Memories of Alan Morris.
These stories are all just general memories of things I have done, people I have met, and places I have been to. Many of these memories just come back to me at different times, and I like to record them for when I can no longer remember them.
I hope some of them make you chuckle or maybe remind you of things from your past that you have enjoyed.
While browsing Farcebook in November 2022 I saw an advert from the Los Alcazares town hall advertising a lunchtime swim that they were organising on Boxing Day 2022. I thought it looked like fun and decided to give it a go.
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In 2019, I sold one of my apartments in Florida and looked at the cheapest way to send money back to invest in my pension fund. Flying to America turned out to be cheaper than wiring the money.
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SPICES was a group of friends that once a month went out for a meal at an Indian or Chinese restaurant. Sampling food from many of the area's best restaurants, the idea of the night was for lots of male bonding, laughing and storytelling. Tonight was the first night I had managed to join up with the group.
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At the end of August, I was feeling in pain and worried about my leg. I had a clot many years ago and wondered if that was what was causing the pain this time.
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I had spoken to my friends and family that live in Los Alcázares about the Tapas routes that they have been on, but I had never been on one.
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Not being very clever myself, I have managed to join a few very clever ladies and do a weekly quiz. They don't mind me sitting with them and throwing in the odd correct answer to make it look like I know something. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that four of the ladies with whom I entered the quiz were part of a barbershop harmony group known as the Pilarmonics.
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I used to go to the 'Who Do You Think You Are Show' every year when it was held at Earls Court in London. I used to travel to London and stay with my Uncle Dave for the weekend whilst going to the show. He has now moved to Birmingham, and strangely, the 'WDYTYAS' has also moved from London to Birmingham at the NEC.
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In 2014, I took a two-city break in Spain, staying in Madrid for a few days before travelling to Barcelona for a few days. My mum had been ill for a while, and I was taking a week's respite from being her carer.
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I got up this morning to discover I can't remember where the Christmas cards I had for my family had been secreted away. I bought them earlier in the year and put them away where prying eyes and little hands couldn't find them. The trouble is my normally perfect memory can't remember where I hid them.
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The year my dad passed away, I took my mum out to Florida for five weeks. A day or so after his funeral, I took her out to my home in Orlando. The idea was for me to put my home up for sale and get my mum away from the thousands of telephone calls she would expect from well-meaning relatives checking up on her.
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My dad, Brian Llewelyn Morris, died in Queen Alexandra Hospital in Cosham, Hampshire, England, in February 2005. He had been admitted to the hospital on my birthday in January of the same year.
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In 1996, I left the UK and lived in Orlando, Florida. I had left the employment of British Gas, taking a redundancy package that would help me live in America. This story is about what happened on my flight to Florida.
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In 1991, I went on a two-week holiday to Jamaica. I stayed in Negril in a tiny family-run hotel. It wasn't very well run. Apart from the barman at the poolside bar, most of the staff were mainly noticeable because of their absence.
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This ghost story is a short story but has stuck in my mind and I remember what happened vividly. It happened during a hospital stay when I lived in Fareham, Hampshire, England.
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I remember everything about the time leading up to this event, during this event and after with absolute clarity. I do not doubt that this happened as I describe it here.
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I was talking to a friend this week about jobs we have done previously, and I was reminded of this story when I fitted a gas meter in the wrong house in the 1980s.
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I have no memory of these stories other than what has been told to me by my parents, but I did have a significant role in them. They involved me as a baby and my grandmother, Doris Daniels, who had passed away sixteen days before I was born.
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