Moving On Final Part 7.
Fri 23 Oct 98. Regardless of who owned it, we took the dogs and went to Cala Llombards to clean the house ready to move in. First, we stopped at Aldi supermarket in Cas Concos for disinfectant, rubber gloves and cleaning materials.
Sandy and Rohan worked inside the house, and I started on the garage. The dogs had a minor confrontation with Stanley, but they worked around each other, and nothing came of it.
During the morning, a lady with a tiny Pomeranian dog arrived with a bag of scraps for Stanley. The dog looked like it had been to a beautician who’d overused the blow-drier. It was like the head of a dandelion with four legs. If the wind had picked up, we’d have had to chase it around the garden to stop it blowing out to sea. The little darling distributed three great dog turds on the drive. I couldn’t believe how much waste came out of this fluff covered, digestive tract with a nose.
After lunch, I had a siesta on the sunbed in the conservatory under the watchful eye of Stanley reclining on the window sill above. I was startled awake when Stanley dropped, legs outstretched, claws extended, from the window to the floor using my crotch as a jumping-off point. We took a swipe at each other, and he shot off. I went back to sleep when I awoke Stanley was curled up between me and the wall. What a strange cat.
We achieved a lot, but there was more to do before we moved in. With Stanley taking the evening sun on the roof, we left for home reeking of disinfectant.
Saturday was not very eventful, even Antonia didn’t manage to break anything. However, we did make our first delivery of possessions to Cala Llombards.
The following Tuesday, at sunrise, everywhere was wet from the night’s rain. I sat outside watching a snail on a lonely journey across the terrace, leaving a silvery trail behind. I wondered what its plans were, creeping along with its house on its back. What a simple life, not a care in the world, no possessions to worry about, just needing something to eat to get through the day. Then I thought of someone accidentally stepping on it, and how easy its day could be ruined. Maybe it wasn’t such a good life being a snail. I went back to packing boxes.
At 10:00, Sandy had a meeting at the land registry with the lady who owned the house in Felanitx. However, the paper the lady had was a private contract from her deceased father, not an escritura (a deed). Nothing more could be done until the matter was resolved. This was fortunate as we didn’t have the money to pay for the house because the sale of Cana Cavea was still not finalised.
I spent the morning packing and burning old paperwork in our top field. At the same time, I decided to dispose of a pile of grass cuttings. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice our neighbour Maria’s, laundry on the line. Under a plume of grey smoke from the burning grass, Maria rushed out to bring in her washing. I apologised profusely and offered to put the fire out, but luckily it was a sunny day, and the washing was dry. She didn’t seem too upset with me, but I’m sure I was the ‘hombre estúpido’ for the rest of her day.
I ran out of packing boxes, so I went to the supermarket looking for discarded cartons. By chance, I bumped into Gerry O’Grady, an Irish builder. Correct! I met an Irish builder in Felanitx. I told him we couldn’t start building our new house for four months, so he offered to come and look at the project the first week in November.
The next two days were spent getting the house in Cala Llombards ready for us to move in. The first day we cleared the house and garage. This was easier than packing, we just took the junk straight to the tip. It might seem mad for us to do all this for someone else, but we didn’t have an alternative, our house was sold, and we had nowhere else to go. It was a lot of work, and we returned home in low spirits. However, Stanley, between fits of belligerents, seemed happy to have the company.
The following morning we finally cleared the Cala Llombards house and went to Santanyi for paint and cleaning materials. Back at the house, Sandy and Rohan got on furiously cleaning, and I started painting the bedrooms.
In the afternoon we had a ‘menu del dia’ in beautiful autumn sunshine on the terrace of a local cafe. Back at the house, we all sucked-up to Stanley by presenting him with what was left of our chicken lunch. Feeling we’d achieved something, we went home in better spirits than we had the night before.
On Friday 30 Oct 1998, after delays and misunderstandings between UK and Spanish lawyers we were ready to sign the sales contract for Cana Cavea. Unfortunately, there was a further setback as the buyers’ lawyers didn’t have a certificate from the bank confirming the amount of the deposit already paid.
Later, in an office with doors open to a shrub filled walled garden bathed in sunlight, with a well as a centrepiece, we signed the contract.
Due to the complications with the sale, we had a period of grace before we finally moved out. Still, I felt uncomfortable in the house now that it was no longer ours.
Cana Cavea was still a mess. Most of our possessions were at Cala Llombards, but Sandy was trying to deal with more stuff that kept turning up. How would life change if we just dumped it all?
Antonia created a final accident, she asked Tayrne to empty a bucket of water but forgot to tell her it had bleach in it. Tayrne ended up with new yellow speckled black jeans.
On Monday 2 Nov we purchased the house in Felanitx giving us more storage space.
We postponed our meeting with Gerry, the Irish builder, because we were too occupied with our move to Cala Llombards. Gerry told us he’d bring his truck and help move the big stuff on the Friday, this was a godsend as I was finding it impossible to rent a van.
I don’t know what we’d have done without the Felanitx house, during the week we made a dozen trips to it in the Corsa. We’d filled the place with old sinks, door frames, wood and beam off-cuts, and bits of old agricultural equipment which Sandy promised to sell at a future boot sale. Every visit revealed new possibilities, the vast cellar would make a fantastic restaurant. However, with our limited resources, I’d have to do the work myself.
Friday morning, Gerry dropped off a small covered truck, saying he’d return the next day to drive it for us. By the evening, the truck was full, the next day we had to be out, but Cana Cavea was still not empty.
Surprisingly, Sandy and I were still speaking. We’d had a few exchanges, but considering the turmoil and emotional stress, all seemed well.
Early Saturday morning, I made more trips in the Corsa to Felanitx to clear the things we couldn’t fit in the truck. Gerry arrived later and drove the truck to Felanitx, followed by me in his pick-up filled with more clutter. Having work in San Lorenzo, he left the truck for us to unload promising to return later. He came back in the afternoon, and we loaded the vehicle with the last of the big things and headed for Cala Lombards.
I tried to give Gerry 15mil for his help, but he wouldn’t take it. When I persisted, he said if I didn’t stop he’d give me a smack in the mouth. Coming from a six-foot Irish man, I let the matter drop. He left the keys of the truck, so we could lock it when it was unloaded, and went home.
When the truck was empty, you couldn’t move in the house, so we got washed up and went to bed.
We’d been lucky with the weather, it had rained all the previous day, but the final day had been sunny. That night we slept the sleep of the dead.
On Sunday morning, I woke with a feeling of joy, as if a great weight had been lifted. Sandy felt the same way, and we were already more comfortable with each other.
We’d had some great times in Cana Cavea, but it had been hard work, and towards the end there had been dark times too.
After fifteen years, the old house that had started our remarkable journey had been sold, the Doomsday Clock was set to midnight, and we were ready to move on.