Nick Next Door, so called because he lived next door to us in England and also to distinguish him from all other Nicks in the world, was visiting, and I felt it my duty to show him Lorca’s Castle.
‘Do you remember the way?’ Pete queried, as Nick and I prepared to set out. ‘Not exactly – but I’m sure it will come to me.’ I think Pete made some remark about the probability of porcine flight, but we set off, all sunny optimism and blind faith.
It did come to me; we sailed, confident and unhindered into town, unaware of our approaching Nemesis – road works! However, by dint of guesswork and much use of indicators, we approached near enough to our goal to be able to see, not only the Castle, but the road that we should have been on to get to it.
We pushed on, weaving our way between road cones, red and white tape and a steady stream of Muslim women, all of whom had at least one child and a pushchair, and who seemed completely unaware of pavements and their usage.
We passed a dirt track. ‘What about that one?’ Nick murmured hopefully.
‘Nah’ I countered. ‘That’s not a proper road. We’ll probably end up in somebody’s yard.’ As we began to leave Lorca behind we made the bi-lateral decision to turn round.
We passed the dirt track again, pushed on into the town, and soon passed the dirt road for the third time. Will we get to the Castle, or are we fated to permanently perambulate Lorca’s highways?
