A friend tipped us off yesterday afternoon that the lockdown was about to get more serious, so I ventured out one last time in full Darth Vader to a local tienda to stock up on the things I personally can’t live without (ground coffee not bog rolls) plus pet food, and there encountered a gathering of local cops stocking up on Tabcin and Paracetamol, a sight I found as poignant as I found disturbing.
Our village is home to most of the city’s fuzz. If anything goes down locally, they politely exclaim that we are outside their remit, but their presence has up to now been fairly reassuring.
I still have a private number I can call for a PNC response because my oafish Australian neighbour made a death threat against me (on camera) last year. Even he must have more important matters on his mind now.
When the police were contemplating a move from the Capitanes General we received a visit from the latterly notorious Erwin Sperisen, who was completely charming. He was investigating all fallow properties in the village and at one point we did expect to have the boys (and girls) in black as our direct neighbours.
We took in our last delivery from Bedda yesterday. They were already planning to close. Everyone faces an uncertain future, yet I have been cheered to note how locally-owned businesses like los Urquizú have been generally quicker to perceive their social responsibility.
When the bike arrived, both me and the courier were fully masked up and the expression on the face of one of the streetdogs that we regularly nourish (and have dubbed ‘Brayan’) - was priceless: WTF with these dudes!?!