Thursday, 23rd December 2010
My trip to Sedella on the eve of Christmas Eve for the village party became a lesson in power management, or the lack thereof in these parts. The party turned out to be the school’s nativity play at which I was somewhat conspicuous having neither children nor relatives at the school. Still, this is Spain and the focus was on the children. Each child had a line to say and they sang La Marimorena and Feliz Navidad with much gusto and stamping of feet. A couple of those girls are definitely budding Flamenco dancers so sure were their stamps. The unfortunate part was the continual loss and recovery of power. As the very little ones particularly had need of a microphone to be heard, it meant that some of their pearls of wisdom were lost on the crowd. After half an hour, with the hall lit only by the emergency exit lights, I slipped out and made my way to the postal rendezvous point. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, but without raincloud cover the temperature plummeted. As I passed Frasco’s Bar I glanced in to see Papa Noel propping up the bar, cerveza in hand. His nerves must have been getting the better of him due as he was to make an appearance at the school do. Next I was faced by what appears to be Sedella’s very own branch of a major Spanish bank! I said modernisation was underway and here was evidence; a very smart looking branch of Cajamar. I remarked upon the appearance of the Cajamar branch to other campo dwellers as we gathered around the post-mistress’s car which was positively bulging with post and parcels. It seems there has always been a bank of some form or another in the village, it was just not advertised and only opens for a few hours per week. Legend has it a room in Pepe Sanchez’s house used to be the bank for two hours on a Wednesday night, way back when. But modernisation is not stopping with the bank and forthcoming post-collection boxes; we have a new pharmacy as well. The green cross can be seen suspended above on a doorway, on a side street I had paid no attention to before. The existing pharmacy was doing a roaring trade next to the old wash-rooms so one can assume that it has not moved lock and stock as yet.
The advent of the postmistress put paid to further discussion as we fell upon the boxes of letters and parcels in a frenzy akin to sharks when chum is thrown into the sea. Fingers thrashed through the letters churning the multi-coloured envelopes as they sought ones with a familiar name or address. Those that found their long-awaited post clutched it to their breasts, knuckles whitening with the pressure. My much anticipated box had arrived from England and with that and two cards I sought sanctuary from the dropping temperature in Rafa’s Bar. Alas, Rafa’s Bar like the remainder of the village was without power and so a coffee was no longer a possibility. I returned to the car and drove along my disintegrating track (the rain has done little for the condition of it save erode it) to the house. The car’s temperature gauge assured me it was 5 degrees as the wind started to pick up.
I am most fortunate to witness the passing and grazing of sheep and goats on an almost daily basis. They trot along the road and graze on the now verdant hillside as they make their way along the valley and back. As the house hoved into view I could see the shepherd was stood leaning not on his stick as usual, but on the white painted concrete box which houses my electricity connection and meter. The sheep were dotted on the hillside as the shepherd watched and waited patiently, an air of imperturbability about him. I pulled up to my gate and as Charlie went into apoplexy in the rear of the car at the sight of the sheep I descended to open the gates. The wind was bitter as I struggled to tether the gates sufficiently to allow me to drive through without damage. ‘Es frigo no?’ emanated from the shepherd. ‘Sí, sí’, I managed through chattering teeth as I clambered in and threw the car through the gates just before the wind wrenched them free from their tethers. Now if a shepherd who has spent all his working life in the elements thinks it’s cold, then it’s cold. I hurried inside where the temperature was a degree or two above the ambient temperature. As I walked in the door the power came on and with gladness I made a cup of tea in my new Christmas mug with the teabags, all courtesy of my box. Don’t lose touch with your friends in England, they provide essentials such as PG Tips! My box also provided, amongst lots of lovely goodies, a Christmas hat with bells on. Hat donned, tea in hand, the power went off. 
Three jumpers, two pairs of socks and hat still firmly upon head the power had yet to return at ten to three. So far I had only had power for about 1 of my waking hours. Frigo was one thing, bloody frozen is another – that was me. The wind was howling round the house and I had discovered that that front door produced quite an impressive draught. A little like the Venturi effect, the wind forced its way through a narrow aperture, gaining speed, and spat itself into the room. I decided a trip to warm up was required and loaded the dogs in the car. To say the wind was strong before squeezing itself through the door-frame would be an understatement. As a fearsome gust pinioned me to the gates, I had no alternative but to rest my cheek on the cold iron and wait. I was unable to move the gates in the desired direction let alone tether them; all I wanted was to be warm. A few minutes later, the wind dropped to a mere 10-15 mph and I released myself from the bars and in a flurry of activity tethered the gates, started the car and drove at speed up the drive onto the track. Miraculously the gates had stayed as desired; then the wind roared down the mountain and the feeble ties gave up their captives and the iron rushed towards me. Footwork which would have had Wayne Sleep in raptures saw me avoiding injury and minutes later heading to the warmth of the shopping mall in Torre del Mar.
It takes on average two hours for my round trip to Torre, today was no exception. As I bumped along the track back to the house, red wine and logs (a sure fire way to stay warm) stashed in the back, I waved to the shepherd as he sent the last of his sheep into their night compound and shelter. Power had been restored and I filled the hot water bottle and a mug with hot water so at least one mug of tea and a warmish bed were assured. During the evening as power came and went I gazed out of the kitchen window, flickering fire- and candle-light, my sole source of heat, dancing across the walls and ceiling behind me, at the bright lights of the villages on the mountains beyond.
On Christmas Eve I left my rural retreat for the less rarefied air of the outskirts of Fuengirola for Christmas with friends and god-daughter. The plans for mass preparation of the Christmas feast the night before dissolved in vodka and tonic. Unfortunately, my resolve not to partake in Karaoke also went the same way and resulted in a midnight rendition of 'Fairy Tale of New York' with me in the role of the toothless Shane MacGowan of The Pogues. It was a rousing number, people were singing and dancing, despite mine and Jan's singing efforts! 
