When I first visited Mallorca - around 30 years ago - the islanders seemed to be rather short people. That impression was confirmed when our search for an old finca revealed some perilously low doorways.
At Ca'n Pastor, we had to change the entrance to the kitchen. Being somewhat short myself, the low doorway was no problem, but The Boss is taller and didn't fancy cracking his skull every time he walked between the dining room and kitchen. With very little effort from us - and quite a lot of sledgehammer-swinging by a couple of Argentinians - we became the proud owners of a high archway, ensuring that even our tallest visitors would remain concussion-free.
But the low front door was a different matter, because right above it is the keystone - which couldn't be moved. We'd have to learn to duck - some of us more than others. And there's nothing like experience to ram a lesson home.
At the time, Telefonica was denying our existence, so we relied on our mobile phones. But there was no signal in the house and, in fact, only one spot outside where we could get service. Awaiting an important phone call, The Boss had left his phone perched on the garden wall, while he was in the kitchen discussing pipework possibilities with Miguel Angel the gas-fitter.
When a sudden yell came from the dining room, I rushed through to find Miguel Angel - wrench in hand - crouched over a prone, blood-spattered body. Surely their discussion hadn't come to blows?
No, hearing the phone ring outside, The Boss had rushed to answer it, forgetting the low door and smacking his head on the lintel above it. The gushing head wound and subsequent thumping headache proved to be a very salutary lesson.
For the record, Manacor hospital does a nice line in head staples . . .
Copyright Jan Edwards 2008
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