threatening to confiscate my binoculars if I continued to play Balcony Noughts & Crosses.

I have to say I’m extremely disappointed in our neighbours’ attitudes. I’m also disappointed in their language... though I did learn a couple of new Spanish words that will come in useful if I’m ever stuck in traffic over here.

So I’ve come up with another idea to pass the time and keep myself amused. It’s something I used to do a lot as a child. It’s probably not what you’re thinking.

I call it *Topsy-Turvy* and it doesn’t involve binoculars. You get down on the floor and stick your body and legs in the air and imagine that the ceiling is the floor. Try it sometime. It’s really weird... though probably best not done when in your local supermarket. It’s particularly useful when you’ve been confined to the same few rooms for a number of days and are starting to go a little stir crazy. It’s like you’ve suddenly been transported somewhere else... but without having to risk a 30,000 euro fine or getting struck on the head by a Spanish policeman’s truncheon. Stairs are always the best bit, requiring quite a bit of working out to navigate... and usually quite a large jump.

There’s only one problem.

After four and a half hours... and very little salt in our diet during what turned out to be a rather hot day... cramp set in. I luckily managed to right myself and get back on my feet again.

Sarah, on the other hand, is still stuck in an extremely awkward position. I’ve tried rocking her backwards and forwards by her feet but she still won’t budge. I also tried tickling her... but it resulted in a rather unfortunate accident. I just hope the people aren’t staying in the apartment below.

It’s not as if I can go out and get help. But as I told her, in order to stop the crying... at least she won’t be embarrassed by someone coming to visit.

Just as a point of interest... She’s usually the one to answer the door when they do. Her Spanish is much better than mine. Though ironically... thanks to the binoculars episode, I do now recognise some of the words she keeps yelling at me.

I think I’ll stick to reading books from now on.

Well... I say books... but given we’ve read every single one in the apartment from cover to cover, it’ll probably have to be the manual for the microwave. Perhaps it’ll be more interesting if I look at THAT upside down.

So... I’m off to bed for an early night and a read... and discovering the best way to do poached eggs. If I’m still awake after that, I think I’ll start on the ins and outs of the air conditioning unit.

I’ve had to throw a blanket over Sarah. We’ll have another go at her in the morning. I just hope I’ll be able sleep through all that sobbing.

On a positive note... at least I’ll be going up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire the right way up this time. :-)

Nite nite.

Andy
x

18th March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 3 ***

It’s day 3 and the cracks have already started to appear.

Not in Sarah and my relationship… but in the Crema Catalana we inadvertently left out in the buggering sun. It’s dried to a frazzle. We’re going to have to be more careful if we’re to make it to the end of this isolation period without starving to death. Sarah was going to stick it in the bin... but I’m thinking of using it as a frisbee to entice the people on the other balconies to make friends.

That’s the thing about a situation like this. You have to be inventive. I’ve already found a way to pass the time by inventing *Balcony Noughts & Crosses*. I’ve selected 9 of those opposite that are positioned in a 3 by 3 grid. I make the first move (O) by choosing one... and then wait until “they” make the next move (X) by being the first person to step out onto theirs. The fact I’m doing it with binoculars has led to some rather unnecessary name calling. The husband of the lady in 2 along 1 down has shown a rather unedifying side to his nature. It’s not my fault she chooses to sunbathe topless. To make matters worse... I’m losing 2 : 5.

I’m also marvelling at how many people have suddenly chosen to take their dogs for a walk along the beach. That’s allowed for now, apparently.

I’m pretty sure I’ve seen the same dog being taken for a walk by a dozen different owners today. I think someone’s renting it out. The penultimate time, he was being dragged along the sand by his lead in a state of complete exhaustion. And then... blow me... half an hour later... I see him being pulled by again, this time laid flat out on a skateboard!

Sarah has asked if I wouldn’t mind wearing the fluffy bath mat she’s fashioned into a dog suit and getting on all fours, so that she can at least get out and get some exercise herself. But I have my standards... for now, at least.

But therein lies the rub. How much longer can we keep up those standards before these endless days of isolation start to take their toll? Thank God I still currently have my sanity.

Wait a minute... there’s movement on 1 along 3 down!

Must dash! See you tomorrow!

SARAH!!! WHERE ARE MY BINOCULARS???!!!

17th March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 2 ***

You’ll be pleased to hear that Sarah and I survived our first night in Spanish lockdown.

Not all the wine did... and we’re already alarmingly low on chorizo.

I’m just glad we have a kitchen draw crammed full of those packs of miniature breadsticks they insist on sticking in your bread basket in the restaurants out here. You know the ones... where... feeling slightly embarrassed... you get your partner to surreptitiously slip them into their pocket or handbag... even though you know you’ve paid for the bloody things.

To all of you who PM’d me to request first dibs on our season tickets, this news of our good health may come as something of a disappointment. But it’s only day 2, so never say never.

Even the sun isn’t apparently allowed out... which shows you how unprecedented this situation is. The sky’s full of clouds... with the locals standing on their balconies staring up at them, wondering what the hell they are.

Strange times indeed.

But we’re keeping upbeat and optimistic, and have decided to break the rule we imposed yesterday evening of keeping a safe 2 metre distance from each other, just in case. Being in a duplex, it was getting extremely awkward every time we passed on the stairs.

It’s very strange looking out and seeing the beach absolutely deserted... a bit like I imagine Frinton-on-Sea to be during peak season.

Even the seagulls are wondering what the hell’s going on. One flew by our balcony just now... showing off with his wings and freedom and everything. I swear to God he was smirking.

Still... at least we’re better off than most. My thoughts are with the boat owners in the harbour who no longer have anyone to stand on the quayside and gawp at their wealth.

Mind you... I bet it was them who cleared the shelves of all the soddin’ caviar. We only managed to panic buy 9 packs of frozen calamar frito from the seafood aisle, so... incredibly overpriced, salty fish eggs will just have to be a pleasant memory for now.

Talking of food... we’ve heard that Iceland are encouraging the over 80s into their shops back home in Blighty by offering them sole access to the first hour’s shopping of the day. Jeez... I don’t know what’s worse... coronavirus... or having to eat 8 Bernard Matthews Cheesy Hamwiches priced at 2 packs for only £3.

Anyway... must dash. I’ve got an awful lot of aimlessly staring out of the window to do.

Stay safe yourselves,

Andy
x

16th March 2020

*** DIARY - SPANISH LOCKDOWN - DAY 1 ***

So... thanks to the Spanish government and nature doing what it does best... replicating... we’ve been confined to our apartment for at least the next 15 days and can only leave it to to buy food, work (fat chance) or be buried.

Sarah and I have decided there could be worst scenarios... option 3 being one of them. We’re not exactly slumming it, perched on the top floor of our Marbella retreat and looking down on everyone (topographically speaking, that is).

We’re holding sanitised hands and staring out at the sea as we keep reminding each other it could be worse. I’m privately thinking that it might get worse, but I’ll think I’ll keep that bit to myself. Instead, I gently mouth the words “don’t worry, we’ll be alright,” behind my one-size-fits-all industrial face mask. Sarah just stares at me blankly.

We’re not going to starve, having stocked up on provisions which include three tins of Confit de Pato which have to be eaten before 23rd December 2024. Let’s hope that won’t turn out to be a problem.

I think we might have overdone it on the chocolate... but there weren’t any toilet rolls left and we were desperate to join in and clear the shelves of something. This might also be true of the wine.

We’ve decided we’re going to spend the time wisely... improving our Spanish and watching illegal satellite TV.

I shall also be writing this diary.

I’ll keep you abreast of developments and look forward to updating you with progress on our survival.

If at some point you don’t hear from me, it means we didn’t make it. In which case... our Wokingham Theatre season tickets (prime, front row, centre seats) are up for offers. Just contact the administrator of our estate.

Wish us luck.

Andy
x

© Andy Dane Nye 2024

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