JB warns against emigrating to Spain.
THE COSTA BLANCA
(Two sonnets)
SHE
The Costa Blanca! Skies without a stain!
Eric and I at almond-blossom time
Came here and fell in love with it. The climb
Under the pine trees, up the dusty lane
To Casa Kenilworth, brought back again
Our honeymoon, when I was in my prime.
Good-bye democracy and smoke and grime{:}
Eric retires next year. We're off to Spain!
We've got the perfect site beside the shore,
Owned by a charming Spaniard, Miguel,
Who says that he is quite prepared to sell
And build our Casa for us and, what's more,
Preposterously cheaply. We have found
Delightful English people living round.
HE (Five years later)
Mind if I see your Mail? We used to share
Our Telegraph with people who've returned -
The lucky sods! I'll tell you what I've learned:
If you come out here put aside the fare
To England. I'd run like a bloody hare
If I'd a chance, and how we both have yearned
To see our Esher lawn. I think we've earned
A bit of what we had once over there.
That Dago caught the wife and me all right!
Here on this tideless, tourist-littered sea
We're stuck. You'd hate it too if you were me:
There's no piped water on the bloody site.
Our savings gone, we climb the stony path
Back to the house with scorpions in the bath.
John Betjeman
