By the time you read this, it will be less than two weeks until Bernice and I fly off to Portugal again. Once again we are flying to Madrid, which, at the time of booking, was still significantly cheaper than flying to Lisbon. This time we land mid-morning and drive straight to Penamacor, where a comfortable bed is waiting. Unfortunately, we probably won’t get a chance to see that bed until many hours later, but, just as long as we can continue hitting the ground running, we’re up for it.

We booked the flight some time ago; at the same time, I booked a rental car. The price was outrageous, but, since it was less than 60% of what we had paid on our last trip, I felt we had got a bargain. (You may remember that car rental prices went through the roof because a worldwide shortage of thingamyjigs – caused either by Covid or by Ever Given getting wedged in the Suez Canal, or by the grain harvest in Ukraine, or by something else – meant that no new cars were being produced.)

Last week, Bernice and I suddenly realized that we were flying in three weeks! So, Bernice set off to hunt for all of the items that the kids can’t get in their neck of the woods in Portugal (or can’t get with the authentic flavour) – Turkish coffee with cardomam, dates, date syrup, and suchlike. Meanwhile, I reviewed our paperwork to see what still needed doing. There were three main things I had to do. One was to renew my international driving licence – which I can do at an optician in our local mall, in five minutes, for a nominal charge. Friends tell us that the licence is now valid for three years, rather than just one, as it has always been, and I plan to do that tomorrow. The second was to make sure I had a five-week supply of meds to take abroad, which, with our computerised health system, was fairly straightforward.

Finally, I had to take out travel insurance. This is usually something of an ordeal. We have an excellent insurance agent, who always finds us the best deal. However, issuing the policy involves a conference call between our agent, the insurer, and myself, in which I am asked seven or eight questions about Bernice’s medical condition, and three or four hundred questions about my own medical condition.

With each trip, answering these questions gets more complicated, both because I have usually acquired at least one new condition, and because I have usually experienced a deterioration in mental ability. Add to this the fact that anyone who spends much of her working day asking people whether they suffer from atrial fibrillation or other cardial arrhythmia tends to enunciate these medical terms (or their Hebrew equivalent) with less precision and at more of a rush than I can comfortably cope with. Suffice to say that I come out of these twenty-minute interrogations exhausted.

Out of the kindness of their hearts, the insurers this time waived the general health statement signed by our family doctor that they normally require. All they really demanded was my credit card details. As always, Bernice’s medical insurance is costing a modest sum, and mine? Well, let’s just say that whatever I save on the international driving licence won’t cover it!

At this point, I reviewed our car rental contract, and was struck by just how much we were paying. I decided that it was worth checking to see whether I couldn’t get a better deal. After all, with car rental these days, everyone knows it is always possible to cancel up to 48 hours before your rental begins and get a full refund. So, I checked online, and found an equivalent rental (which we shall call B2) for about 2500 shekels less than our existing booking (B1). I naturally booked B2, then went back to B1 to cancel it. Which is when I discovered that, contrary to what everyone knows, if I chose to cancel B1 I would be charged a modest cancellation fee, and issued a refund in the form of a voucher, redeemable against one or more car rentals, over a period of 24 months. I was rather miffed about that, not least because it tied me to this booking agency probably for another three bookings, until the voucher was fully redeemed.

At the same time, I realized that I had no real choice. Having failed to read the small print when I originally booked B1, I had to bite the bullet now, by searching on the original booking agency for the best deal (B3), cancelling B1, booking B3 through the original booking agency, using part of the voucher, then cancelling B2.

Which is what I did. Cancelling B1 was easy. I was then able to find exactly the same deal with the same rental company as I had used for B2, and so booking B3 was also straightforward, until I came to the Payment screen. I applied the voucher number, and then spent five minutes watching the little mouse circle rotate gracefully. At that point I decided that I would utilize this dead waiting time in cancelling B2, which I proceeded to do. After I had completed the cancellation, I was taken to a screen that asked me why I was cancelling. I decided that I did not want the company to think there was anything wrong with their side of the deal, so I wrote a sentence explaining that I had discovered I had a voucher which I wanted to redeem.

I then returned to B3, where the circle was still rotating gracefully.

Please excuse what reads like an interruption but will, as you will discover, fold seamlessly into our story. My phone seems to have entered its teenage years, and now wilfully* and at random ignores my wishes. Its latest trick was to define, in Settings, to cancel the call ringtone. This has meant that I have missed a number of calls. (If any was from you, I apologise.) I have now changed the setting, but, at the time I am writing about, I had not yet discovered the problem. I simply thought I had missed calls. My policy, when I discovered a missed call, was to return it only if it was from a number I recognized.

Back to the main story. After another few minutes of watching the circle rotate, I decided to use the time to sort out, on the phone, an administrative detail that I needed for a medical appointment that I have made for just after we return from Portugal. (When people ask what I do now I am retired, I don’t like to say that my principal hobby is medical appointments: researching, making, gathering paperwork for, attending, following up on and reporting back to my family doctor on them.) I called, navigated my way through the automatic system, and was informed that I was fourth in the queue. Ten minutes later, I was down to second in the queue, and the circle was still going round.

At this point, my phone informed me that I had an incoming call. I didn’t recognize the number, but decided that I had plenty of time to take it. (Don’t tell me that men can’t multitask! I can sit around waiting simultaneously for at least two things to happen, no sweat!) A pleasant young man with what sounded like a Spanish accent asked me if I was David Brownstein. I guardedly confirmed the fact. He then said: ‘I see that you have just cancelled a booking with us and you are trying to book again. Let me help you. I’ll make the booking for you, deduct the correct amount from your refund voucher, and arrange for the balance to be credited to your credit card!’ I tried to conceal my astonishment and delight, and assured him that this would be wonderful. I confirmed that I could simply cancel the attempted booking of B3, where the circle was still rotating, and he would do the rest, sending me a confirmation email.

And that, dear reader, is what happened. I less than gracefully exited B3, and, within a minute, received a confirmation email for B4, followed by the actual booking voucher. The confirmation email stated that the processing of the refund of the balance on the voucher would take two or three days, to which Bernice said: ‘Yeah! Sure! Let’s wait and see.’

Then, on Friday, I received another email, stating that the refund had been processed, and I should expect to see it on my statement a few days later. And, lo and behold, this (Sunday) morning there it is!

This, of course, is where the interruption six paragraphs ago becomes relevant. If I had not been already on another call when the agent phoned, I would not have realized he was phoning, because my phone would not have rung. If I had not been on a call where I was queuing, I would not have taken his call, because I did not recognize the number. If I had not taken his call, it is very possible that the circle would, at some point, have finished going round, my B3 would have been completed, and we would now be left with a voucher with a considerable sum of money tied up on it.

Which explains this week’s title. Some days, the saying has it, you’re the windscreen, and some days you’re the fly. Today we are undeniably a windscreen. Hope your week goes as well!

Meanwhile, here’s the latest from Penamacor, where Tao is hard at work, digging to Australia. (The next time Tao is featured, I won’t have to ask Micha’el to send a picture – I’ll be able to take one myself, God willing. How much better can things get!)

*Note to American readers: we spell it ‘wilfully’ in Britain, however wrong it looks to you.