ALAN PARKS
The first in the Seriously Mum series
Also available in Paperback
‘Seriously Mum’ Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1 ~ Crazy Idea
Chapter 2 ~ What’s an Alpaca?
Chapter 3 ~ An Assortment of Viewings
Chapter 4 ~ The Olive Mill
Chapter 5 ~ Lorna’s Decision
Chapter 6 ~ Crisis
Chapter 7 ~ Into the Frying Pan
Chapter 8 ~ Goodbye Grey Sky
Chapter 9 ~ Hello Blue
Chapter 10 ~ Beautiful Girls
Chapter 11 ~ Alone at Last
Chapter 12 ~ Miguel, Fires and Giraffes
Chapter 13 ~ The First Hiccup
Chapter 14 ~ Problems with my Waterworks
Chapter 15 ~ Alpaca Arrival
Chapter 16 ~ Too Young, Too Rural
Chapter 17 ~ Carlos
Chapter 18 ~ Black Dancer
Chapter 19 ~ Bingo
Chapter 20 ~ First Cordoban Summer
Chapter 21 ~ Christmas
Chapter 22 ~ The Alpacas Return
Chapter 23 ~ Fishing with the Locals
Chapter 24 ~ “Pregnant? Of course not!”
Chapter 25 ~ A Small World
Chapter 26~ The Lost Goats
Chapter 27 ~ The Happiest Dog in the World
Chapter 28 ~ Galaxy
Chapter 29 ~ Feria Time
Chapter 30 ~ Kaci’s Birth, Lily’s Loss
Chapter 31 ~ The Wettest Weather
Chapter 32 ~ Spit Attack
Chapter 33 ~ Foal Play
Chapter 34 ~ Can’t Get Enough of your Love
Chapter 35 ~ Alpaca Chasing
Chapter 36 ~ Flystrike
Chapter 37 ~ Eggs in the Morning?
Chapter 38 ~ Poor Lily
Chapter 39 ~ Santa’s Christmas Delivery
Have you ever licked a toad?
Contacts and Links
About the Author
Some character names in this book have been
changed to preserve anonymity.
Introduction
To say that my life has changed over the last few years would be a drastic understatement. I have been through the wettest winters and the hottest summers imaginable.
I share my beautiful home in the Andalucían hills with a menagerie of strange creatures. The inquisitive alpacas are a joy to be around, but, to be honest, the dogs can be a nightmare. I do my best to keep out of their way. Sometimes, just to be annoying, I like to walk past their fence. Sometimes I just sit there and stare at them, which really irritates them, especially the big one!
When the chickens arrived I thought maybe they would be good for dinner one day. But I just can’t do it. I can’t imagine eating them.
I enjoy my siestas by the pool, during the long, hot summer. If I can keep away from the kids for an hour or two, then the peace and quiet is fantastic.
When we have visitors it’s always exciting. It means dinner will be something interesting. Hopefully the guests will have brought something special for me.
Since those two strange people came to live here with us, I have had eight babies, and the last four left home not so long ago. This year’s were a handful, but I coped, I always do. As it’s winter, I spend most of the time in the barn, trying to keep warm in the hay.
But soon it will be spring, the sun will shine and the birds will be back. Then it will be my favourite time of year, when the baby birds are hatching. Then dinner will be easy to get. Then I can return to my lazy life by the pool.
Barb (Feral Cat)
1 Crazy Idea
Animal Count: One dog (Geri)
“Okay, tell me a bit more about this idea then,” said Lorna, as we battled against the wind on the seafront near Brighton. It was a couple of days since her revelation.
“Well, I’ve been thinking. Why don’t we move somewhere else? You know, try something different? It would take the pressure off you, get you out of dancing, and also be something exciting and new for us.”
Two days earlier, on a previous walk, Lorna had told me that she was struggling to keep up with teaching at her dance school.
“I’m not sure how long I can go on,” she had said.
She had been diagnosed with Sarcoidosis and Thyroiditis, after nearly two years of doctor’s visits and hospital appointments. It was making work difficult and taking its toll on all of us.
“Hmm, okay,” she said, “but what would we do? I don’t know how to be anything other than a dance teacher. And you’ve only ever worked in shops. We can’t just drop everything and do something else.”
“Do you remember that funny looking animal we saw at Prague zoo? The alpaca?”
Lorna gave me a puzzled look, as though I’d lost my marbles. “Yes, of course. We loved him, but what’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well, I’ve been doing a bit of research, and it looks like alpacas are quite a profitable business. I was thinking maybe we could breed them. Maybe move to Florida and do it?”
Lorna was giving me a look that said, “I can’t believe we are even talking about this!” I knew I was pushing my luck with the Florida suggestion, but I was serious about the alpacas.
“No way! I can’t move to Florida, Alan. What about the kids? It’s too far! Visiting would be expensive and you know how I hate flying! It’s nine hours to Florida!” Lorna’s two children, Mark, (24 at the time), happily living with his girlfriend, and Frankie, 18, and very close to her Mum, evidently put Florida out of the question.
“Okay, okay,” I sighed. “I thought you might say that. What about Spain?”
“Spain? Really? But you’ve never even been there! And you don’t like the heat. How would you cope?”
“I’d be okay, I would get used to it. I think we should move away and do something completely different.”
“Hmm...”
“Frankie and her boyfriend could even come with us,” I suggested.
“Well, I need to do something. I can’t carry on like I am at the moment. In tears one minute and having to put on a smile the next. Plus, if I give up teaching, I don’t want always to be known as ‘Lorna the dance teacher’ when we see people around town.”
“Have a think about it then,” I said. “The house should be easy to sell.”
Our house was situated in a desirable area, just outside Brighton, on top of cliffs, with a 180 degree sea view.
Near our house was a country park, open to the public, which houses a sizeable number of llamas and alpacas. We decided to head there, to have a look around, and to think more about our idea. It is a beautiful place and we sat outside the cafe, in the sunshine, staring at the alpacas. It was that day that we fell in love with them.
We wandered into the barn, where the babies were being kept for the first delicate days of their lives, before being released into the fields. One particular alpaca, Poppy, who had been orphaned the year before, wandered freely about. She had been hand-reared and was very friendly, nuzzling up under our arms for a cuddle. Curiosity attracted other alpacas too, who came to have a look, and take a little food from our hands before running away again. They were relaxing to watch and totally bewitching.
“Could we really do this?” Lorna asked.
“I think we could. Obviously we will have to do some research to find out more about them. But just imagine, what could be better than a life in the sun with these beautiful animals as companions?”
“You know what they say, never work with children or animals. Well, I’ve spent 30 years teaching children, why not complete the set?”
“Well, what do you think? Is it a yes?”
“Oh my God! I think it is!” Lorna laughed nervously.
So that was it. We would move to Spain and breed alpacas.
2 What’s an Alpaca?
“Hi, Frankie, we need to talk to you,” Lorna said as her daughter came in through the front door. She’d been staying a
t her boyfriend’s house, and Lorna had called to say she wanted her to come home.
“What’s wrong? What have I done?” was Frankie’s first reaction.
“Nothing’s wrong, Frankie. We just need to talk to you about something. Something quite big.”
Lorna explained about her illness and how difficult work had been during the past year. Frankie knew bits and pieces because she had been helping her Mum teach the classes, but I don’t think she realised the full extent of the problem.
“We’ve been talking, and we think now is a good time for me to give up the dance school. We’re thinking of moving away, possibly to Spain, to do something different. Now, you have three options. First, you and Chris could come along and help us. Or you could stay here and take over the dance school. If you wanted to, of course. Or you might want to do something else?”
Frankie looked horrified and burst into tears. After a few minutes, she gathered herself together again. “Okay then, when do we go?” was followed quickly by, “You said, ‘do something different’. What would we do?”
“Well, we’re thinking about breeding alpacas,” Lorna said.
“Bloody hell, Mum! What’s an alpaca?” asked Frankie through her tears. So Lorna explained.
Breaking the news to Mark was no less emotional, but it was a little easier. He was living with his girlfriend and was settled. He wished us luck; his first reaction was “Great, free holidays!”
Over the next few weeks we spent hours on the Internet researching these beautiful animals. We were fascinated by stories of people around the world, giving up successful careers to breed them, enjoying a fantastic lifestyle, and making pots of money too.
We spent a day on an ‘Alpaca Experience’ in Devon, and the more we learned, the more we felt it was a possibility. Alpacas are enchanting. Every farmer, breeder and enthusiast we spoke to was full of positivity, both for alpacas as an industry, and for our idea too. Neither Lorna nor I had any experience with livestock, but Lorna’s family had always kept dogs and I grew up in a house with a couple of cats. However, we were assured, “It doesn’t matter if you have never been a farmer, these animals are easy to look after. They don’t get sick and they are cheap to feed.” Our research and farm visits backed this up. This lifestyle seemed so idyllic and perfect that we just wanted so much to be a part of it.
The next stage was to find a suitable location to carry out the plan that was beginning to formulate in our heads. These days, with the Internet, there are so many properties out there to choose from. Something for everyone; from a rural idyll in the Slovakian hills, to a modern penthouse in Budapest, all at the touch of a button. Our choice of Spain was twofold; accessibility and abundant sunshine. There are cheap flights from most UK airports, important for family visits and emergencies, should they arise, and of course, Spain is renowned for its sunshine.
During our Internet research, we stumbled across Peter and Penny in Andalucía. They had transported their herd of alpacas from the UK to Spain to launch the industry there. We made contact and arranged to meet them during a viewing trip.
3 An Assortment of Viewings
Initially I made the decision, rightly or wrongly, to do the exploring trip on my own, because I felt that Lorna would say ‘yes’ to almost anything, just to get out of the current situation. We didn’t have a specific location in mind, but we had two main criteria: land and character. The land was a necessity, but we dreamed of something remote and full of character.
Having visited and discounted an eco-project near Barcelona, in July I made a trip to Andalucía, where it was planned that I would visit a few properties in different areas. They ranged from Malaga to Cordoba, Ronda to Cadiz.
I was met from the airport by the first estate agent, Malcolm. An archetypal English gentleman, dressed in khaki shorts that were slightly too short and a blue checked shirt, he had the glow of a man who spent too much time in the sun, emphasised by the whiteness of his hair. On his feet he wore sandals, accompanied by brown ankle-length socks. Malcolm was in his 60s and was accompanied by his ‘Marbella-style’ wife, Angela, at least 20 years his junior, all blonde hair and make up and carrying the essential Chihuahua. I was quite taken aback by the stereotypical ‘expatness’ of the couple.
“Nice to meet you Alan.” He marched towards me with outstretched hand. “This is Angela, and Pepper.”
As we walked towards the car, Malcolm said to me, “I’ve got a few beautiful places to show you. You are going to love them. We are going to head towards Coin, and Alhaurin el Grande.”
Unbeknown to me at the time, these towns are little expat communities where one can walk no more than a few metres down the road without bumping into an English person.
We drove out of the hustle and bustle of Malaga, and started to climb the hills behind the city. We soon reached the town of Coin.
“Here we go, Alan, this is where you want to be, Fish and Chips over here, Chinese restaurant round the corner, and there, just there, is the Irish bar where everybody goes at the weekend.”
The thought made me shudder. It was so not what we wanted. When we had been discussing the move, we had decided that if we were going to move to Spain, it would be somewhere that was the ‘real’ Spain, where we would need to try and learn Spanish, and integrate ourselves into the community as much as possible.
“Erm, Malcolm, I’m not really sure this is what we are looking for.”
“Of course it is Alan, wait and see. This place will blow you away.”
We pulled up outside a white box of a house, with a fenced-in garden, and all of about 200 square metres of garden, including a swimming pool. The house was nice inside, as you would expect, but my brief had been for land for the animals.
“Where will we put the alpacas?” I asked.
“In the garden, there’s loads of room!”
I had emailed the agents exactly what we were looking for, in terms of land and housing, but obviously they decide what and where they want to take you. During the boom years, hundreds of these white boxes, with very little character, were thrown up to cope with the influx of expats into the towns.
Malcolm said to me “You have to be flexible, if you want to live in this area, you may need to do some work. My house hasn’t even had a roof for four months. Been sleeping under the stars, we have.”
“To be honest then Malcolm, this isn’t the area for us. If you can’t show us something with a few acres of land, and a bit of character, then we won’t be doing business I’m afraid.”
I couldn’t believe this estate agent had just told me that even his own house didn’t have a roof; it didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. On the plus side, on the journey back to the airport, Malcolm only fell asleep once at the wheel, veering sharply toward the barrier as Angela poked him sharply in the ribs to wake him. My first day in Andalucía, hadn’t gone very well.
The following day I caught the bus to Ronda, located in the mountains behind Malaga. This journey involved a treacherous two-hour journey on winding mountain roads, with a speedy bus driver. Hair-raising overtaking manoeuvres had me gripping on to my seat with white knuckles, whilst the predominantly Spanish passengers surrounding me seemed oblivious to the danger.
When I arrived, I was met by John, the local agent. We took a quick detour into the town of Ronda to see the solicitor he dealt with. The solicitor happened to be an English-speaking man who was very smart and came across as friendly and helpful. His name was José and I took a card, in case we needed him later on for anything.
We then went and had breakfast in a bar. The first thing one notices is the Spanish men, who are all drinking brandy first thing in the morning. Then most of them get in their cars to go and work on the land.
We then headed to John’s office in a small town just outside Ronda called Arriate. John was a bit more suave than Malcolm, being attired in a white linen outfit with brown leather sandals. We went to his office, and spent some time looking through the properties on his webs
ite, but, although the properties were more in keeping with the style we were looking for, rural and tranquil, the prices were far higher than Lorna and I had anticipated. After a leisurely lunchtime beer (or two) and tapas, we ventured out to see the only property that I felt was worthy of inspection. It was in need of renovation, but had plenty of space, and land in abundance for the alpacas.
The property we went to see was in the mountains of the ‘Sierra de Ronda’ and was described as a fully-fenced finca, currently being used as a goat farm, with living accommodation. As we drove up the increasingly winding road, the view across the mountains was awe-inspiring. A landscape full of mountainsides and valleys, punctuated by pine trees, while in the distance the sea was glistening in the sunlight. Just as I was admiring the view from the window, we veered off the road and onto 200 metres of dusty track. Even in John’s 4x4 we were bouncing up and down and banging our heads on the roof of the car. We pulled up outside the house.
The gate (for want of a better word), was in actual fact two single metal bed frames, end to end, fastened in the middle with a chain. Slightly hesitantly, I followed John towards the house. The level of work needed here seemed to be huge. It was a good size, and had three buildings of different levels spread around a central terrace. All were in a state of disrepair; paint and render falling off walls. There was a roof missing from one building and where the electricity had been connected, there were bare wires running from building to building. There was what looked like a swimming pool that had been left to go a slime-green colour, like a badly kept duck pond.
The owner of the house emerged, and I was introduced to Pepe, then Pepe’s wife emerged and then his mother. His daughter and her husband followed and then his son. There were also three small children hanging around. The Spanish contingent just kind of stared at John and I, while Pepe removed his hat and shook my hand with gusto. “Buenas tardes, señores” he said humbly.
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