Living in Spain

Living in Spain has many many compensations.  Of course it’s not all beer and skittles – there are drawbacks too.

The biggest drawback for me is my monthly visit to the doctor’s.  It’s coming up shortly to the fifth anniversary of me stopping smoking.  It’s also coming up to the fifth anniversary of my heart-attack.  As some of you know (who am I kidding – nobody’s reading this) I didn’t have a proper Hollywood heart-attack.  There was no chest-clutching – no falling to my knees – nothing.  Well apart from what I thought was indigestion, pins and needles in my hands and the tight band around my bicep.  It was pretty unsensational altogether really.

The worst consequence (I think) is that I now have to take tablets for the rest of my life.  ‘Tweren’t so bad in the UK – a ‘phone call to the local surgery – or not even a call, just drop my prescription into the surgery and then collect my tablets from the chemist next door the following day.  Seemples.

There’s one thing about the Spaniards – they don’t do simple.  They can complicate the easiest task.  The Doctors is one such huge fuck-up.  It really is bad for me to visit the bloody place because I always end up with raised blood pressure.

If you think UK Doctors’ Receptionist are horrible (with the exception of Jackie Ford) then you should see our Ramona.  She looks and acts like a rottweiler.  She is the most unhelpful, unpleasant, miserable sod who looks like a bulldog licking piss off a thistle most of the time.

She is also a racist – always giving the locals better service than us ex-pats. 

The place is always pandemonium without any sort of organisation whatsoever.  The guy who signs the prescriptions is slightly better but he won’t give you enough pills for two months.  Administration he says.

Anyway – this month’s ordeal had a smile in it for a change – before the visit, not during.  Up to now I’ve had to hand over an old UK prescription for the unsmiling  prescription-signer has had to translate the names into Spanish so I thought I’d try to speed things up by copying the Spanish names from the pill-boxes on to a “Word Doc”.  I tried my luck with this by typing at the bottom (in my best Spanish) “enough for two months” – or so I thought.  A translation of what I’d typed proved to be prudent before I showed it at the surgery.

The Spanish word for month is very similar to table.  My words translated to – “Can I have a table for two please”.  I wonder what the rottweiler would have made of that.  You never know – she might have smiled.  The last time she did smile was when she was three-month old and had a touch of wind.

Still my visit’s over now and I have a whole month to go before it comes around again.

Going golfing tomorrow.  Well a couple of buckets of ball on the driving range really.  The weather forecast is good.  Great.

‘Bye for now.


About Stevie B

I retired to the sun in February 2010. I am far from bored but I do need an interest (preferably one that pays).
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