Utrinque Paratus.

Nick and Jack had seen the unkempt, hunched tramp pushing the rusty shopping trolley, full of what they assumed was rubbish, on the common yesterday. Now he was walking down the deserted alley which connects the lower and quiet end of the town's high street to the common, passing through their gang's patch within the council owned housing estate. It was their allotted task today to monitor anyone using the gang's alley.

“Hey Jack, let's have some fun with the dirty old man. Let's see what he's got in his trolley.”

“Yeah, a good idea Nick, I'm getting bored doing nothing. He might have something in there that we want.”

They slouched towards their prey; their hoodies covering most of their faces, their hands in the pockets.

“Hey you where do you think you're going?” asked Jack.

“What you got in your trolley then old man?” added Nick.

The vagrant bent forward over his trolley, as if to shield its contents, ignored the questions and continued on his way, unfortunately towards the hoodies. As he got closer to them he moved to the left of the wide path to bypass them. Jack moved to his right, stood in-front of the trolley, grabbed hold of it, at the same time putting his foot on the bottom bar of the frame, and stopped the man and trolley in their tracks.

“We asked you some questions you old git. Are you deaf or what?” said Jack menacingly.

“What you doing coming down our lane old man? Show us what you've got in there.” said Nick as he put his hand forward with the intention of reaching into the trolley.

The man laid over his worldly possessions to protect them. At the same time he pushed Nick's arm away with his own. He tried to move the trolley forward away from the two trouble makers. They both moved threateningly closer to the drifter.

“Hey watch it old man, let us see what you've got in there.” said Nick.

“If you know what's good for you you'll show us. You might have something we want” Jack said as he tried to reach into the trolley.

“Leave me alone!”

“What did you say?” said Jack.

“Leave me alone please,” the wanderer repeated: “I haven't done you any harm.”

“Oh yes you have. You've come down our path without our say-so and you just hit my mate.”

“I didn't. I just pushed his arm away from my things.”

“You hit me,” said Nick, “so I'll have what I want out of your trolley as payback. Get out of my way.”

“No! They're my things and you're not having any of them. Leave me alone,” said the vagabond as he moved the trolley further away from the youths positioning himself between them and his possessions. “You don't touch another man's kit.”

“You think so old man,” said Nick. He put his right hand into his jacket pocket, pulled out a knife and pointed the blade at the vagrant. “Now clear off unless you want some of this. Your trolley is ours now.”

“You're not having my kit. Go away and leave me alone – if you know what's good for you.”

“Stick him Nick, the dirty old git deserves it. We'll show him he can't mess with us. Go on stick him.”

Nick suddenly leapt towards the vagrant and at the same time thrust his hand holding the knife forward to stab the old man.

But he wasn't a slow old man any-more. With lightening reaction the traveller moved sidewards. He grabbed hold of Nick's knife wielding hand with his right hand. At the same time his left hand grabbed hold of Nick's elbow and pulled it sharply to the left making the arm fold back on its self. The sharp, deadly blade was now pointed towards Nick. With the momentum of his body travelling towards the tramp; who at the same time forced the knife-holding-hand back towards its owner. Nick's knife was plunged deep into his own abdomen. After forcing the weapon upwards; the man released his grip of the knife hand and took a step back. Nick bent his head looking with amazement at the knife protruding from his stomach. At the same moment the drifter landed an upper-cut karate kick to Nick's jaw. The accurately placed, forceful blow sending Nick's dying body hurtling backwards to the ground.

Instead of stopping for a moment to think, and then run away, which would have saved his life: Jack launched his own attack on the wanderer. He pulled the large Bowie knife from its cover in his trousers' hip pocket with his right hand and made a sweeping thrust towards his mate's attacker. The drifter took half a step back. The blade passed in front of him almost close enough to shave off his beard. With no contact, the momentum of Jack's sweeping arm and the lack of grip of his shoes on the gravel path spun him off balance. His back was now towards the tramp. He was now the victim. He felt an arm wrap around his upper chest from the left and grab hold of his right shoulder blade. Another hand from the right grabbed hold of his jaw and violently twisted his head to the right. The last sound Jack heard was a thunderous 'crack'. His limp body was dropped to the ground.

The drifter returned to his shopping trolley and rummaged amongst his worldly possessions for the maroon beret he'd earned and loved so much. As he put it on, cap badge over his left eye, cloth smoothed tightly to his head, he quietly said: “Utrinque Paratus”. He stood up straight and started to push the trolley to continue his journey. He calmly looked down at the two corpses saying: “What a waste. I thought my killing days were over. Why couldn't you have left me alone?”

© Elliot Sampford 2013

I have published another short story on this theme entitled 'Debriefing'

Who needs safety equipment

During the last ten days, here in the Costa Blanca, and many other regions of Spain, we have experienced many extended times of very fast, strong, property damaging winds of between 70 km/h and 115 km/h.

It was during the morning of Saturday 19^th January that three of the roof ridge tiles on our highest roof were picked up by the wind and thrown into the adjoining community swimming pool area. There wasn't any danger at the time to any of our neighbours as none of them are daft enough to be swimming in the near freezing water.

I initiated a claim with our property insurance company three days later on the Tuesday morning. If you read my article 'Three hours delay' you'll understand why I didn't have time to report it on the Monday. The insurance surveyor visited us on Wednesday; during another period of forceful winds; took a couple of photographs and agreed the claim.

Yesterday morning, as arranged previously, the insurance company's builders arrived to replace the missing tiles. They couldn't carry out the work for three reasons. Firstly, they had brought sapphire ridge tiles and ours are emerald; secondly, the brutish winds had increased the total number of missing tiles to four and they only had three; thirdly, another period of strong winds meant it was too dangerous for the safety conscious Spanish worker to be on the roof.

Today we have a cloudless azure sky, radiant sunshine and calm air.

The builders returned with the correct number and colour of roof tiles. Within an hour their work was completed. The new tiles were installed, loose tiles were rebedded on new cement.

Ridge tiles were missing from the rear right corner of the emerald roof

Considering that the roof on which the repair was carried out on is three storeys high, approximately 15 metres above ground level it was assuring to see that full safety precautions were paramount in the Spanish workman's mind. Who needs safety equipment, when your working on the edge of a sheer drop?

 

Who needs a safety harness?

Poor sleep in old age prevents the brain from storing memories

Having had several nights of badly disturbed sleep over the last few days because of the very strong winds rattling the security grill, the window shutter and the bedroom patio doors; my attention was drawn to this article in ScienceDaily.

Scientists at the University of California, Berkeley, believe they have found the elusive connection between poor sleep, memory loss and brain deterioration as we grow older; hallmark maladies of growing old. Their discovery opens the door to boosting the quality of sleep in elderly people to improve memory.

Have a read of the article Poor sleep in old age prevents the brain from storing memories now in case you forget later.

I'm left wondering about the suggested possible therapeutic treatments for memory loss in the elderly, such as transcranial direct current stimulation or pharmaceutical remedies. Wouldn't going to bed earlier and getting up later help?

Larry Lamb, Billy Kid and friends come visiting.

In Madrid on the last Sunday of October each year since 1994 nomadic 'Trashumancia' shepherds have exercised their right of passage for their flocks through the streets of the city. With the 'Trashumancia Fiesta' they are following and maintaining sections of the 78,000 miles of ancient livestock migration paths known as the 'Camino Real' that exist throughout Spain. Ancient migration, droving and grazing rights have existed since the 13^th century.

I mention this tradition because it was on Sunday 20^th January 2013 that we experienced an example of it – directly outside of our house, here in Orihuela Costa.

Close to lunchtime we noticed a noise that at first we thought was a baby crying. Gradually the noise level built to a crescendo, a cacophony of wailing. On opening our front door to investigate we were greeted by the sight of a flock of sheep and goats that probably totalled in excess of 750 animals on the land on the opposite side of our road. There used to be orange groves there before the developers moved in. Because of the crash in the property market the site has been abandoned and nature is reclaiming it.

This video is a précis recording of the visit: some of the animals crossed the road to attempt to devour the ivy growing on our front garden wall.

 

If you would like to know more about trashumancia here is a link to another video to watch: Pastores y Trashumancia

Three hours delay.

What a morning we had at our local Spanish health centre in Orihuela Costa.

It was necessary for my wife to have an appointment with our doctor today. Natalie has been unwell for the last week. Using the health system online booking service we managed to arrange a consultation for 11:15 a.m. Although we knew that she probably wouldn't been seen until after the appointed time we were seated in the doctors waiting room at 11:05 a.m.

With the large number of other patients waiting we suspected we were in for a bit of a wait – were we!

It was not until 2:20 p.m. - over three hours later – that we were to be seated in front of the doctor. Yes I have written that correctly: we had to wait for over three hours to be face to face with the doctor. We couldn't abandon Natalie's allotted slot and make another appointment for later in the week as she needed to get some medication without any further delay to relieve her symptoms.

It was not the doctor's fault for the delay but it was that of the system. Three separate appointments are made for the same time slot. There was a continuous flow of patients in and out of the consulting room during the whole of the time we were there.

As the morning progressed and the period of delay between the times of the patients booked appointments and actual consultations increased peoples' level of frustration of waiting increased. Several people completed official health system complaint forms. There was a degree of comradery developing amongst the patients, from a variety of countries, in helping others in completing the forms about the inadequate appointments system.

After just ten minutes with the doctor we left her room, with the necessary prescriptions for the important medication, with a great feeling of relief for ourselves and sorrow for those still enduring the long wait.

It is totally unacceptable to have to endure a three hour delay for a confirmed appointment because of a policy of allocating three patients to the same time slot. It would seem that there is an inadequate number of doctors due to insufficient funding of the health system within the Valencia region of Spain.

We've been robbed!

It was a normal day's work for me: shopping in other peoples' homes.

I arrived a little later than usual at my lock-up garage, where I keep my white van. I don't keep it at home because I have to keep my current work and personal lives separate from each other. My wife Kathy still thinks I work in the personal taxation department of the Inland Revenue so I leave the house at the same time every week day morning.

My first task each morning is to choose which set of the magnetic advertising signs to put on the van. There is one for each day; 'Stop-tap Plumbers', 'Power Electrics', 'Aerial Installations', 'Spick & Span Decorators' and 'Green Finger Gardeners'. To compliment these I have a choice of three sets of vehicle number plates. I keep a diary of which sets of signs and numbers have been used each day. As well as changing the appearance of my van I change my appearance; swapping my civil-servant suit, shirt, tie and polished shoes for overalls, t-shirt and trainers.

I selected the two houses I was to enter that day, carefully as always, after carrying out my detailed surveillance during the week before. I only choose properties in areas that are middle to upper-class home owner domains. I don't include council or housing association rented properties because too many of them have people at home during the day.

I tour an area for two or three days looking for possible targets. I prefer houses that are surrounded by high walls or hedges, or have several substantial shrubs between the house and the road. Each day I visit an area the van has a different sign displayed to confuse any net curtain twitchers. Once I have selected a short list I carry-out an evening walk past of each to see how many vehicles are in the drive. Two or more cars during the evening and none during the day is a good indication of an empty home; whereas one in the evening and none during the day is uncertainty and more caution is needed. As a considerable number of home-owners don't shut the curtains in the lounge in the evening it also gives me the chance to catch a view of possible electrical home entertainment goodies.

I like to start at my first selected house of the day as soon after 10:00 a.m. as possible, but that day I was late. I normally make my calls between 10:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. because that is when people are most likely to be away at work, school or running errands.

There weren't any cars on the drive so I parked my van on the road in front of the property and went to the front door and knocked loudly, with the brass lion's head. I waited and then knocked again. As I hoped, no one was home. Before going round to the back door I always quickly check to see if there is a key under a flower pot, or welcome mat, or drain cover – no such luck this time. As soon as I'm in the back garden I again check the usual hiding places including between the support batons under the shed floor. In this case the owner had helped me by leaving the back door key in the lock on the inside. With my trusty circular suction pad and glass cutter, always in my not just for appearance toolbox, it was easy to put my arm through the neat hole I'd cut and unlock the door – easy access. People will never learn to not leave keys in locks.

My journey through the property follows a tried and tested route after putting my tool box against the front door. Putting something there acts as a warning, if the owner returns and comes in that way, to give me time to escape quickly through the back door.

Bedrooms first for jewellery, cash and small electrical items. I checked the easy to find hiding places; on top of the wardrobe; in the wardrobe at the back of the shelves behind clothes; under the bed. I found some nice items and a box to carry them in. These were put by the front door before I went into the lounge. The television, DVD player, Acer laptop, Wii and Xbox were soon sitting in the hallway waiting to go. I was disappointed that there wasn't an Ipad. In just about twelve minutes my shopping was done and ready to be put in the van. Using the front door access, I went to get it and calmly reversed onto the drive so the rear doors were facing away from any possible prying eyes.

In less than eighteen minutes I was out of the property and leaving with my gifts in my van: having remembered to secure the front door as I left – of course.

Two hours later, a change of van signs and fifteen miles away from the first, I entered my second choice for the day. It was good of the owner to leave the key on the ledge in the roof of the porch. Another two televisions, a 32 inch and a 19 inch, two Toshiba laptops, an Xbox and several items of jewellery were quickly in the van and I was finished shopping for the day, well before my 3:00 p.m. deadline.

I drove for a couple of miles before stopping and removing the day's magnetic signs from the van. I like it to be a plain white vehicle when I deliver my goods to my buyer, as does he. I always try to collect and sell in the same day. I didn't get the prices I would have preferred, as he had purchased some similar items earlier in the day, but I had earned a good-day's pay.

Having returned the van to the security of the lock-up garage and changed back into my civil servant clothes it was almost 5:30 p.m. when I turned my car into our road.

My heart skipped several beats and I felt hot and faint when I saw the flashing blue lights of the police car parked outside of my house. How could they have found me? I'm so careful to cover my tracks and keep my business and personal lives apart! I stopped the car and was about to turn round and escape when I spotted my wife in front of our house. She was talking to one of the police officers and I realised she had seen me and the car coming home.

I had no option. I slowly drove the last seventy-five yards. I was trying to quickly get my thoughts together for a good presentation of my prepared alibi.

“Where have you been? What have you done?” was the greeting from my wife.

“Why? What am I supposed to have done?”

“What have you done? I'll tell you what you've done!” she bellowed. “When you went to work this morning you left the back door unlocked. We've been robbed!”

“What? Why blame me?”

“Because you were running late, rushing to get out, and were the last to leave.”

She was right. She continued to bellow my humiliation.

“You're always going on about security and yet you leave an open invitation to some scum-bag thief! Well he accepted it! Our home has been vandalised and our televisions, laptops, my gold jewellery and your Rolex watch have all been stolen!”

© Elliot Sampford 2013

What is the morality of taking a supermarket trolley home?

Five days ago I watched a lady from one of the properties close-by to my home using a supermarket trolley as a wheelbarrow to carry her household waste to the rubbish container in the street. After dumping the refuse bags she headed off back towards her home nonchalantly pushing the trolley. At the time I thought – at least she didn't abandon that in the road and will probably return it to its rightful owner.

Yesterday I watched two men, coming from the same area as the lady had, pushing a supermarket trolley as a wheelbarrow to carry garden waste this time. After having fought to get the bougainvillea cuttings disentangled from the metal mesh of the trolley, and dumped on the pile of other garden waste left in the street, they returned from whence they came with the trolley.

The two incidents caused me to briefly think about the morality of those people who choose to remove trolleys from supermarket premises for their own use. Do they consider they are just borrowing it, or stealing it? Do they consider that it is good customer service by the supermarket to allow them to take away the trolley as a free gift?

Is your body apple-shaped or pear-shaped and which is better?

If your body is pear-shaped rather than apple-shaped and you think that you are at less risk of suffering conditions such as diabetes and heart disease you might have to have a rethink.

It has been considered for some time that people who are "apple-shaped" -- with fat more concentrated around the abdomen -- are at more risk for the conditions mentioned than those who are "pear-shaped" and carry weight more in the buttocks, hips and thighs. However new research conducted at UC Davis Health System published in The Journal of Clinical Endocrinology and Metabolism provides further evidence that the protective benefits of having a pear-body shape may be more myth than reality.

Read more about the research in ScienceDaily: Study deflates notion that pear-shaped bodies more healthy than apples: Abnormal proteins from buttock fat linked to metabolic syndrome

High fiber diet prevents prostate cancer progression, study shows

A high-fiber diet may have the clinical potential to control the progression of prostate cancer in patients diagnosed in early stages of the disease. The rate of prostate cancer occurrence in Asian cultures is similar to the rate in Western cultures, but in the West, prostate cancer tends to progress, whereas in Asian cultures it does not. Why?

Read more in ScienceDaily: High fiber diet prevents prostate cancer progression, study shows

Splash out then watch the crash.

Regional government officials claim that the image of the Valencia region of Spain projected in foreign documentaries is unreal.

Read more: Splash out then watch the crash | In English | EL PAÍS

Youth unemployment in the European Union increases to 23.7% in November 2012

Eurostat, the statistical office of the European Union has today published the unemployment figures for November 2012.

For the EU area as a whole the unemployment rate was 11.8% the same as in October 2012 but an increase from 10.0% in November 2011. For the seventeen countries in the Euro Area there was an increase of 0.1% taking the rate to 11.8% in contrast to 2011 when the rate was 10.6%.

Spain continues to have the highest level of overall unemployment at 26.6%, with Greece coming a close second with 26.0% and Portugal third at 16.3%.

Looking at those people under 25 years of age; in the EU youth unemployment stood at 23.7% whereas in the Euro Area this had increased to 24.4%. In the case of Greece and Spain the rates were reported at over twice the average for the EA coming in at 57.6% and 56.5% respectively. Almost 6 out of 10 of those under 25 years old are unemployed.

Read the full report: 3-08012013-BP-EN.PDF (application/pdf Object)

Cars tailgating - or what?

I was sitting in our solarium when I noticed this example of driving in Spain.

Cabinet papers reveal Thatcher feared Spanish attack on Gibraltar.

The Spanish newspaper El Pais published an interesting article today with an opening paragraph of: 'The Spanish media's support for Argentina's invasion of the Falkland Islands in April 1982 raised British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher's fears that rogue elements within the Spanish military might try to seize Gibraltar, prompting her to beef up Britain's military presence on The Rock, newly released Cabinet papers reveal.'

Read the full article here: Cabinet papers reveal Thatcher feared Spanish attack on Gibraltar | In English | EL PAÍS

Joe saved my life again.

It was a sunny day, not the type of day during which you expect your best friend to die.

It was mid-morning last Sunday and we were taking our usual stroll down to the seashore. The sun was high in the sky and was warm on our backs. We were happily chatting away about everything and nothing, as you do with old friends. We were taking our time as Joe's arthritis in his hips was making walking a little more painful than normal. I had noticed that with his other ageing ailments he seemed to have aged more years than expected in the last year.

Our usual route along the disused railway cutting footpath meant that we had to cross the coast road, walk along it for a few yards and then down the bridleway for the final stage to the sand dunes. It was a difficult crossing point because of the slight bend in the road.

It was our fault that we didn't hear or see the vehicle coming because we were too busy talking. We were halfway across the road when Joe spotted the van almost on top of and coming directly at us. The driver would not have seen us before because of the curve. We both started to move to jump to the safety of the roadside. I remember feeling Joe push me to save me by helping me get clear. I think in that split second he knew that because of his limited movement he wasn't going to get to safety so he put his effort into protecting me.

He had always done that throughout our long friendship. When we were temporary members of the Charlotte-Street gang he stopped the others from bullying me because I was the smallest of the group. He wasn't the biggest and strongest of the members but he was considered the better fighter so the others knew not to argue with him. In fact he very rarely got into a fight, it was his confidence in himself that was his winning aura. He would often say to me; “You're the brains and I'm the brawn of our team, we're unbeatable.” But we weren't that sunny day.

I landed in a heap on the grass verge looking back towards the road. A little bruised, I found out later, but safe. I saw the front kerbside wing of the van hit Joe and heard the thump as it launched him high into the air towards the verge some fifteen feet further up the road from me. His body twisted into unnatural shapes before he crashed to the ground.

The driver of the vehicle didn't bother to stop to see how we were.

I ran to Joe. My worst fear was to become a reality. I could see from the shape of his torso and limbs, and the blood seeping from his ear and nostril that his prognosis was terminal. He was unconscious when I knelt-down beside him.

I looked around for help from any passers-by, shouting for help from anyone: there were no walkers and several vehicles drove pass without stopping. I couldn't contact the emergency services.

After some considerable length of time – looking back it could only have been a few minutes – Joe regained a degree of consciousness. I continued with the one-sided conversation that I'd been having with him whilst he was snoozing: “Hey Joe everything is going to be OK. You've had a bit of tumble, but nothing you can't deal with”.

“Bob ... is that you?” he mumbled as he tried to look towards me.

“Yes mate of course it is, who else do you think it could be, we're always together.”

“Where...are…we…Bob?”

“We're lying in the grass in the sand dunes. Where else would we be on a sunny Sunday?”

“But we can't be...I'm so cold...it's getting dark.” He paused: “Why can't I move? Why do I hurt so much... everywhere?”

His questions confused me for a minute. I was continually looking around for assistance and support but the world was ignoring my shouts for help.

“We've had a bit of an accident crossing the road Joe, we weren't quick enough, a van has given you a bit of a shove.”

“Bob…Bob…where are you?”

“It's alright I'm here Joe”; I moved closer to him to give the reassuring touch he needed; “There'll be some help soon. Just hang on in there Joe”. I knew in my heart that there would be no hanging on. His breathing was getting shallower; the seepage of blood from his nostrils and ear was increasing; his eyes were dulling over.

Joe was losing his fight for life and I was losing my comrade-in-arms.

A few fellow walkers had arrived but were standing away from us: why weren't they helping? Why were they ignoring my loud, continuing, pleas for help? Why were none of the vehicles stopping? Why were people so callous?

I looked back at Joe's face: his eyes told me he'd left me.

It wasn't his fault. I was going to stay with him as long as I could. He didn't deserve to be alone after all he'd done for me over the many years we had played, 'ducked and dived', lived and survived together.

The watchers seemed to sense that Joe had gone and slowly began to move closer to us. I shouted at them that they were too late.

It was then that I remembered what Joe had always said to me. I stood up, faced the onlookers, barked my hatred of them for letting Joe die, and started to run away from the empty body that was once Joe.

I ran back across the road and along the disused railway cutting footpath with Joe's warning sounding in my ears: “Bob; we must never let humans catch us because they'll take us to the dog prison and kill us.”