Indicators in Flaming June

I suspect they’re called something else in the United States - flashers, winkers? Turn signals, that would be it.
Anyway, just after you buy a 2nd hand vehicle, there’s that period of time when you think ”Did I buy a pup?” and you notice everything, every tick of the motor, any drip of oil, a squeak or even a click as the clutch lever returns to it’s position -”Did I get ripped off?” and the chances are you didn’t, all that happened was - you bought a 17 year old motorbike for €1800 and it doesn’t quite run like new.
Last night though, I rode out to El Mazón, what happened to that place? There used to be a half dozen English bars there, with Union Jacks outside and signs saying ”Barry and Maureen’s“ and colour photos of Full English Breakfasts.
I didn’t frequent them too often obviously, I’m far too snobby for that kind of thing, I pride myself on my integration and clumsy-but-fluent Spanish.
But for the football - if you want to watch England play, or any Premiership games - then you have two choices 1) get to an English bar 2) have satellite tv installed in your house.
So what has happened to El Mazón? I parked the bike and walked up and down the high street. Den’s has turned into El Rinconcito de algo. Spainsbury’s has disappeared.
Finally, slightly off the beaten track, towards the beach I found the Paradise bar, with the tell-tale signs I was looking for. The union jack menus, the dart board, the big screen and the blackboard announcing ”England v Scotland - 20:45 - Friday” and I rode home, almost contented for the first time that day.
Why is contentment this elusive? There’s really nothing to be discontent about. Or so I thought, until my right-hand turn signal started flickering, spasmodically. On, then not at all. Then a flicker. Then nothing.
Fortunately, indicators in Spain are more of a suggestion, less of an obligation, no one seems to take them very seriously.
But I do. Not because I need to let people know where I’m going so much (although on a bike, it’s more important.)
But because I hate that sinking feeling ”the bike’s a pup”. “It’s going to be one thing after another”.
It was dark when I got home, so I parked up and left it til morning. I’m getting better at that. Swiching off, although a small part of my mind still fretting.

This morning I looked first thing, flicking the switch this way and that, twisting the cables, prying for a loose connection - and then I discovered - in the left position there’s no problem, the indicators work. In the right position, if I push the switch all the way over, there’s a flicker, a malfunction. But if I just push it halfway to the right - then it just works.
I tried it 5 times. I tried it 10 times. Just push it half way.
And that will do, for now at least.

And there is contentment in that. That I have no greater problems pressing down on me. How lucky does that make me, really?
And football tonight.