Our return to the UK from Spain was motivated by various factors; we were two years overdue our MOT, George had some medical necessities that couldn't be met in Spain, and we had a yearning for the English weather(!)
We encountered trouble pretty much immediately thanks to Juan (the landlord previously mentioned as an outstandingly nice guy) who turned out to better fit the stereotype of dodgy spaniard from the countryside, with his finger in many pies - including a Vetinary "practice" in which he mainly maimed/neglected animals. He decided we owed him money for a water bill, claiming we had been running the taps 24/7 and therefore owed him over 700 euros despite the fact that we had only had access to water for a few hours in the evening throughout August. After heated debate and attempts to reason with him by not only us, but his own wife, and some Spanish friends we called for support, we agreed to pay him half of the money just to get out of there. why pay? because he knew about our lack of MOT and threatened to call the police if we didn't.
On the road out of Cijuela, not even past Granada, we were pulled over by the same two members of the Guardia that often came to the bar for a beer with Juan.
It turned out our attempt to pay had bounced and he'd discovered this shortly after we left, getting straight on the blower to his Guardia mates. They searched high and low drugs tested and questioned us, and examined a laminated piece of nonsense we confidently handed them in lieu of legal papers for the truck. They bought it (their english was non-existent, phew!) and then the fat sweaty one got out a flick knife. 'Why do you have that knife?' we asked. 'It's my knife.' - an enlightening response, pretty sure police officers aren't permitted to just wang knives around but ok. He proceeded to walk around the truck, veering towards each wheel and looking surreptitiously over his shoulder at N, who was following him closely thanks to the quick thinking of G. This charade went on for a good few turns around and around the truck until the fat one got a bit tired and flustered and gave up.
After that we had a very jolly trip back to blighty, stopping at beautiful deserted lakes and familiar rivers until we reached the ferry, where we took to our cabin, feeling like we were on a cruise. We met a music teacher from our old school in Stroud on the boat - he was on a cycling trip. We gave him a lift on the other side, meeting his wife in a layby near Dursley to exchange him. Then onwards to the open arms and much needed bath of George's parents.