Copyright theleader
By John McGregor If you read this drivel regularly (you must get out more) you will know I was banging on recently about a certain wind of change I was feeling blowing through the Costas. New entry/exit rules, residency and road regulations, that sort of thing. I am a fierce supporter of the Spanish Health System from which I have personally benefitted to the tune that I might not even be here now if I had not been diagnosed with Prostate Cancer exactly ten years ago this month. But something happened last week which took me by surprise. My lovely wife is in the middle of some treatment and we were waiting at the hospital for a scheduled appointment. Her number came up on the screen as usual as for many previous visits for both of us, and in we went. Waiting for us was a young, bearded Spanish doctor we had not seen previously. I have had experience of this department in my time at Torrevieja Hospital and it seems from memory you never see the same person twice, so it didn’t surprise me. His approach though, took us by surprise: ‘Hablas Espanol?’ he asked rather sharply. We both smiled, perhaps a little defensively and mumbled something like ‘Un poco’, like you do… ‘You should bring an interpreter!’ He snapped, which really surprised and embarrassed us. The thing is, my wife, more than me can actually speak Spanish reasonably well. She worked for a lazy boss in an Estate Agent for five years (another story). She had to speak Spanish as he couldn’t and she would come home and look up the new words that she’d come across during the day. In addition she had that priceless asset that she genuinely wanted to learn to speak the language of the country we live in. Personally I can speak it as well to make myself understood but my hearing is very suspect, even when speaking English to my fellow men and women. Thank God for modern hearing aids, they are brilliant, but they are not all perfect aids if you really are fairly deaf. Half of our family suffer and we all have the best hearing aids. But usually I can understand written Spanish which is easier for me to follow, The young doctor’s attitude melted after a couple of minutes and he was as helpful as almost all the staff at the hospital always are. But it did affect us and made us more wary for the future of how that attitude could affect many people who need treatment in the future. Wind of change here in paradise? Maybe… Having said that, let’s turn to the UK where most of us still watch the news. One of the key contentious aspects that occurs regularly is immigration, and the huge number of people who are trying to get to England to permanently live there from other countries. Question: do we all agree that they should all be able to speak English if they want to live there? If there are children should they be able to speak the language before attending school? The UK is a huge melting pot today of different nationalities, creeds and religions – so should they all speak English? I am almost the same age as ‘our’ King Charles, our late Mums were pregnant together, you know. As I have grown up I have had some criticisms of him as we both served his Mum in the Armed Services. In describing Charlie I often using the ‘w’ letter followed by the weight that keeps a boat steady – but at the moment I feel a bit sorry for him. Why’s that then? Well you see, it’s his little brother that is causing him – and their relations huge grief today. The blackest of black sheep of the family is really cranking up the shame and irreparable damage to the Royal Family – which can never be erased. Putting my ex-serviceman hat on, the first time I was aware of Prince Andrew’s dodgy reputation were stories of his arrogance as a junior Royal Naval Officer. Yes, he went to the Falklands but as we all know (shades of the Ginger Whinger, his nephew Harry) he was never likely to be anywhere near danger as he was Royalty. Yet he returned to the apex of his life complete with rose in teeth, relishing his new role as ‘Randy Andy’. Supposedly that came to an end as he picked a lively redhead, married her, moved into outlandishly expensive tasteless mansions and quickly had two daughters, soon followed by a separation, divorce and a few affairs. Now what? Well, some idiot made him a roving British ambassador with no restrictions and off he went round the world in the process spending vast amounts of taxpayers money – but idiot that he is with a distinct lack of common sense he began to associate with dangerous people he was no match for. The worst scary metaphor was like putting a chicken in a coop with a rattlesnake. Though his society friendship with the well-connected daughter of the late supremely dodgy Robert Maxwell the hapless Andrew towed his permanently-broke ex Sarah into the coop with him. Soon all the world began to see the real Jeffrey Epstein, the horribly wicked abuser of very young women – and we still don’t really know all the gory details of this vile man and what he was up to. But we do know things about Andrew (I’ve dropped the word Prince), who has the same disgusting abhorrent genes that made him want to share Epstein’s sordid sex acts. Proven e mails from Andrew after Epstein’s imprisonment show him standing by Epstein and sending e mails ´We can play together again soon’, meaning having illegal sex with under age girls almost the same ages as his daughters. What must those two be thinking about their father with all the mounting evidence against him as he squirms on the hook of public opinion? Finally – why is he – and Sarah – still living in a 30 room mansion in Windsor Great Park living like the landed gentry as his titles and grandiosity are stripped away. My personal take is go, get out of the country and take her with you. Get out of our sight I say, but I’ve no idea where this leaves his hapless daughters. This will go down in history.
