Opportunity Knocks

Opportunities abound - for the less discerning - in this part of Andalucia. You might well be propositioned by one of the numerous stringy blondes that abound in C___ or Alh___, with not the least encouragement offered. Bored without the safety net of a better paid, and - whisper it - more satisfying job; lonely, missing their blue-rinsed mothers more than they dare admit, perhaps they’re looking for some kind of validation. The sun has given their skin, if you get too close, that is, the look of a discarded paper bag, the shiny brown ones you don’t see so much now.

I know people who view this area as paradise for this reason. But I cannot say I feel the same. Truly, I am no more tempted by these opportunities than I was by a fly-blown ham once seen on the Bus Station bar in Gibraltar.

More than one person has commented on my appearance: I am still, three years after retirement from H.M. Forces, growing my hair and sporting a goatee beard while dressing like a low-rent dandy in the overworld. They have intimated that they thought, perhaps, I might be gay. This is now my shield and comfort against propositions from stringy blondes - and it doesn’t cause offence. I tell them I am.