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eBook Category: Travel/General Nonfiction
eBook Description: It's the peak of orange harvesting season at the Kerrs' little farm in the entrancing Tramuntana Mountains of Mallorca, and the family are trying to relax into their new life on the sunny Spanish island. But it's also crunch time and, after an eventful first year, hard facts have to be faced. Will all the work they've invested in restoring their finca provide them with a decent living, or will their dream turn into a nightmare? Will Peter's new-found aptitude for manananess delay their home improvement projects indefinitely, or will long-suffering Ellie get her new swimming pool? Will 19-year-old Sandy return to Scotland, while young Charlie is seduced by Mallorca's super-rich yachting set? Despite encounters with wry customs officers and wily tradesmen, the Kerrs' sense of humour remains irrepressible.

eBook Publisher: Summersdale Non Fiction/Summersdale Travel
Fictionwise Release Date: October 2006

?Your animal is illegal, señor.? ?Illegal? How can this be illegal?? ?Hombre, it is a public health hazard!? The customs officer was adamant, and he swept a finger under his heavy, black moustache to prove it. ?Without the proper certificado, it cannot be granted entry into Spain.? I thought Jock Burns was about to burst a blood vessel. ?The proper certificate?? ?Sí, señor. Un certificado oficial.? The officer brushed his moustache in the other direction to emphasise the point. ?Es absolutamente necesario!? Jock gave a little laugh. One of those nervous little laughs that you'd expect to be released by a homicidal maniac about to do chainsaw topiary work on a fellow human. ?But, for Pete?s sake, man,? he spluttered, ?who the hell ever heard of a certified haggis, for crying out loud?? It was the time of year that Mallorcans call Las Calmas de Enero, The Calms of January, a few winter days that invariably take on the quiet qualities of spring on that most enchanting of Mediterranean islands. But the spirit of Las Calmas had exited Palma Airport the moment Jock had been stopped and his suitcase opened by the official at the gate in International Arrivals. ?You should have declared possession of this, señor,? he?d said, gingerly peeling back the shroud of tinfoil covering Jock?s jumbo-size haggis. ?Animales, dead or alive, are not allowed entry without the necessary paperwork.? He'd then taken a closer look at the haggis, his top lip curling in undisguised disapproval. ?Pigs are especially prohibited. The risk of swine fever or foot-and-mouth disease. Coño! A potential disaster for the pig farmers of Mallorca!? ?A haggis is not a pig!? Jock snapped. ?In fact, it?s not even a bloody animal!? ?It looks like a dead piglet to me.? The customs officer leaned back and inhaled a cautious, one-nostril sniff. ?Sí, and it smells like one, too!? I could hear Jock slowly counting to ten under his breath. ?Mira, amigo,? he eventually purred, smiling coldly at the customs man while reaching out a hand to whip the entire covering of tinfoil from the haggis. ?Look closely, my friend,? he crooned in flawless Spanish. ?Do you see any legs, trotters, a head with an apple in its mouth, tusks, a snout, a curly tail?? Jock paused. The customs officer looked at the haggis as closely as he thought prudent, raised a cynical eyebrow, then shook his head ? warily. ?Or,? Jock continued, his voice rising with the colour in his cheeks, ?do you perceive evidence of a pig?s eye, or even a pig?s arsehole, perhaps??