Sunsets and Olives 2_Back to Spain...... the madness continues! by John Austin Richards

Author:John Austin Richards [Richards, John Austin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-04-16T06:00:00+00:00

The following morning Lydia and I make our way, a-back-o, to the office of the cursed water people. When I suggested to my student that she start a new career as a translator to dumb Brits, I never envisaged I might be one of her clients. Bit embarrassing, really, but what the heck, good practice for her, translating into English, and for me too, hopefully picking up a few choice phrases along the way. And renewing my acquaintance with those cheery souls of Aqualia, who today appear to have acquired a new member of staff. Plug-woman is still seated behind her desk, maintaining her slapped-arse demeanour, dealing with an old man, otherwise the place is deserted. But a new lady is seated at the back of the office, behind a completely clear desk, performing a passable impression of absolutely nothing. Mid-twenties maybe, tight sweater, even tighter jeans, and stilettos, a great improvement on her colleague I have to say, but still with that couldn’t give a toss about you losers look on her pursed lips. Not the full slapped-arse style yet, she is new, obviously, still in training no doubt, but a cat’s-arse, most certainly.

I turn to Lydia. ‘Is she a plug, also?’ I giggle.

‘Oh yes, of course’ my student replies. ‘She is doing nothing!’

Just then the telephone rings, and I expect to see young-Plug spring into action. No doubt this is her moment, she has been lying in wait, like a coiled spring, a lion in the Serengeti, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting gazelle. Not that there is a telephone on her desk, mind you. Perhaps she has one of those modern ear-pieces buried under all that hair, explaining why she is constantly flicking it? Wrong. She remains completely immobile, and impassive, while old-plug answers the call. The old man turns to us with a ‘don’t you just hate it when that happens, I walked all the way down here, with my bad leg, early, and now some lazy swine, who is no doubt still tucked up in bed, or sprawled on the sofa, has called up and interrupted’ kind of look. ‘I’m paying my water, chica!’ he informs us, proudly, in case we happened to be wondering exactly what he was doing in the water board office, clutching what looks suspiciously like a red demand. Well he certainly isn’t here for the Christmas cheer, that’s for damn sure. Glancing round the office, you would never know it was the season of goodwill. Maybe that is what young-plug is up to. Perhaps she will start digging out the decorations, a tree with fairy lights, tinsel, balloons, paper-chains, a string of Christmas cards sent by appreciative customers, a box of crackers, and a tin of Cadbury’s Roses for the counter. And here she goes, look! Now we’re going to see something! She rises to her feet, slips her coat off the back of her chair, struggles into it with a heft of her chest, picks up her bag, and

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