Postcard from Andalucía

In fact, Lord Muck used to run a family sweepstake, every New Year’s Day, taking bets as to the likely date when my yuletide madness would begin. One year, it was February 12th. Bravo Uncle Bob on that risky longshot.

Well, what was a festive-mad wannabe elf to do once she heard the local garden centre was having a closing down sale –everything tinselly, glittery, sparkly and, frankly, fire hazardousy at half price. Glittering glass balls and garlands. Metres of luxurious silver tinsel. Cute frosty log table decorations. Giant pillar candles. Shimmering bauble wreaths. Tinkly sleigh bells. No other choice but to buy up the entire lot. Regent Street would have been proud. Lord Muck on reading the bank statement? Not so much. But here in Spain, I am actually one of the more sensible Brits abroad over Christmas. Honest, Uncle Bob. Because, whilst the rest of the world has important breaking news focused on wars, elections and energy prices, here in local expatsville, the Facebook groups are awash with breaking news of another sort.

This news comes courtesy of the highly active expat spy ring (or The Nerja Four, as I like to call them), who are out every day intelligence gathering,

Dashing here, there and everywhere Rudolph, Dasher. Prancer and Vixen-like. Their acolytes waiting with baited breath, car keys at the ready, desperate for any leads to be divulged. Ready to spring into action, panther-like, at the sound of those WhatsApp pings... Celebrations tubs landed. Crackers spotted. Cadbury selection boxes snapped up in bulk. Get down to the International Club to collect. Brandy butter located. Plum puddings pinpointed. Local air crews wined, dined and recruited to bring back a mountain of marzipan on their next trip back to London.

Meanwhile, all around us, our lovely Spanish neighbours go about their business, enjoying their carefree weekends, winding down through autumn, going into the holidays calm, relaxed and full of energy. They, in turn, look on in bemusement as us expats burn through petrol at an alarming rate, driving all over the place, desperate to source all our traditional favourites as we try to recreate home. Writing our mad to-do lists. Attempting to bake almond mince pies from scratch. Icing Christmas cake messages in 27°C degree heat. Not to mention the rather shameful tug-of-war fights over the last pack of Aldi’s warm glow solar fairy lights. And fisticuffs at dawn over mulled wine spice sachets.

So, this year, I have decided: I am joining my Spanish neighbours’ camp. Out with all the heart-attack-inducing stressful traditions, in with a relaxed family BBQ Christmas Eve, picnic on the beach Christmas Day and come Boxing Day, a drive up to Sierra Nevada and a day’s skiing. Bliss.

STYLE

STYLE

Right, must dash. Just received SOS from Lady Purbeck. Caught at Malaga Airport smuggling a Waitrose turkey and two dozen pigs in blankets in her suitcase…

xx