So there I was – in this bar with an interpreter – getting a free lesson in how things work within the borders of ClubMed.

“So who handles the rental thing in town?” said my companion.

And The Man who Did arrived within five minutes, mobile phone cable strapped to his ear. No, he told us, I don’t do long-term rentals, but I know a Woman who Does. Another ten minutes passed, and she arrived. I was only halfway through my beer. Many words were exchanged, during which the words “John” and “English” rang out loud and clear. For all I knew, they could’ve been in the process of selling me into slavery….but as luck would have it, she had a small stone house with one bedroom to rent at a Very Special Price. I didn’t think the price was that special – until I learned all the things that were thrown in: energy & water bills, aircon, covered car parking, washing, cleaning, two weeks rent-free, internet, satellite TV, and hot and cold running nubile women. I made that last bit up.

In Italy (where I am not) you can ask for a toilet and be as regularly disappointed as Everton fans. You want woman? Er, just a toilet. No toilet…you want card game, play with naked women? No, a toilet mainly. No toilet….you like maybe other things….bottoms, strange pussy? What I’d really like is a toilet. No toilet. But here (where I am) things still work. Crime is on the rise and the populace is up against it, but this entire deal was done on a handshake….and the landlord has far more to lose than I. Honesty is, on the whole, still alive and well.

Two days later, I’ve moved in and I am likely to spend much of the winter here – in mild weather and at a fraction of the price of renting in England. The sea is two minutes walk away, its waters so clear you can see right to the bottom; and in the town – a kilometer down the coast driveway – there are bars, restaurants, a supermarket, a post office, gift shops, and no litter. No, I didn’t make the last bit up.

Mountains rise majestically from the coast, in every shade of green rising to grey via light brown. This is a spectacular place that manages to be quiet, and yet at the same time endlessly interesting. Practically every nationality is here, mostly of my age and older. The main season is over, but it is still a delightful 28-34 centigrade every day. The lowest temperature ever recorded here is 10 degrees.

This is the region of Europe Wheelchair Wolfie, Rompuy the Poet, and Mad Merkel would like to behave more like Germany. Being here serves only to convince one that the EU is run by disturbed people, whose main aim in life seems to be to disturb others who would far rather be left alone.

And me? I’m as happy as Larry.