Where A Hole Don't Belong

Something distinctly odd has occurred in Puerto Pollensa. The town hall has sent some chaps along to talk to the residents and to get their views as to where it should make some holes. Having spent the entire period of its current administration digging a hole for itself, the town hall has sought to repair the damage by digging some more holes, but filling them with the opinions of the locals. Spring and elections are in the air, so is the rarity of consultation.

So anyway, these holes. Where to put them, that's the question. And what, you may well ask, will go into these holes? Rubbish. Rubbish containers. In an act of catch-up, Pollensa is following the lead of its neighbour Alcúdia, where there exists a town hall which does resemble one that knows what it is doing, and making less unsightly the unsightly. But things are never straightforward. "Oi, mate, you can't put a hole here. You'll have to put it over there. You can't put a hole where a hole don't belong."

All good consultative stuff, but Pollensa town hall would not be Pollensa town hall if it weren't putting holes where holes certainly don't belong and full of stuff that belongs as far away as possible from the town. The remains of the beetle-stricken palm trees. Still not having quite cottoned on to the fact that these remains should be taken away and shoved in some ruddy great ovens, the town hall is re-enacting the Somme by digging trenches and presiding over the burial of fallen palms. Ashes to ashes. Well no, because it hasn't burnt them. Though some it did, in the fields, which it shouldn't have done.

There is now a part of Pollensa which has been declared a biological contamination site. The agit-propagandists of Pollensa who have been taking the town hall to task over its efforts to stem the spread of the beetle had already started referring to Puerto Pollensa as "ground zero". The town hall seems to be taking them at their word and has created its own. Here's something new and innovative for this season's tourists. Spray them with decontaminant as they enter and leave the resort, or issue them with space suits and tell them to stay indoors with the shutters firmly shut. Do not, under any circumstance, venture out! Curfews are in place!

But getting back to the other holes, the ones for the rubbish, the great works to create these holes and various other ones that are needed to upgrade water supplies and what have you are now about underway. With the usual great sense of timing, edging towards the season, holes, any number of them, will appear. I read the news today, 4,000 holes in Puerto Pollensa.

"How long are all these holes going to take, mate?" "Hmm, can't say. Three, four months." "Er, won't this take us into the tourist season?" "Emm, could do." "But aren't you supposed to stop building work when the season starts?" "Er, are we?"

Great stuff, let's hope that come 1 May, the hole-makers will down tools, swap their workmen bibs for waiters' white and black, and leave all the holes where the holes don't belong. Great for tourists. Mind you, not that it will matter, because they'll all be shut away in their space suits and drinking overpriced coffees through straws.

There is quite some discussion down Puerto Pollensa way as to what actually these holes are going to produce in the resort's church (aka market) square. The town hall had shown the plans, again in an act of hitherto-unknown communication, but there was one thing missing. It didn't say what one particular hole will be for, or what it should be in an ideal world of fantasy.

It will be mayor Cerdà's gift. His very own "Clochemerle". Le Pissoir Cerdà. The pièce de résistance of all the satire that his town hall has ushered forth. What does any small town need? Of course, a public urinal. Right in the middle of the square. This'll put one up the noses of those in Alcúdia who reckon it's an altogether better-run authority. Alcúdia won't have one of its own. But as with Clochemerle, jealous "alcudiencs" will arrive one night and blow it up. Riots will ensue, great passions will be aroused, until... . Until there is an almighty great thunderstorm that will cool everyone down. And then we'll know why all the holes. Rain.


Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.