When I first went out to Las Almendras, I walked round the rambla and met my neighbours: Juana, Pablo and their family. I was actually a bit scared, as I have never stopped being when I meet new people, and particularly as I was the estranjera, the foreigner. As I went up the track, I felt conspicuous in my shorts and sunglasses when everyone else was in a shirt and trousers, long skirt, or in Juana's mother's case, a black widow's outfit. But, of course, they were incredibly friendly and kind, as they have always been. It was on this first trip that Juana's mother asked me why we didn't just live in Spain.
We have to pay the mortgage, work, I said. I wish we could. We need to work, though.
There was a pause. Then she pointed at the fields.
"Plenty of work here," she said.
After a minute, she looked at me and had second thoughts.
"You're educated, you could probably get a job in an estate agent, in Vera," she added.
(Career counsellors have never done much for me. At Oxford, the Careers Service lady ran her finger down a chart. "English degree ...Advertising!" Since then, I've been advised to: run your own business, work in a big company, work in a small company, go into PR, go into marketing, and (from Sandy) go into IT, work with some crazy journalists I know who've started an online business or work for BarCap because it's a lot of money. They all seemed to have some validity as ideas, but the problem was I didnt want to do any of them and in most cases wasn't fit for them either. That's the thing with advice, like horoscopes, it's OK if it tells you what you want to hear, but not otherwise, and it really ought to come from someone clever who sees you from on high, like God or a good shrink, and not a friend or colleague who is just saying the first generally applicable thing that comes into their head. In fact, I would say the only one time in my life I have had good advice was in church or from the shrink from the Priory I saw twice when I couldn't sleep.)
I laughed, and told quite a lot of people the story of Juana's mother. But now I come to think of it, I think she saw me more clearly than I saw myself. I just thought of myself as a "professional" who worked in an office, ignoring the fact that the only thing that matters is if you enjoy doing something. This is often the way: Sylvia and Alain said, when we bought Las Almendras, that we would be living there within a year, and we are. And after all, though I didnt know it, being an estate agent in Vera may well be my destiny, or part of it.
No, Minister
It is, of course, always easier to know what isn't your destiny, especially once you've tried it, like Tigger, and don't like it. This was what happened with the government contract I tried. People told me it would be a different culture and it was: the secretaries were not glamorous but old and fat and you couldnt say someone was crap, you had to say their skill set didn't match the project, or something of that kind.
While I worked there, I never got a desk, a phone and a PC at the same time. Before I joined, I asked Sarah, the boss, about where I would sit, and she said something like we wasn't sure. I asked her about my laptop and she said I should phone IBM's helpdesk. IBM's helpdesk said I should ask my local IT consultant, who came a few days later and said personal laptops wouldnt work in the government building, nor would Blackberrys. In the end, sometimes I got one of the three things I needed, sometimes two, but never all three. I did ask at the beginning, and it went like this:
Me: Hi, Sylvia, good morning.
Sylvia: Oh, good morning.
Me: Where could I sit today?
Sylvia: (looking round very vaguely as if she didnt recognise the office). Ah... Ah, well.
Me; Over here?
Sylvia: Er, no, not there. Sue's sitting there later.
Me: Over here?
Sylvia: No, it's Friday. Jackie's in on Fridays.
Me: Well, where can I sit?
Sylvia: Well...you could sit next to Ann..only she doesn't like anyone sitting near her.
Stuff that. I try the desk next to Ann, but the PC, which takes 10 minutes to wake up, has no internet. Also, the phone doesn't work.
Me: Paul, is that desk next to you free?
Paul (heavy sigh at the idea I might sit next to him) Er.. I don't know. it might be.
I sit down. The phone is forwarded to someone's mobile. The PC works, but I can't load Yahoo mail, which I am mainly using, because there isn't enough memory: I have to opt out of the Beta version and into the old one. I work for a bit, using my laptop, transferring stuff onto a flash drive and then mailing it on the office system. Then the system goes down. I listen to the conversations around me:
Paul: Sylvia?
Sylvia: (staring at the screen intently as if going to catch a mouse) Silence.
Paul: (more loudly) SYLVIA!
Sylvia: (starting) Yes? Yes? What is it?
Paul: Could you possibly copy these for the meeting?
Sylvia (looks blank) These?
Paul: Yes, the agenda.
Sylvia: Oh, well.. I was just.. Yes, alright, leave it with me.
Hours pass. Sylvia takes most of the morning going back and forth to the copier, which bleeps intermittently as if in pain.
Hours pass.
Paul: Sylvia, did you do those copies?
Sylvia: Er, ah...I think there must be some problem with the machine, it seems not to be working.
Paul (with frustrated tutting noise and sotto voce) For heaven's sake! He heaves a sigh and goes over: there is no paper in the machine.
Paul: Sylvia, this is where the paper goes..
Sylvia: Well, I'm just off home now, it is 4pm .... (Takes lift down to ground floor).
In the end, I come in, then say I am going to Starbucks as there is no desk, phone or PC. Everyone ignores me and carries on working. I
People don't really like change, especially not in the office. The IR director in my old job did not like change. Once, when I suggested that instead of emailing tens of powerpoint files around the office during results, they could be stored on a shared drive. There was an intake of breath and a silence. "That would be a whole new way of working," he said, in shocked tones. We used this phrase as much as we could in my team after that, about moving the stapler and things of that kind, which was quite funny ("Shall we move this stapler? That would be a whole new way of working"), but it wasn't really that funny. In fact, I am quite bitter and upset about my UK work experience, particularly since 1989. Is it right that, in that same last job, the Company Secretary, when I said things in meetings, would put his hand on my arm restrainingly and say "Just a minute, dear." Offices are full of conventions, and old men, and the worst of it is that, whenever you have a bright idea for change, you end up feeling like the schoolgirl who spoke out of turn.
I have had a lot of advice about how moving doesn't change your problem, but it allows you to imagine yourself differently, do things that you would be scared to do at home. There is no way I could go and work in an estate agent in Sevenoaks, but there are many days when the estate agency starts to look quite appealing.
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