Daisy’s Chain – A Story of Love, Intrigue and the Underworld on the Costa del Sol
Daisy’s Chain
A Story of Love, Intrigue and the Underworld on the Costa del Sol
by
Owen Jones
Narrated by
William James Hill
Daisy, the proud daughter of a wealthy ex-London gangster, John, and his Spanish wife, Teresa, grew up in Marbella on the Costa del Sol, aka, the Costa del Crime. She idolised her parents and sought to impress her ageing father by helping him run the family businesses after uni. However, a disastrous error of judgement ends in family tragedy, and her mother puts Daisy on a safer path of helping the local community as a penance. Daisy’s Chain is a tragic tale with a pleasantly happy ending.
‘Do you feel at home where you live?’ will sound like a strange question to many of you, and to be honest, I’m not really sure where I’m going with this article, but a few thoughts crossed my mind sitting here having a beer.
I had a lovely childhood with loving parents and four great brothers to play with. I knew that money was an object, but at least in the Fifties and Sixties there was no expensive technology targeted at kids, and the advertising industry as a whole had not sunk to the depths of preying on them so savagely yet.
I felt at home with my parents and brothers and going to school, which I was good at. My grades were good, so I went to a university 150 miles away.
It was from that point on, that I felt that I no longer belonged. Then my mother died at 42, and the feeling of not-belonging increased. I travelled mainland Europe, and lived there for ten years, before returning to work for my Dad with my brothers. I did that for thirteen years, and I tried hard to fit in, but to be honest, my hometown had become just somewhere I had grown up… like a chick in an incubator.
I had no friends who had been anywhere; in fact, most of them were on their second spouse and I hadn’t even found my first one yet. I was into computers and none of my old school mates even knew what they were. I could talk about languages, computers, computer languages, the USSR, Europe and north Africa, but they barely knew where they were. That was the Eighties and Nineties.
Then our firm collapsed and my Dad died.
It was like a mooring breaking in a rough sea.
No job, no-one I could talk to on subjects that I found interesting and now three brothers who were struggling to support their own families.
Then a friend offered me the chance to go to Thailand, and I went.
I met my wife within three hours of arrival, and in a week, we will both be flying to Fuengirola, Spain to start a new life with the expats and Spaniards. My wife’s family have always been good to me in Thailand, but hand on heart, I cannot say that this has ever really been my home either.
So, in seven days, we will be heading for Spain and I know that I will not find a home as an expat there either. It is guaranteed. I know the Costa del Sol well and love it, but I don’t have the money to stay there for long. Anyway, my wife’s dream is to live in my hometown … and that takes me back to the beginning. I don’t feel at home there… or anywhere.
Perhaps, that could be extended to ‘on this planet’ – or is that too fanciful for you? It isn’t for me. I want to go home, but I don’t know where that is. Sometimes, I think that death will show the way.
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We were talking to an expat here in southern Spain yesterday afternoon. He has lived here for more than twenty years and says that he cannot understand why Spain is in the European Union.
His diatribe started with nepotism.
“Go to the town hall,” he said, “or the police station and see how many different surnames there are. Out of hundreds, even thousands of employees, there will be about a dozen surnames. If you don’t belong, you won’t get in”.
“Tell me another thing,” he continued. “Why is the police in charge of immigration? It is not a police issue who is allowed to stay in the country, or at least, it shouldn’t be. It should be an issue for the civil service, as it is in Britain!”
“Another thing,” he continued, getting into his stride, “there is no freedom of speech here! Try criticizing the royal family and you will soon find yourself in very hot water! Spain is not a democracy and doesn’t deserve to be in the EU. That is why I voted out, despite the fact that I have lived here so long. We should not be supporting countries like this!”
I report the above as it was spoken to me. I do not have enough experience from the eight weeks I have been here to know whether he is right or wrong, but I do know that I was refused a residency permit today because my money is in the UK, not in Spain.
Why should that matter if Spain believes in the EU?
My money is in Citibank Europe; that is it’s official title.
Can it be that an American bank believes in Europe more than Spain?
It seems so.
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Another forty-sixer today! It makes me so apathetic and dozy. At two o’clock this afternoon I put my head down for forty winks and woke up three hours later!
That’s not like me, I haven’t needed an afternoon nap for fifty-five years.
∞
A friend of mine is coming up to the village from Pattaya today for his birthday tomorrow. He has a house here but only uses it for a few weeks a year. The point is, he can’t do without British food, so if he has a party for his birthday, I’m in for a rare treat.
Non-expats have no idea how much we miss some foods. He brought me three large tins of corned beef, which you just can’t buy unless you camp out in one of the huge Tesco stores, then the first people on the scene buy the lot. Ten, twenty cans each.
You’d imagine that astute store managers would notice this trend and buy more, wouldn’t you? However, the situation hasn’t changed in ten years, unless it has gotten worse.
My wife bought me two large blocks of cheese recently as well, so our stocks are looking their best for ages, but the food at the party will be something else, I hope: sausages, beans and mash – or something simple but different, like that.
By the way, Neem, my wife, bought me five small bars of chocolate as a surprise yesterday. I tried one today and it was quite nice, but had written on the wrapper ‘Made in China. Contains no chocolate’.
∞
Despite the fact that May has always been better than April for sales in my four years of records, this year looks like being the exception. I know it is still early days, and the second week of the month is probably only ever the best in December, but I’d still be happier if the reading public showed a bit more enthusiasm for my books.
I don’t think they realize what an effect their inaction has on my mood or I’m sure they’d pull their fingers out! 🙂
