Who You Know…

Been a bit down truth to tell. Oh, not jump-off-the-roof, fits-of-weeping depression – although a tear or two has sneaked out unbidden: if I’m out walking the dogs and a song comes into my head. Only the other day Chim-Chim-Chiree set me off. What is that about? Perhaps I need my hormone levels testing. People say that there’s no male menopause, but how do you account for all those motorbikes and sports cars? Perhaps it’s the writing, anyway. Not much inspiration about, or rather, I’m not finding it, or looking hard enough.
Last week I parked opposite my students’ house. No space anywhere in the lower part, which, since the lines are white, is that rare beast, free parking. I could have parked on the upper level, but the lines are blue. I’d have had to pay. I get work because I’m cheap, not because I’m good. The very cheap parking fee would have meant… well, as I said, I’m cheap. So I did what a lot of locals do. I parked along the middle and hoped people would be leaving their cars for longer than the hour I’d be teaching.
Of course, I got a ticket. I used to teach three different classes along the row of houses there. The students aged from 8 to 18 are all cousins. Yolanda’s dad is the chief of the Policia Local. Anyway, I went back to the house I’d been teaching in that day. The boys’ dad said he’d sort something out. Two days later their mum called to say the ticket had been dealt with. I’m a real Andalucian now. Why do I feel bad about it?