This was the title of an excellent TV series in the early 1960´s. A lawyer played by Ben Genzarra had only 6 months to live. So he cut corners and could not give a monkey’s how he achieved his goal. He had nothing to lose. That was before the TV producers realised the vastness of the void in their viewers skulls and started upgrading the ratings by inventing those appalling quiz games that would make me run for my life and the one after.
I hate running. When I look at those sweaty bodies passing me by in Lycra suits someone poured them in and they, the runners, could not say “when”, I am quite glad that a light stroll to Enrique´s bar would do me fine. His selection of wines is excellent and before you say it, none of us is going to get out of this rock alive. We may as well enjoy what is left.
I can’t stand sport. To me there is no point in knocking a ball around, either with an instrument or with one’s feet or hands. Running faster that anybody else comes exactly to the same end: one crosses the line in a sweat anyway. What on earth is the achievement in that? Commercialism. The first modern Olympics were held in 1896 in Athens (where I think they should always be held). An Irish man happened to be visiting a Greek friend who was on the committee. The Greek friend entered him on the tennis competition just to give him something to amuse himself during his visit. The Irish man won the singles and the doubles wearing a pair of leather shoes with heels and ordinary trousers.
Do you know that 17% of heart attacks are triggered by strenuous sports, angry rows or sex? Cut out the sports and you are already on a winning hill. Considering that after a certain age sex becomes only an occupational hazard if the sun happens to be in the Aquarius and Jupiter is in line, so that just leaves the outbursts. In declining years these become less frequent as there are very few things left to argue about. Your heart has got a chance to beat at a reasonable rate.
I have just come back from the most horrendous trip from abroad. I think that I would have made it quicker if I had been running. The Spanish railways ‘Talgo’ drivers decided to go on strike. When I was dropped at the French station that early morning I had no idea that I was already in the most disastrous mess.
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I was in a part of France that is not renowned for its hospitality. Austere and hostile. People do not smile and if they do, the smile stays on the mouth and does not reach the eyes. I was in Cathar country. Mind you they have little to smile about. They carried over the centuries what their ancestors believed and lived by. And it was not a funfair. Those Cathars lived in a dual world: They thought that what ever was above ground was the world of the devil so they kept underground. The practicality of this system escapes me but come to think of it and considering what is happening above ground at the moment I thought that they had a valid point.
That was back around the eleventh century. The Church, in all its usual wisdom, thought that this dualism was too heretic to swallow and connived to massacre, one way or the other, the whole underground civilization. Few survived.
At the same time the crowned heads of Europe (including the Pope) who had borrowed heavily from the Templars to finance their silly little wars found that their coffers were bare.
If you can’t repay the debt kill the lenders.
That part of France was a stronghold of Cathars and Templars. They were all exterminated bar a few. Does it ring a bell in our modern times?
At the ticket office in that French railway station I must have been faced by a descendant of either. “Spanish trains on strike”. “Until when?”. “No idea, next?”.
I was faced with an unknown time to spend into that awful part of France. I retired to the bar and had a beer to consider the situation. After all I was on a job and not for pleasure. Nevertheless there are some comforts to be considered, whatever the circumstances, and that part of France lacks any basic commodities.
I’ll take the Bus
I then noticed that there was a change of shift in the ticket office staff. I grabbed my bag and caught her. Her smile went from mouth to eyes. She was not obviously a descendant of either a Cathar or Templar. I explained my problem.
“RUN” she said. “She pointed out to a queue of people on the square boarding a Spanish bus.
I ran for my life.
I had no ticket but I did my clever little woman act in distress and explained to the driver that I had a very sick husband in Spain and I had to get to Barcelona to catch the night sleeper. He waved me in.
Two changes of buses, four commuter trains later we were in Barcelona Sants (Central Station) with eight hours to kill before the night train. I thought I was home at last, being on Spanish soil. Not a bit of it. The Catalonians must be derived from the Cathars or the Templars. Not a smile on any face.
Hungry, thirsty and very tired I found an Argentinean café near by. It is just in front of the station. It is called “Tafi”. Smiles all round, attention to the point that this lovely young guy brought a chair by my side. I had put my handbag on the floor. “In our country the ladies do not put their handbags on the floor”. Not in mine either but I was so grateful I nearly wept. The steak was wonderful. Not that thin shoe leather pathetic slice of beef they serve all over Andalucia. This was the real thing, not with the ubiquitous chips but rather with half a baked potato covered with melted cheese and the same deal with the tomato.
Finally I boarded the night train. A bunk with three other women who did not stop talking all night.
Twelve hours later I poured myself and my bag onto Antequera/Bobadilla platform to be greeted by my old mate.
The strike coming back was unfortunate. The trip up to Cathar country was organised with the cooperation of my friend Sue and Santa Ana Antequera new Railway Station. It had gone initially without a problem. If you want to see a state of the art station just drive there. The sculpture outside and the painting inside are from the Antequera-born artist Toral. They are called “Homage to the Travellers”. Well those guys at that station are not descendants of the Cathars. Smiles all round, no fuss, help at the ready and a cafeteria to put a lot of others to shame.
When the AVE (high velocity) starts running at the end of the year I shall be running for my life to catch it at Santa Ana.
PS: Mister Bear adventures and now Mister Gecko’s are on www.veoveo.com
