That Andalucian Moment

'One oh six point EIGHT, ACE FM.'

The cheesy 80's jingle blares over the car radio. Have these people never seen Smashy and Nicey? The Brummy-accented fugitive from hospital radio tells me the name of the sponsor. Estepona Autos, Manilva; best price left- and right-hand drive. Brummy man doesn't stipulate for whom, naturally enough.

I'm driving a ten-year old Ka, it's a violent green. It still draws a stare, RH drive, Spanish Plates, one careless owner; me. I'm passing the poligono, the wagons loom, waiting to lurch out of the entrance onto the ring road. I reflect I haven't seen the old man in the hat. Haven't seen his trousers flapping in the wind for some time. Maybe he's dead, maybe he just blew away, like a dried leaf. It's hot. Generally is, in a car with no air-conditioning, in July. The green hills have started to burn brown.

It's six o'clock. In the evening. I'm on the way to a class on the other side of town. Spoiled little prince of a boy. Older father's second family, you know how it goes. Dad has been in Brazil for six months. 'On business'. Actually, he's the anonymous source for the corruption case against the current Mayor. I think he's laying low on the far side of the world. Little Alvaro speaks to him once a week, so I know he's not in the pylons for the new bypass.

Alvaro lives in La P___. It's a dodgy looking urbanizacion on that aforementioned other side of the town. It's off what they call the Malaga road. I take another route to Malaga myself, as a rule. There are some beautiful houses at La P___. Positively mansion-like. There are also empty plots, half-built houses that'll never be finished and a disused restaurant.

An advert comes on the radio. I know the guy who's recorded it. He's done some am-dram in the past. It's a dire rewording of an old Chas and Dave hit. I think it's been retuned, or detuned, too. Can't remember what the advert is for. The advertising sums up the radio station. That and the dead air for hours at a time as the electricity goes off. Sevillana probably aren't cutting them off for non-payment, but they could be.

The venerable Ka negotiates the potholes on the La P____ streets. I pull up in front of Alvaro's family's admittedly beautiful home. My mobile goes off, it's a text. It's not in Castilian, rather in the corrupted vernacular of the A_____ area. It tells me Alvaro and his mum are at their flat on the coast.

The Ka's engine starts with a disaffected grumble. I know just how it feels.