IT’S over. Finally. I’ve taken a deep breath and let go of a long term relationship that was causing me nothing but distress and despair.
If you’re a regular reader of this column, you’ll know that my Freelander has been somewhat of a fixture. Normally in the pantomime villain role when it broke down when I had some important business to attend to.
“When she was good she was very very good, but when she was bad she was horrid” is a pretty apt eulogy for the Land Rover, which I christened Tallulah after notorious American actress Tallulah Bankhead – a famously bitchy star.
For the past couple of weeks, normally on my ‘paper round’ delivering the Olive Press, I noticed an increasing number of creaks and groans. Most, admittedly, were from me lugging the damn things around… More than a few, however, were coming from the rear of Tallulah (stop sniggering at the back).
Leaving an art exhibition a few nights later, there was a tremendous ‘BANG!’. Now I may not have the engineering brilliance of Isambard Kingdom Brunel, but I deduced that all was not well.
A trip to the mechanic revealed that both the chassis and the subframe had broken. Top man that my mechanic is he advised me to scrap the car – unless I wanted to have my legs sheared off neatly beneath the knees as the chassis went one way and the frame the other. That might just sting a bit…
Luckily I was able to borrow my (long suffering) father’s car. A piece of Teutonic technology that has never had anything go wrong with it for as long as he has had it.
I am offering no prizes for what happened on the first day that I had it, as I went to fire the car up in the driveway at the Casita. Suffice to say that Murphy’s law must have been particularly strong that day. The only relief that I can take from that Sunday morning before I managed to coax the grua (tow truck) to start the BMW up was that there were no CCTV cameras to record my Basil Fawlty style meltdown!
Breakfast – it’s all down to timing
BEING the Marbella media type that I am, I found myself invited to a breakfast briefing for the foreign media at the Town Hall.
When I was editing business magazines in London in the ‘90s, there were frequent breakfast briefings. These normally took place in the City, featured a huge variety of food – smoked salmon bagels, kedgeree, that sort of thing – and kicked off, being a breakfast briefing, at 8am or thereabouts.
Marbella’s ‘breakfast briefing’ on the other hand, featured a couple of biscuits and took place at noon.
Back in the ‘90s, I would have been on my second Chardonnay in some City wine bar by that time…
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