Nothing In Particular: November

If I had a euro for every time someone had said to me how do you manage to write so often and so much, I would have sufficient to buy a pretty cheap lawnmower. People don't really ask me the question that often; it just seems as though they do. The amount that it would come to, possibly in the region of around 80 euros, would get me a lawnmower. Another one. I've got two broken ones sitting in the utility room. If I bought a proper one, an expensive one, they probably wouldn't be broken, but I have better things to waste money on.

Having therefore borrowed a lawnmower and tackled - finally - an overgrown, autumn lawn, I was attacking the grass with a degree of relish, as there is something satisfying about cutting a lot of grass, mixed with resentment at having to spend my time doing so when I should be somewhere else writing whatever it is I am writing today. But what was I going to write today? This was the question I was asking myself, as I deposited some cut grass into the brown container for the umpteenth time.

Was there a clue to hand? As in on my hand. And on my arm. And on my face. And in my ear. It's a title, I thought. Mosquito Coast. Nicked from Harrison Ford, it seemed a good title as here, by the coast and by Albufera, there are mosquitoes. Thousands of them. Millions, for all I know. And during the day.

Mosquitoes are a fact of life because of Albufera, but the autumn dampness makes them an all but intolerable fact of life. They get everywhere. In my car, for example. November is a miserable, horrible enough month as it is without mosquitoes making it even more unbearable. And November was something else that I thought I might be writing about. Its deadness and its sadness. There is barely a soul to be seen. The whole of Playa de Muro has been wrapped in black bin-liners and brown paper and packed away for a few months. You feel as though you are the last person left alive. God knows how people who have fincas in the back of beyond get on. It would drive me nuts.

And at the airport on Sunday, there was hardly anyone left alive there either. The last easyJet flight out of Luton had three people on it. Little wonder really when there isn't much open for anyone arriving and no chance of returning with the same airline to the same airport.

Then I thought about writing about the unemployment queues. But if I had a euro for every time I've written about these in November, I would be able to dine out reasonably well. Not that you could so in Playa de Muro of course, except at the little cafeteria that keeps going with its menu del día through the winter. Oh, and maybe the burger place, but that's normally only open at the weekend. The queues, though, aren't like the queues used to be. There must be a different system for processing all the poor sods hoping for their measly benefits.

Ah but, there are always the autumn fairs to write about. Yep, done them before now as well. The line about the how-big-is-your-pumpkin competition at Muro's autumn fair is wearing a tad thin. Not that it isn't legitimate, as it has been every year since the pumpkin contest was introduced. Nothing ever changes. November comes round, the fairs are as fairs have long been, albeit that Pollensa is having some sort of Wild West competition at its fair for the first time.

Maybe I could write about November being a time for people to relax, start to re-charge, maybe even begin to think about next season. Maybe I could, but I don't want relaxation. I don't want nothingness. Putting it bluntly, I don't want November. I want people not relaxing. I want them working. I want life. Not an empty airport that is so empty it closes part of itself down for the winter. Not the sight of empty houses - so many of them in the neighbourhood going to shameful, obscene waste - and empty hotels, shells of unconscionable non-productivity.

I could write about this, and there would be a few euros knocking around for the number of times I've expressed my disgust at the volume of unused real estate. So I won't. I'll just flick the mosquitoes away, listen to the silence and wonder what I'm going to write about. I know. I'll write about nothing in particular.


Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.

You've Got A Smiling Face

And ever more on the train extension. It would appear that not everyone is happy with the planned route (alongside the road to Alcúdia from the motorway); that not everyone includes the mayors of Alcúdia and Muro. Alcúdia's Miquel Ferrer is complaining about a lack of consultation, and Muro's Jaume Perelló reckons that the other route (the one that would terminate at the Es Foguero "ruin") would be the better option. Well, as this other route would mean the terminal being sited close to the Muro boundary, I suppose one can sense a degree of self-interest. However, maybe he has a point when he says that such a terminal would be closer to the coast and also to the Muro hospital. Hmm, well, not sure it's that much of a point to be honest, but what about the new industrial estate? That would be right next to the other route's terminal; a stronger point I would have thought. Of course, some are happy about the decision. Step forward our old mates GOB, the environmental lobby group, who one might have imagined wouldn't have wanted anything that came within the sound of a train whistle of Albufera.

This has all the makings of something that will run and run, and run and run - for 15 long years probably like the time it took to agree on the industrial estate - and run and run like the runaway train, and talking of which don't forget the marvel that is Dimple Diamond (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84DmeutIAr4).


But another day, and another strike in the offing. This has been a fabulous year for industrial relations locally. It gets little better than the teachers and the police striking or working to rule. Oh yes it does if you happen to be flying in for your hols. Baggage handlers. Yep, they're downing the luggage and leaving the carousels sadly revolving with nothing bar the battered and unclaimed suitcase that should have gone to Alicante. Mind you, this has and is only scheduled to take place between the hours of 13:30 and 15:30 when they can go off and have a nice menu of the day. The forums are consoling themselves with the fact that a couple of hours wait is nothing to worry about as it takes that long for baggage to come through anyway (which it doesn't), but those seeking this solace should bear in mind that it also works (or rather doesn't work when on strike) in the outgoing direction, i.e. baggage doesn't get loaded onto outbound flights. So, Mr Smug coming-on-holiday tourist, watch out if you're only here for a week as they're planning a repeat next weekend, and for the whole of Saturday, not just the lunch break. And let's add to this glorious summer of strikes the train workers and possibly hotel workers. Wonderful stuff.


Meanwhile, celebration time and photo opportunity moment for Pollensa worthies yesterday. Some 40 years after it was first planned and six years after the first stage of the road was built, the new road that bypasses Puerto Pollensa was officially opened. Oh joy. The most recently built bit, from the coast road to link up with the roundabout by Caprabo (Eroski), is now complete, there being a roundabout on the coast road that takes you either along the bypass through Gotmar and Pinaret to join up with the bypass to Formentor or further along the old coast road. Excellent, especially if the enviros get their way and close the whole coast road, thus making the whole exercise a complete waste of time.


QUIZ
Chain - Michael Brecker who was part of The Brecker Brothers. Brecker's final public performance was with which jazz pianist? Clue: "I Thought It Was You". Yesterday's title - U2, "Desire" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bjNHzU81qY). Today's title - in honour of the baggage handlers' strike, what had this smiling face and flew a baby away?

(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)