It's The Image That Counts: To mark our 25th Wedding Anniversary, Mrs B decided we deserved a holiday in the sun; and for the first time ever, we would fly.
As noted previously, in 1973, air travel was for the rich, well, richer than we were, so our honeymoon was in London. In 1998, and also today of course, travel is easier and more affordable, so off we went to Corralejo, the most northern town in Fuerteventura.
Married in December, so naturally we went in December, and it was fabulous; but returning to a cold / freezing England wasn't funny; and we had also missed the initial thrust of the ball rolling perilously fast towards Xmas; which was a bit like running along the platform after the train had left the station.
But Corralejo became an annual pilgrimage of sorts, and we went for several years until about 2002. That year more than most, we noticed how the town had grown, and one of the shops, which at first looked like a florists, held quite a surprise when we found the plants outside on sale were cannabis. The leaves are unmistakeable probably to everyone over the age of 10, and there they were potted (excuse the extremely bad pun) and growing, and sitting there on the pavement in the sunshine.
But Fuerte is part of Spain, and rather like Holland, must have far more relaxed drug Laws. Indeed, when a Spanish policeman walks along the pavement, he; well, they all do, actually; look meaner than Clint Eastwood in any of his tough-guy roles. The black, polished boots look mean, the uniform looks 'the business,' the pistol makes you swallow hard, and the males all look ruggedly handsome and often have a cigarette dangling from the corner of their mouth. By comparison, British police officers look like the soft kid everyone picked on at school; unlike the Spanish, whom I cannot imagine being very patient and long-suffering. So the Laws there regarding cannabis, which is a medicinal herb anyway, are rather lax; but the cop's are tough; but perhaps that's the paradox.