Saturday 22 September 2018

Musings From Beneath a Pomegranate tree

by Roger Noons

hierbas dulce con hielo  

Ageing Hippie

‘You have been coming to the Balearic Islands for many years, Señor Nunes?’ The policeman said at Passport Control.
    ‘Yes, I used to go to Ibiza for the sun, sea, sand, sex and drugs.’
    He frowned.
    ‘Now I only come to Mallorca for the drugs.’
    His expression darkened. 
    I added. ‘Ramipril, allopurinol, simvastatin and warfarin.’
    He looked totally confused as he handed back my passport.
    ‘Gracias,’ I smiled.


Once Soller Reina 11 was tied up in it’s usual position on the Moll, Don Miguel supervised the sorting of the catch, its washing and boxing and Joan pushed the two-wheeled cart to Alberto’s. After the hotels and restaurants had taken their pick, wives and daughters gathered for the auction.    Llampuga 6.90, Salmonetta 3.60; Soller’s prawns, twenty euros per kilo.
    When one box remained unsold, the Don fastened it to Joan’s Mobylette .
    At nine o’ clock, white wine uncorked, sitting opposite each other, their eyes gleamed as they enjoyed the juicy sweetness from the ocean.
    Plates and glasses emptied, man and wife cling on squeaky springs. Perhaps Marta will conceive the daughter she craves.

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