A Not So Perfect Spanish Day

by John Dickson

An iScot Short Story

JOHN, and his wife, Mary, having managed to stay married for forty years celebrated by leaving Scotland for a wee week’s travelling on spec in the south of Spain. An area that they’d somehow never got round to in all those years.

It wasn’t all effortless. There was one day in particular…

Motoring down from the wonderful medieval town of Rhonda they were rewarded with a sudden sight in the distance. The unmistakable silhouette of the Rock of Gibraltar protruding from the haze of the shimmering sea.

A flotilla of ships of all sizes garnished the spectacle which dominated the outlying coastline. Chunks of the North African landmass and various islands blurred into the fading distance.

After about an hour and a half they’d had their fill of the Britishness of the peninsula

A real treat for the eyes!

‘Doesn’t look too far. Let’s pop in to Gibraltar.’ John suggested….

“If you really want to.” Mary wasn’t so keen.

An hour later they were trundling through the not so picturesque La Linea de La Conception on the Spanish side of the border. Managing to find a parking spot they paid for three hours to ‘pop in to Gibraltar’.

They found themselves jaywalking through the queues of cars waiting to enter one of the last vestiges of the British Empire.

Avoiding the overpriced tour touts they opted for the shuttle bus that took about ten minutes to reach the Fortress’s open gates. Union Jacks everywhere! The pedestrianised streets could almost be in any English town centre. Familiar chain stores plus a rash of duty free outlets. One difference was the rows of al fresco diners gobbling ‘Best of British Fish’n’Chips’ in hot sunshine. Definitely not Scotland, in lots of ways.