The Ex-Pat Files

Rumour control is sadly lacking on the Urbanizacion Montevista. Andres' wife has been ill. As Lori, the scary looking waitress, put it: her liver is pulverised. She said it in, well, Andalucian. Or more correctly in C___o, a sub-dialect of the province's patois. She does know two words in English and one of them, of course, is 'off'. Lori is from the town west of the Urbanizacion, the one where not speaking English is a badge of honour. I don't have many clients in C____. Personally, I like this attitude, and not just because I'm lazy.

No, think about it. How much, I don't know, Polish do the locals speak in Boston, Lincs? And you can bet Cletus from Sagbutt, Arkansas doesn't speak anything but 'Merican.

So, the rumours. Andres has confided to me, over a red wine or two , that he's on his toes after the summer. I haven't told anyone this, but everyone of course knows. This kind of thing moves osmotically through a community like Montevista. Naturally enough, this simple fact - or piece of hearsay - is not enough grist to the rumour mill. I have tallied 10 conversations like the following, since Andres told me:

'Umm.. Heard anything?' See, starts innocently enough. I reply:

'About what?' Delaying tactic this: often accompanied by a swig of San Miguel.

'Come on, Andres?'

'What about him? Not on holiday again soon, is he? Where is it this time, Bangkok?'

At this point Alf, Fred, Jose or Astrid leans forward and adopts a hushed tone, even though we're outside on the terrace and Andres is shaking his booty inside to the very loud strains of Malaga FM playing Alvin Stardust's Red Dress.

'Andres, he's leaving, Inma was ill.' they say, as if it were a state secret and a Franquista informant was smoking in the doorway.

'Oh that.' Then I get up and go to the bar to order a drink or drinks, depending on which of Alf, Fred, Jose or Astrid it is.

Whoever is still there when I get back, whether in expectation of the drink or more secret information I'm not sure.

'Cheers,' I say. If I play the inscrutable one long enough, whoever it is will say something ridiculous.

Like:

'The Mayor of A_______ has bought the freehold with black money!'

or:

'That blonde bloke, from the rock band - Status something or other - is putting a manager in.'

It's true that the Mayor of A_______ is under investigation for corruption, but the main witness is in hiding in Brazil and, anyway, a corruption charge is part of the election process, almost. The blond bloke is not R_____ P______ by the way. He looks a bit like him if you're sixty odd years old, too vain to wear glasses and wouldn't remember the name of the band he was in. But it's not him. I mean, Puerto Banus is half-an-hour away, come on! He is somewhat less likely to meet the beautiful people in A__________ or C_____________, and certainly won't in the Venta, hey?

I have a confession to make: whatever they come out with, I always try to top it.

So, listen out for RACE FM's local newsround-up;

'Dalai Lama to build retreat in rural Spain,'

'Jordan to run bar in Andalucia'

or 'BBC to try again with Eldorado.'

You heard it here first.