Sonne in der Nacht

The miserable weather that did indeed last thirty days and thirty nights has given way to a week of blissful Mallorcan spring. At one stage, you might have expected to have found an arc perched atop the local puigs (hills) and animals embarking two-by-two, which apparently is how animals enter arcs. Now, there are moans about the heat. I was at Didi’s bike place in Puerto Alcudia yesterday. Two hale-and-hearty Germans returned with their bikes. “Zuper”, it had been, but “zu heiss”. Well, if you must do over 100 kilometres in 24 degrees what do you expect.

While at this bike place, Didi was telling me that he also promotes Nordic walking. Now this is an odd thing. I first became aware of the Mallorcaisation of Nordic walking when clocking some Germans in a supermarket. Skiing, I thought. Where were they skiing? And why carry their sticks into a supermarket? Slaloming down the north face of the bakery section?

Now in Germany you can find vast hordes traversing the plains in earnest pursuit of aerobic activity supported by two sticks. But here, for the most part, the sticks are used as … sticks. To extract any benefit from the sticks, what you do not do is just use them as a form of crutch. Still, there are those who do it correctly. Some have just gone past the house. “Click, click, clack, clack.”


And something of a German theme today as Trencadora in Pollensa has had its re-opening. Some of you may know that Trencadora is owned by the rock guitarist Peter Maffay. For many that name will mean nothing, but he is big in Germany. And speak to a German, like my neighbour Carina, and you’ll hear he’s a top bloke.

Anyway Trencadora, which is a fabulous place, hasn’t really worked, but now the charming Jutta has her hands on it, and let’s hope it does well. The photos are from the re-opening.


Many thanks by the way to Geoff who offered The Who as an answer to the Run, Run, Run question, in that he said they did a cover of a song by this name. I had in mind Jo Jo Gunne. So, if anyone knows who did the original that The Who covered, do please let us know.

And keeping this going. Jo Jo Gunne were formed by Jay Ferguson, who was a member of which American West Coast band, the guitarist in which was related to Jimi Hendrix? And as a word of explanation, the title of this piece is also the title of a Peter Maffay hit record – so now you know.

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Run, Run, Run

Appropriately enough, given it’s the London Marathon tomorrow, a bit of a running theme, if only because – and it is a tad tenuous, granted – there was a touch of quaint old Mallorcan tradition at play in Alcudia and elsewhere today.

According to Ian at Chess, a man who knows about these things, the racket outside the town hall was all in aid of something known as “corre llengua”, which literally – I think – means run language, or more likely, forward with language or some such. Anyway, whatever it means, it is all to do with promoting the local lingo. So here is a photo that does that, apparently. Told you it was tenuous.


The Scottish band was of course Deacon Blue. And today’s poser – which American group had a hit with the title of today’s piece?

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Four Thousand Holes

Yes, pop-pickers, yet another musical motif. No prizes for the title. Everyone knows the origin. What everyone may not know is that Blackburn, Lancashire has been shifted. Shifted some hundreds of kilometres south. Shifted to Puerto Pollensa in fact. Not that Pto P is much like Blackburn – and yes I have been to Blackburn, and Darwen and Accrington, before you ask – but it does share holes. Bloody great big holes. Bloody great big holes in roads. And roads in a state of nuclear winter.

Every year, just the same. Four thousand holes in Puerto Pollensa, Mallorca. But I suspect some of the holes – and roads – may have to do with Taylor Woodrow’s building on the old Garbi hole. From one enormous hole to four thousand small, but still tyre-cracking holes. Taylor Woodrow – “We deconstruct since months”. Or something like that. Dodgy English.


And the answers to yesterday’s quiz. Steely Dan was William Burroughs. Starship built that city, and The Shamen thought e’s were good. An adjunct question. Which Scottish rock band was named after a Steely Dan song?

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The State Of The Estate

“We built this city on rock and roll.” Thus sang who (one of today’s pop quiz posers).

More like, we built this city on estate agencies. Puerto Pollensa at any rate. And it’s not the only place. There is a street in Puerto Pollensa, Juan XXIII, that could easily be re-named Estate Agency Street. How many estate agents does a place need, for God’s sake?

Well, more than thirty in Pto P, that’s how many. More than thirty chasing a commission that would make even that most hard-faced breed, the British estate agent, blush with embarrassment.

But this is not my theme. No, we’re back to that old friend – dodgy English. So, what’s with the estate agency angle, I hear you all ask? State, that’s the angle. State, as in missing an “e”. In this particular instance, “e’s” are most certainly good. However, take this example. There is a magazine called “Miramar”. Front cover has the words “Real State”. The context is property. It is a common error that I can only but attribute to an over-compensation to avoid putting an “e” in front of an “s” (as would be usual in Spanish) but cocking it up. A mistake, yes, but, once again, I ask why. You can find estate agencies ballsing this up in a similar way. No excuse.


So there I was, just about to exit a side road from the carretera by Restaurant Boy in Playa de Muro. The lights were flashing to let me go.

I know to look left. Just as bloody well. Straight through the red comes a line of German cyclists. They just don’t give a shit, do they. The last couple waved by way of thanks. I had an idea for a wave. Quite different. Two fingers forming a circle, my arm going up and down in a pumping fashion. Not worth it, is it. Forget it.

Answers to the previous Pop Quiz. “Peg” was Steely Dan. “Jake The Peg” was of course Rolf. Today’s bonus quiz question. Where does Steely Dan come from? And the two regular questions, one has already been posed (in the opening line here), and the second is about “e’s” are good. Who was it? Too eezy.

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“I’m Jake (or Jose) The Peg”

It’s ok, it’s ok, the weather’s ok. “DON’T PANIC, DON’T PANIC.”

And the cry “DON’T PANIC” can be heard resonating across Puerto Pollensa’s church square. No, it is not – sadly – Corporal Jones, bayonet a-fixed and a-pointed, scattering startled Germans. “They don’t like it up ‘em, Captain.”

It is of course Jose from Bony. A man, a catch-phrase. For all your 4Ps of marketing, when it comes to bars, if you ain’t got the fifth one – personality – you may’swell jack it in now. And Jose has it in buckets, or rather in large glass jars from which he throws sweets to the kids.

Now it does help that Bony is in the church square, but Bony still manages to attract custom from morose competitors. In a word – Jose.

Is he crazy? Not a bit of it. Clever, my friends. And shown here is one of his marketing images. Yes, it really is a clothes-peg. Make of it what you will.


Britain is England. England is Britain. The Spanish are not alone in not quite getting the difference. The Germans and Americans also stumble. Let’s be honest, there are a number of English, or British, who don’t know what Britain is. But it takes the offer of food to put this all into sharp relief.

Eroski Syp is publicising a tasting of English products this Thursday. Not British, English. Pre-empting this feast, Syp has set out some products already. The Welsh and Scots should be grateful. On the display are – amongst other items worthy of avoiding – … Hula-Hoops. Yes, Hula-Hoops. The crème de la crème of English products, the Hula-Hoop.

The fact that the sign advertising this must-be-missed event is in English suggests that the Spanish will not be eschewing their paella for something soggy in tomato sauce. (Actually, the Spanish do soggy in tomato sauce quite well for themselves, thank you.)

This whole English-British confusion was also to be found recently on a note sellotaped to the Perspex surrounding of the pool at the Africa Mar Hotel in Can Picafort. (Class, eh, sellotaped note.) It asked for a waiter proficient in the “idioma británico”. That’s the “British language” if you don’t know.

British language. Muppets.


And in tribute to Jose and his peg, here is today’s Pop Quiz. Which American rock band (mainly the seventies) did a track called “Peg”? And of course, which Australian was responsible for the unbracketed title of this piece? Clue – it wasn’t Kylie.

Prize. As always, there is no prize.

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Re-Vamped

At the risk of this blog becoming a form of benefit gig for Vamps, here are some pics of the opening thrash.

Good luck to Les and Lesley.

Winter in Spring

And for thirty days and thirty nights did it rain. And the rivers of hell did overflow and bring forth a flood. The keeper of the wells did cast his eye skyward, and declare it good. For it was good, for wells and ducks. But lo, there came upon the northern domain a group of travellers bedecked in football shirts and shorts, and they did cast their eyes skyward and declare it a pile of shit. And so it was. And so it was. For thirty days and thirty nights.

Well, a bit of an exaggeration perhaps, but it really is lousy. Yet apparently the weather people say it has rained less than average in some parts. Hard to believe.


No bright news. Despite the introduction of the licence points system, road deaths have increased again. The Guardia want more resources. But, and I say it again, does it really combat reckless driving and speeding if you stick your resources at roundabouts where the most they might pick up are seat-belt and mobile offences? Yes, you might also get some drink offences, but the real problem is what goes on on the open road, like the carretera that passes in front of my house. Want speeding? It’s here. Want reckless driving? Ditto.

Beware A Tie And A Smile

I am not a believer.

No, this is not by way of a contradictory Monkees thing. I’m going religion here, in a roundabout sort of way.

I am not a believer. But some are. That’s for them. This is not my point. What is, is religious apparel. No, not habits, nothing like that. Ties, I’m talking ties.

In Mallorca, the wearing of ties is generally reserved for those with a serious business intent, unlike most of us. But it is also the accessory of choice for those of religion. Some while ago, close observers of this blog will recall my encounter with a protagonist for the Gideon Bible outside Eroski Syp in Puerto Alcúdia - as you do. Nice chap he was. But he wore a tie. And he smiled.

Yesterday, ambling along the Paseo Colon in Can Picafort, I happened upon an acquaintance. She was with a group outside a cafe. I clocked the bible. Then I clocked the smile and the tie of one of the group. Jehovah’s Witnesses.

I claim no great knowledge of their ways, except being woken from boozy slumbers of a New Year’s Day lunchtime by a ring on the bell and Peter Knowles giving up a career with Wolves to embrace a tie, a smile and a foot in the door.

So, when in Mallorca and a smiling, tie-wearing Brit sidles up to, run for your lives or be prepared to give up a good half-an-hour of your lives.


Well I mentioned the fact that “Vamps” was on the point of opening, and it will do so - this coming Saturday. And here is the logo that Les has kindly sent me. See more info on the What’s On Blog.

And given that there will be, amongst the entertainment on the Vamps opening night, an Elvis impersonator, here is also a photo of some metal art from the Tattoo shop next to Vamps, courtesy of the very nice Guido and Fernanda. Well, I think it looks like Elvis.


Grupo Boulevard’s colonisation of Playa de Muro is more or less complete in the sense that much of their DIY centre has opened to the public. Well, the optimistically monikered “Hyper Market” is open at any rate. More than can be said of other places.

The Rose and Crown remains neglected and unloved, as it was all last summer. The George and Dragon is up for rent, as is Shooters (which has been for some three years). Maybe Boulevard will make a go of things. They may not be loved by all, but at least they are trying to put some class into - as I have said before - a singularly unlovely part of the Playa.

Roads To Hell

It’s started. The early-season harmonies of vehicle horns merrily hooting and a-tooting as those attached to the horns come up against the first trikes-on-the-main-roads of Spring. Oh, and the woman on the roller blades pushing the baby buggy. Yep, she’s back. May not be the same woman, but always this time of the season there’s at least one.

The joys of motoring when the season starts to kick in. One can be happily driving along the glorious avenue that is the Greasy Mile admiring its splendid architecture, and suddenly - from behind a parked bus - out veers a junior lard mountain struggling to control a trike.

I have a further suggestion for clogging up the roads with things that should never be allowed near a stretch of tarmac. Take the wheels off the trikes, and let the fitness fanatics who would normally be on bikes, run with them, like the cars on “The Flintstones”. Better still, if the cyclists were to keep their shoes on, imagine the fabulous cacophony of clipping and clopping. A sure winner, I fancy.


And finally, here is the photo of the Pointed Thing Roundabout. Well, it wasn’t a nice day, but the whatever-it-is still looks resplendent. More I look at, more I go dental equipment. Or maybe it’s some form of punishment. Sit on that - as it were. Very Vlad, very Impaler.

Coming up, our great competition – name your favourite item of roundabout decoration. Remember, only this blog would come up with such incredible competitions.

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Tomato, Tomato, Tomayto, Tomayto

You say tomato, I say tomayto. In fact I say tinned tomato, and Les at The Canny Lad says plum tomato. Now this all stems from 2 August last year when I did something about breakfasts. To reprise: The Canny Lad, or so I said, offered just yer tinned tomato. Turns out it doesn’t only do the plum variety, but the fresh one, too. So I’m pleased to right this scurrilous wrong. These things matter, you know.

And while I’m at it, let’s add Foxes near the Magic Roundabout to the list of breakfast establishments, and – likely too – JKs in Puerto Pollensa. Jane and Kevin have thus far eschewed the full English, but this could be about to change.

Also while I’m at it. Les (and Lesley) are on the point of opening another bar. This one’s to be called “Vamps”, it being an adult-themed bar. Work thus far on it looks good, and it is situated on the Calle Astoria, just off the Greasy Mile by Bells. And on the same strip, what was Agra is now Taste of India. Much as I loved Izzy (at Agra), the place badly needed a makeover, and it is getting one, courtesy of the new boss, one Sirag, which sounds like Shearer, much to the delight of Geordies amongst us.


I’ve been asked to talk about parking, There is parking, and then there is Mallorcan parking. Why park in one space, when two will do nicely. That’s but one style of Mallorcan parking. Then there is the all-road parking, i.e. in the middle of the road. Or the pedestrian-crossing parking. Given that crossings are treated with scant regard by drivers here, that some might park on them should come as no surprise. And finally, there is the parking in hash-marked-boxes-which-are-meant-to-tell-you-not-to-park-or-you’ll-get-towed-away parking. Great sport, this one. I heartily recommend a coffee at Bar Norai in Puerto Alcudia just so you can wait for plod to come along, book a car improperly parked in the car park opposite and call for the removal truck. Excellent stuff. More of this.


Early-season Holiday Brains (an old friend of a theme from last season). Look, it’s only about 15 degrees, it’s raining at times (and a lot), I know folk want to make the most of it, but why are they walking across main roads in bare feet. Nuts, or what.

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Lovely Sa Pobla By-The-Sea

Well, I really did seem to start something. All that talk of global warming and flooding reaching as far as Sa Pobla brought literally thousands of responses all expressing the same concern. Whither the wicket at the Sa Pobla Cricket Club? Whither, or wither indeed.

Most notable was this highly evocative appraisal of the SPCC circa 2050 as the sea comes ever closer. I am indebted to Alastair and Angela for this Cardusian description which juxtaposes the old splendour of the great days of the SPCC threatened by the predicted encroachment of the sea.

"The ground slopes slightly towards the sea and a ball from this end can sometimes get lost against the stand. This, and the sea fret which makes the ball swing and dip, can bring early thrills on a green wicket but too often when the life is gone it becomes so very placid.

"Of all the great names of Sa Pobla cricket perhaps Maurice Tate is remembered with the greatest affection. From 1912 he shouldered the bowling of Sa Pobla and England over the next 25 years and when he finally sent down his last over the club honoured him with a magnificent pair of gates at the main entrance.

"Towering blocks of flats now hem in the ends of the ground but they cannot change its character, for it has mellowed in the history of the game and is an area worthy of the best in cricket. Set no more than a stone's throw from the sea, Sa Pobla has the atmosphere of a seaside resort, and the deckchairs at the northern end add to that feel. The sea can be glimpsed from the pavilion (side on to the wicket) and splendid views of the Tramuntana are partially obscured by the flats.

"These days, Sa Pobla has a slightly decrepit air, but that adds to its appeal."

Truly peerless, I'm sure you will all agree.

The attached photo shows the marvellous SPCC from the early 1930s digitally remastered to show the proximity of the sea, as might be expected by 2050. In this, we can just determine the great Maurice Tate (pictured separately) bowling to the Nawab of Alcudia during the famous Potato Series of matches between the SPCC/MCC and the Gentlemen of Northern Mallorca XI. Yes, boats could be drifting onto the outfield. Save the SPCC now! Curb carbon emissions!

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Pointless And Pointed

Who switched the lights off?

Zero sun, a bullseye of rain and three degrees this morning at 10 o’clock. Three degrees! Pity the poor sods who have pitched up hoping for some Spring heat. How utterly depressing.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the Carretera Arta. Well, no it’s a crap idea - the red track I mentioned last time. Karen from Foxes was giving the situation a good once-over and was muttering darkly about drivers using it rather than cyclists, which begs the question - what is the point of it? Who knows, but the whole sorry mess is leading to sweeps as to the number of accidents (and worse) through the season.

But there is always some new roundabout furniture to make the whole effort seem worthwhile. In the middle of the new one at the Palma-Sa Pobla turn, some sleek steel thing has been erected. An executive pen-holder? A piece of dental equipment?

A fish-hook is the best offer so far.

When it stops raining, in a few days, expect a nice photo and you can all enter our quiz. Name that thing on the roundabout. My guess is that, in years to come, people will refer to it not simply (as with the horse roundabout, though even the horse in question is somewhat open to other interpretations), but far more vaguely as the Pointed Thing Roundabout. And they would of course be right. That’s it. The official name. I’ve just coined it. Rotonda Cosa Puntiaguda. I hereby claim my contribution to local culture.

Rains And Boats And Cranes

And so the crappy weather meant that the cuttlefish and boat affairs in Puerto Alcudia were not the success of last year. There were people around, quite a lot in fact, but the terraces were not thronged - too cold and too much of a threat of rain. Still, I got a tasty tapa of sepia in a tangy sauce at La Recoleta; very nice it was, too.

It wasn’t as though there weren’t folk on the terraces. Hardy groups of Germans, who will sit through a gale and plagues of locusts to ensure they are fed at the correct time, were to be noted, as they were - in some abundance - earlier in the day at Cafe Paris’s brunchtime music Sunday. Paris, Can Picafort that is. Not Paris, Paris or Paris, Texas. It is quite marked just how German Can Pic is. And being towards midday, the cry is “Mahlzeit”, one of the German language’s odder utterings, Mahlzeit being a greeting used at mealtimes. Think about it. In England all these folk wandering about at midday shouting “meal time”.


At this time of the year, Easter coming up, the first real flocks of tourists arriving, you would think that all the work that needs to be done would be through. Not a bit of it. As I said at the same time last year, there is a theory that much of the building work that occurs at this time is done purely to prove to people that something is being done (there being fewer folk around earlier in the winter to impress). Consequently, you can turn any corner and be likely to encounter some fucking crane parked in the middle of the road and a couple of weasly workers in luminous jackets who have a communication breakdown in the synchronisation of their stop-go signs.

Amidst all this work, there may though be some semblance of common sense. By the Magic Roundabout I now notice that a red track has been painted to direct cyclists off of the Carretera and onto the side road that runs parallel. Now this might just be a good idea, although it would make for dangerous times ahead for pedestrians. Watch this space.

Pick a Peck o’ Pickled Picafort

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The title of this site may be AlcudiaPollensa, but it doesn’t stop me from talking about other places. Can Picafort, for example. Not a place that gets much of a look-in here. Not a place that gets much of a look-in anywhere to be honest.

It’s a strange place. Nice enough. Pleasant residential areas. Neatly laid-out road system (assuming that matters). Nice hotels (an enormous number of them). But it sort of lacks something. It’s like Playa de Muro, only bigger. The front-line there does look a bit scrappy in parts, so news that some upgrading is to be done at the Son Bauló end is to be welcomed, though how much of an improvement a relatively small spend will bring about is questionable.

At least no-one has tried to set fire to the hotels. Unlike in Alcúdia. Three of them - the Sofia Apartments, the Ciudad Blanca and the Viva Golf - have all been the target of some pyromania. The suspicion is that it’s the work of a disgruntled ex-worker (or ex-workers), though the fact that the three establishments have no connection makes it all seem a bit odd, unless the same ex-worker has managed to be kicked out of three jobs. For the record, there was no great damage, just some mattresses went up apparently.

This weekend will see the second sepia and nautical fairs in Puerto Alcúdia. Sepia, let me remind you all, means cuttlefish. Bizarre though it sounds, they devote a whole weekend to budgie food. The combined event was a rip-roaring success last year, but then the weather was brilliant, which it isn’t at the moment. Winter arrived yesterday.

And talking of rips, Trev from La Sala was wondering why I hadn’t taken more of a rip out of the new road system along the Carretera Arta. Strange, I thought I had. Anyway, here are some adjectives:

Ill-conceived, lousy, half-brained, stupid, mad, poorly-thought-out, nuts. Or perhaps ... an example of innovative traffic management and circulation designed to aid both road users and pedestrians. Ok, the last one certainly wasn’t an adjective. Any other offers?

From the Business Pages: Hot on the heels of Thomas Cook (Neckermann) taking over My Travel and Aspro Ocio (Marineland etc) taking over Western Park, now we have Thomson (TUI) acquiring First Choice. Yea, yea, so it says merger. No such thing, my friends. There is always a first amongst so-called equals, and barely ever has a merger been anything other than an acquisition. Setting aside the Marineland activity, the big four tour companies are now the big two. Both German. “Sunbedsraum” by any other name.

“Like Shooting Fish In A Barrel” - Part Two

Before I get to the subject of the title, something about service.

A US retail chain, Nordstrom, made a name for itself by offering outstanding service. Not just your ordinary how-can-I-help-you variety, but extraordinary service. It was encouraged. So if a customer was in a spot, needed a lift, say, to the airport, Nordstrom would deliver.

Now Puerto Alcúdia is not the US. Little Britain is not Nordstrom, but check this out. Today a rather frail lady came into the shop. She realised she had lost a bag. Had to be in the Syp store. The bag had medicines in it and money. No sooner mentioned than acted upon. Off went Steve to Syp, and retrieved the bag.

That’s what I call service.


So, those fish in the barrel. Another easy target has to be Leapy Lee in “Euro Weekly”. Full respect to EW for publishing the letter, as a correspondent finished her criticism of the Leapster thus:

“What I really can’t understand is how a publication that seems unbiased in every other way can publish Leapy’s weekly criticism of anything and everything. His points are sometimes valid, but please can you really call that writing! It’s in bad taste and I for one would like to see him gone.”

I’m saying nothing.


I forgot to mention. A caption beneath a photo of an ashen-faced Stuart Pearce. “Pearce yesterday dismissed speculation that is facing the sack.” Amazing what the absence of a pronoun can do.

Also - reporting a US study into the effects of Omega-3, reference was made to “gray” matter. Either a straight take from a US-originated editorial release or a failure to change to British English. “Gray” in British English is only a noun - it is a unit of radiation measure. “Gray” in British English does not exist as an adjective.

Where do these two examples come from? Where do you think?

Like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Like Shooting Fish In A Barrel”

I like this saying. When Martin Clunes once used it on “Have I Got News For You”, I made a note. Must use that some time.

“The Daily Bulletin”. Like shooting fish in a barrel.

Yesterday’s issue. Front page - Weather Forecast page 28. Er no, the Lashter actually, but only one out, page 29. See New Feature, Your Shout, p. 14. Two out, page 16.

But there’s more. Oh, yes. On the Lash page. Reference to many in British sport who have pitched up at one of his mates’ restaurants - “From Sir Alex Ferguson to Tommy Dority.” Tommy Dority? Who he? And then there’s a photo of one of the mates. With a “great (?)” of British sport - Joe Royal. Yes, yes, Joe Royal. Not Joe Royle, but Joe Royal.

Today’s issue. Aspro Ocio’s takeover of Western Water Park. Refers to “Agualand”. No, no, Aqualand.

Bad day(s) at the sub’s desk perhaps.

Like shooting fish in a barrel.

* I googled Tommy Dority. Didn’t bother after page one. Two mentions, one pertaining to charlestonrunningclub.com, the other to a site for air medical professionals. Must be the first one then.

“Feelin’ Hot, Hot, Hot”

At the risk of sounding repetitive ... Yesterday’s “Sunday Times” summarised the arguments set forth by Mark Lynas in his book “Our Future on a Hotter Planet” (Harper Collins). They made for startling reading.

Lynas sets out scenarios based on increases in temperature of one degree, to a maximum of six (which in effect means oblivion, and may - hopefully - be some many years off). In the shorter-term, he sees zero chance of avoiding a one-degree increase, itself bad enough as it will set off - inter alia - coastal flooding, drought and the partial tearing-apart of mountains. That’s one degree. Between one and two-degree heating is expected within 40 years. The 2003 heatwave will be the norm, Mediterranean holidays will cease; it will be too hot. People will seek to move north or to higher ground. When temperatures were last one to two degrees higher, the sea levels were five or six metres higher - five or six metres!!!

Doesn’t sound too good, does it. No more Mallorca holidays, no more Mallorca villas by the sea, no more Mallorca. 40 years. Half a lifetime.

The Germans, longer in environmental awareness than many other peoples, are being encouraged to holiday at home, and there are concerns that this could affect what was predicted to be a second successive ”record year” for tourism. I doubt it really will. Despite their environmental awareness, the Germans are pretty much wedded to turning mahogany under a Mallorcan sun.

“A Bicycle, Not A Road, Made For Two”

Now let’s get one thing straight; I am not anti-cycling. Indeed I am pro-cycling. Environmentally friendly, good for the health. Be it rigorous sport or a leisurely pedal regarding splendid vistas, cycling has a lot going for it.

BUT.

Years ago there was one of those public information adverts that used to get trotted out about driving. It depicted a driver turning into a devil. Cyclist: same anti-Christ, different set of wheels. Not all, of course not all, but some, oh yes. Let loose on the roads in these parts, there is a breed of cyclist who is transformed into - and I can think of only one word: four letters, c-alliterative.

The pantomime-horse shoes don’t help of course, but at least they are vaguely comedic. What is not is: riding through red lights; riding on the wrong side of the road; riding in the middle of the road (ignoring the cycle lanes). Someone said today: “they (cyclists) show a lack of courtesy”. Perhaps they are getting their own back. Cyclists and drivers; ne’er shall the twain meet, except when they collide with each other.

Which brings me of course to the Carretera Arta. Alcúdia council, unlike Muro’s (the main road remains stubbornly un-resurfaced as one enters Playa de Muro), has forked out a good chunk of euros on the road’s improvement. However, as I pointed out on 11 February, there is a bit of a design fault in the new road’s layout. Did I say “a bit”?

As mentioned before, and as shown in the photo on 11 Feb, there are now many crossing-point “islands” dotted along the road. I fully understand the thinking. Helps people cross the road. Fine. Except the disappearing cycle lanes as one comes to these islands. Except the lack of clarity as to whether one can turn left. Except the mini-roundabouts that now are starting to appear. Except the bigger roundabouts - the one at the top of the Greasy Mile for instance; the turn is too tight, too tight. Coaches ...?

I fully understand the thinking. But did anyone stop to also think about not just the cyclists, but also the mopeds, the scooters, the trikes, the women on roller blades pushing baby buggies, the disabled cyclists, the horse-drawn carriages? To say nothing of the fact that your average driver here has no comprehension as to how to approach or negotiate a roundabout - or how to indicate (which is an optional extra).

There are going to be problems.


Enough of this. This blog does from time to time celebrate the sad passing of great names. Fred Trueman was one. So, I cannot allow the death of John Inman to go unacknowledged, if only because of his part in one of the most abysmal films of all time, namely the one when the staff at Grace Brothers went on holiday together to “Spain”. It was all there. The cheap innuendo, the leering at totty (not by Mr. Humphries necessarily), the culture clash with the Germans. My, how things don’t change.


Weather watch: wind, wind and more wind. The road into Puerto Pollensa was blocked for a while this morning by a fallen tree. There was other damage, and a yacht dashed on the rocks by Club Sol. And this comes on the back of a mother and father of a storm a couple of days back. Spring, that’ll be it.

More By The Way Of Scam

It was back in November that I talked about the scam whereby restaurant or hotel (or other) owners post glowing reports on - inter alia - the likes of TripAdvisor, masquerading as a happy and contented punter. It’s taken me a while to get up to speed with this, but from the end of this year - in the UK - anyone doing so can be named and shamed by trading standards or taken to court. This is all part of a move to prevent consumers from being misled.

As back in November, I confess to a vested interest in this as on the websites associated with this blog, reviews can be posted. These are subject to vetting before they are approved, though I could never be 100% sure as to the origin. Nevertheless, this move to criminalise such glowing statements using false identities is almost certainly welcome.

The reliance that the tourist places on personal recommendation cannot be under-estimated.

It is a facet of our information society that so much information is so readily available and - more importantly - we have all become ever more reliant on this information to direct and, yes, inform, our decision-making. The trouble is a potential over-reliance and a lack of discernment. What one person considers to be the dog’s bollocks doesn’t necessarily mean that those same bollocks will be hung for another - as it were.

Still, I shall continue to vet the comments that come to the websites, on which the establishments which have thus far attracted the most comment are all part of the same business. Just coincidence, of that I’m sure. But for the record they are - in Puerto Alcúdia and on www.thealcudiaguide.com - Bells Disco, Kaos Bar and El Toro Restaurant.


January seems to have been a good month for Balearic tourism (all things being relative of course). Anyway, the numbers were up by some 20%, though of this number 50% were mainland Spanish. Maybe it was the good weather.

Our Mutual Friend

And so, just continuing with headlines of a literary nature (the last one was from Ian McEwan plus a “dis” - if you get my drift), the “friend” referred to in the previous entry turned up today. His “mutuality” stems from the fact both I and James (and Karen) from Foxes know him as well. And this is a roundabout way of giving James a name-check, because he wanted one. No sooner asked, than done, James.

But there’s more. The mutual friend still suffers from this apparent rip-off by a business transfer agency. From my admittedly limited dealings with such agencies on the island, I cannot believe that they would practise what is a form of gazumping. Were I a vendor, and the agency did that to a prospective purchaser, I’d tell them to sling their hook.

Apparently the agency expressed a degree of relief when the friend said, on learning that the price had gone up, he wasn’t interested any longer. Their reasoning; we can keep the money.

I know who they are. I’m not saying, but I know. There’ll be something; there’s always something. Like another friend who stood to lose a cool sixty-odd thousand as a deposit on a property in the south of the mainland (that was never seemingly going to come to fruition). He wanted his money back. Consult a lawyer, was the response. None of the lawyers in the vicinity was interested; friends, you see. So, he found a blog. Others had had the same problem. There was a lawyer away from the area. She took up the case. He got his money back.

There’s always something. Nowadays, there’s always something. Look out.


Weather watch: yesterday was ludicrously hot. 25 degrees, word had it. Changed today, but, hell, 25 degrees in the first week of March. Global warming? Nah, just one of those things.