A week ago I turned 66 and wanted to take a different course for the coming year. Not only would I receive my pension but on a whim I had bought a house in the Sierra Nevada in a small town called Orgiva. I had a friend there who had dropped off the radar but we had our Regiment in common and memories of an interesting walking holiday in Morocco many years previously. So, there was at least some semblance of reasoning behind the venture.
Given that Brexit has scuppered our relationships with Europe in terms of visas, you have to be careful about how many days you spend in a Schengen region and so the calculations start and it depends who you believe.
This confusion adds to the anxiety but I tend to think I have 3 days left, hence the ferry to Spain and the long drive of 560 miles in a day, yes that is 10 hours including pee breaks for the dog and maybe me too. Why waste time in a beautiful hotel when I can be almost at home.
Nelly was in dog prison for the 36 hours but allowed out from time to time for exercise and maybe something else, the something else never happened though! It was a lovely group of travellers, many truckers and bikers plus a couple who have decided at 48 to give it all up and travel with their dog John.
We bonded over dog treats.
Arriving two days after my birthday, the road ahead was the only option unless I left my car and dog and took the £141 flight, so 10 hours seemed the better idea.
What happened next…