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Fraser Trevor Fraser Trevor Author
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Tuesday, 2 October 2012

Puerto Banús
Puerto Banús (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Metallic sounds coupled with harsh Spanish calls of the early morning cleaning lorry echoed across the water. Splashing oars had become the days awakening call. Gently the boats stern nudged the white harbour berthing number. The gangplank was always kept just above the harbour wall, so when anyone decided to embark we instantly would become aware of an intruder.
Puerto Banus in the 80s had become a hedonistic playground for the world’s jetsetters. This was not an ordinary playground this was a playground with a touch of the old wild west. The smells that wafted on the morning breeze were worldlier. The acrid vomit, stale urine and tourist detritus assaulted the nostrils with their pungent odours as the morning sun gained in ferocity over the garish shop fronted Marina.
“Permission to come on board.” The disjointed voice called. The plank crashed on to the dock the vibrations shooting threw the structure of the boat.
Craning around the cabin door I strove to identify the voice. The incongorus sight of the bright red bandana wound round the top of his head quickly identified my friend Ronald. The old paint stained pots containing arrays of brushes plonked onto the veneered deck. With an inward sigh of relief I remembered asking him to repaint the flying bridge.
“Have you a brew on yet Mate” he said the sun wrinkled face splitting into a crooked grin.
“Heard the news.”
“What news”
He paused for dramatic effect for Ronald had become the sage of Banus. A reputation as the mouth of Banus probably the first English Spanish information superhighway .For in the early 80s there was a lack of English television a dearth of real news  Bringing information gleaned from a nightime of foraging Banuses many bars and nightclubs had a certain cache and opened doors. He was in the Know.
“ Well “ I asked again
“Spain’s just signed the extradition treaty with England”
Stopping I mused for a minute.
“Interesting.” I rejoined
“Everyone’s Leaving.”
I pretended as if this nugget of information had been of little interest to me, realising that I would have to spend the day on supervising Ronald’s painting. The last thing I needed was to become another item of news on his ever-increasing news information highway of which no one new the next recipient of his largess?? This left me with difficult decisions. The whistle of the kettle awakened me from these daydreams.
“Milk and Sugar.”
“Yes to both” he sounded nonplussed by my casual question
“What are you going to do.” The smile had left his face and a look of intense concentration replaced it.
“ Well “ I said what do you advice.
Throwing the ball neatly back into his court, hoping that he would engage in advice giving another one of Ronald’s foibles forgetting quiet conveniently about me.

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