After all the furore of the anti and pro hunt lobbyists back in England last year, it would appear that that particular argument, though partially sorted by Parliament, still rages on in the countryside with both sides continuing to harangue the other.

However, this week saw the start of five days dedicated to bullfighting in Cóin with a travelling Plaza de Toros' (bullring) being erected just down the road at the now newly established feria ground where most of the town's shows and fiestas now take place. (Convenient for us!) There's no doubt that the anti blood sports league here in Spain has gained some serious support and momentum over the last few years helped no doubt by the present Government regime which has cast some doubt as to the future of this truly Spanish pastime. However, no matter what your take or opinion on this highly visual and bloody combat to the death, whether rooting for the bull or the matador, it remains an arena spectacle unparalleled anywhere else in the world. The meeting is not just the gore and blood that you may think it is. The show includes dressage, flamenco, horse and carriage displays and parades of finery, ending with Iberian passion and culminating in the man against bull. My own opinion here is, as it was with the hunting argument, I would prefer to see traditions like these left alone because if you fight to ban everything, then one day there'll be nothing left at all!

With the building secured best we could, we spent the winter months at home taking care of life as it was and carrying with our normal routine. There was nothing else we could do. I had decided not to further engage anyone or any company to look after our property, as I didn't have a clue whom to trust. So back to my comments of previous about this being a small world.

Our youngest son Joseph played football for the Weymouth youth team in goal and very adept he became too. I myself was not someone you could call a football fanatic even though I supported my hometown of Liverpool whenever they appeared to be doing well. I actually preferred rugby union having played for Dorchester for some years and enjoyed supporting St Helens rugby league team going as far as travelling to the RL cup finals whenever I got the chance of a ticket. No, it was Rose who loved her football, driving every other weekend taking a car full of teenagers to far flung venues before standing on touch lines of which most she was banned, for either verbally or physically attacking the officials!

It was on one of these days when Rose was again shouting her now famous bias observations to a more than misunderstood and annoyed man in black, when she struck up an acquaintance with the mother of another player, Chris. They had got into conversation about the following weeks away fixture of which Rose informed her that they unfortunately would miss it due to a family holiday.

Chris asked where we were off to. Rose enlightened her to the fact of us owning a holiday home in southern Spain. She then asked Rose where the property was as they themselves had visited friends who lived over there. Rose stated that it was a little known inland town called Cóin to which Chris replied quite incredulously, I know it, in fact that's where our friends live, Sid and Lynn!' This was indeed a coincidence but not as much as when Rose asked further about the friends only to discover that we actually knew them as well from a long time ago.

In fact nearly twenty five years to be exact. Just after Rose and I married, we went on a second hand shopping expedition looking for furniture and goods to furnish our new house in Court Barton on Portland. A certain Glyn and Lynn Thomas who lived in one of the rented married quarter flats at Weston were about to leave for an accompanied draft abroad as Glyn was an airman in the meteorological branch of the Royal Navy. They were looking to sell some items, which they could not take with them. They had a free standing gas cooker for sale which caught our interest and after a cup of tea we bought the cooker, shook hands and never saw or heard of them again until this point.

Chris gave Rose their Spanish telephone number and we said we'd give them a ring.

Imagine the surprise to both of us when we opened the conversation on the phone by recounting the only time we had really met when purchasing the cooker apart from a couple of blurred drunken get togethers at mutual friends. We spoke for a while talking and discussing our houses in Spain and it was then I explained the problems we had experienced with the company and people we had dealt with so far. Glyn however said he may be able to help me with that particular problem.

Call it what you like, the odds and chances of this occurring from that meeting with Chris on the sidelines of that football pitch were too spooky for words. (Oh, and I know I referred to Glyn as Sid', but this was from our days in the Navy and relates to the nickname for someone with the surname Thomas', I.E. my nickname was Scouse' from Liverpool!)

The call ended with a firm commitment to meet up the next time we went over which was to be in March. Rose and I looked at each other and laughed at the fortuitous encounter hoping that not only could we rekindle a brief but friendly acquaintance, but also get someone to look after our investment.

We met up with Sid and Lynn at their beautiful home situated about five kilometres out of the town on an urbanisation called Las Delicious' which was populated mostly by holiday home owners. It was incredulous to be meeting them again after all those years and we instantly struck up a friendship where today we still class them as one of our closest friends in Spain.

The difference was, Sid was reliable and an old shipmate from the services which meant a lot to us by trust.

They very kindly agreed to keep an eye on our place when we were away with regular visits and a little maintenance with regard to watering fruit trees and cutting the Triffid' as needed while establishing a visible profile for people to see giving us peace of mind. There was only one thing left to do? And that was pop down the local Chinese, sink a few fingers of vino and talk about old ships!

The property was taken care of and we had no real challenges or problems after that with regard to worrying about the security or upkeep while at home in England.

We again met Rocco during that visit and this time asked him to replace the main terrace window doors at the front with modern UPVC fittings. We also asked him to change our bedroom window, which overlooked the front terrace, with a full length glazed door for our personal access out into what was to become the open summer room. This further transformed the façade following the removal of the old rotten wooden frames letting in so much more light.

There was still a lot we wanted to change and improve on, but for that year, we were spent out again!

We had achieved and experienced much in the first four years, and as we went along we learned by our mistakes. But the Villa was now starting to take shape as a second home, it just needed a few personal touches from England which we would transport as and when we could.

Useful tip
I know I've only touched on this, so if you're thinking of driving a hire car over here while on holiday or prospecting for property, take care! I've driven in London and other cities in England at peak time and thought that was tough. But here, well, let's just say you may as well throw your Spanish Highway Code books away! There is no courtesy or quarter given to a driver who dithers, open spaces between cars are fair game especially while decelerating to cut in off an Autovia or main A' highway, there's no 2 second rule gap, that only allows five other cars to jump in! If you're at a junction, don't expect anyone to wave or allow you into the flow, it's best to just pull out and hope the other fellow slows! And as for indicating, well, as I said it is a heavy penalty for not indicating intention to turn or change direction in a car but no one seems to bother, especially in the towns so if you make a mistake, don't worry, road rage cases are very few and far between. It's a case of one wrong, all wrong!

At the last count, it was suggested by a local paper that at least 15,000 Malaga registered motorists did not have any form of car insurance, though this was later estimated to be possibly double that number. Next car we buy will be pre dented!

Useful hint
If you're purchasing a car, then again, take care. We fell foul of a dodgy seller though the business appeared above board, the trouble we had was a nightmare. It appeared something went wrong with the car every day and we kept having to take it back. It was obviously overpriced and possibly clocked. But try and get any satisfaction? Forget it! We have a number of dodgy car retail and garage outlets on our never use' list, mostly British surprise surprise, however there are one or two we do advocate in using. Again, unless the vendor is recommended and long established, keep it Spanish if you can and if you can't understand what's happening, hire an interpreter, at least to know what's going on. There's a myriad of paperwork associated with car purchase out here with enough forms to line your bedroom wall. There have been a number of cases highlighted lately whereby cars have either been repossessed, confiscated or the unsuspecting new owner issued with a fine that came with the car, due to the incorrect checks being carried out, even after a number of years!

Spanish facts - Bullfighting!
Anti lobbies or not, bullfighting, especially in Andalucia, is still extremely popular as I can testify and remains the recognised national sport. There are over 70 bullrings in this province alone. Ronda has the largest while Mijas Pueblo has the smallest in Spain.

Glossary of terms: Toro - Bull. Corrida - Bullfight. Matador - Star bullfighter. Torero - Killer of the bull. Traje de Luces - the colourful bullfighters suit (suit of lights!). Picador - the lancer on horseback. Banderillero - the man on foot who spikes the bull.

The actual Bull selection, dressing, transport, allocation of Matador and his team and the such like are very exacting features and, as I found out only recently, is a strategic and detailed plan of operation. Every move, type and colour of cloaks, weapons, horses, time of the first bull release etc has been meticulously chosen and worked out in advance. The matador does not fight alone. He is supported by a personal team that attends the arena with him during his conflict.

When the bulls are dead, they are hauled away to be butchered and sold in the local markets.

Bulls are traditionally given the best of everything during their upbringing and are treated extremely well prior to their appearance in the ring.

Last year a certain sprightly bull managed to leap into the stadium seating area before any fighting or goading took place, scattering the crowd as he went. After capture, he was returned to pasture to live a long privileged life, as is the fate of any bull that puts up a good fight or manages to displace the Matador or forces him to retire. (If the matador does well, the crowd indicates by waving white handkerchiefs, if he does badly, he is booed off in disgrace)

Bulls weigh on average 700 kilos, (about three quarters of a ton) so keep those toes clear! And as I've witnessed, if one gets to gore or hit you, it's off to casualty!

Useful phrase
Donde esta la oficina de turismo? And Tiene un plano de la ciudad?
Pronounced: donday aysta la offitheena day turismoh? Teeaynay un planoh day la theeudath?
Meaning: Where is the tourist information office. Do you have a map of the city?

Next week: We need to make the place comfortable!