Head, shoulders, knees and toes

We returned from our Spanish holiday with a nursery rhyme of ailments – not that, being severely sunburned, I could do the actions for a few days. That’s the shoulders accounted for. Adam scraped a knee, probably slipping over because he insisted on wearing flip-flops on shiny tiled pavements. (His reason: his trainer socks were too dirty to wear. After he walked across gravel sans trainers.) Daniel’s head suffered from repeated contact with hard surfaces. Did you know there is no Spanish word for health and safety? I just made that up, but it’s not implausible. They expect each person to take responsibility for himself, which is commendable unless that person is two and utterly reckless. Fortunately Daniel refrained from falling into the harbour whilst trying to touch the fish.

The most serious injury, perhaps, was Adam getting his foot trapped in the door of the train en route to the airport. He had fellow passengers pulling the emergency alarm, trying to open the door and encouraging us to sue. We won't because there was no lasting damage, other than perhaps to my back after I’d had to manhandle two suitcases and Adam up the endless slopes to the departures area. And because it was no one's fault except our son's for dangling his feet idly. We wouldn’t have fancied trying to explain all that in Spanish; it’s fortunate that the Costa del Sol is largely anglophone.

That, of course, is one of the reasons we go to Fuengirola. Although ashamed of our feeble Spanish (Sarah’s is even worse than mine, despite her many years’ head start), we’re at ease and know what a holiday there will deliver. This time it included a few drops of rain but mostly it was sun, sea, swimming, siestas, meals out, late nights and vino tinto. Having Grandma and Great-Grandad for intermittent company was also a joy, one we know we shouldn’t take for granted.

I’d never noticed until trying to keep two children safe that Spanish pedestrian crossings are strange. The red man means “Cross now and you will get splatted”. The green man means “Cross now and you may get splatted.” A subtle but important difference. Its cause: Spanish drivers are expected to give way on crossings but don’t always bother. Otherwise, I have to say the urban road system is excellent. Refuse bins and vast carparks are underground, freeing the street scene for trees and bushes which in turn deter pedestrians' wandering into the traffic. It is mandatory for every Spanish car to be either dented or scratched; indeed the degree of damage may be a status symbol. The approach for finding a parking space seems to be: “That gap isn’t quite big enough. But it will be.” On previous visits I didn’t understand why Spaniards don’t mend their cars, any more than they clean off the dust. I now think they are too busy doing things that actually add quality to their lives. And I don’t blame them.