Station to station

Perhaps the best translation of the Spanish expression 'perder el norte' is 'to lose the plot' as in 'Blimey, Dave's lost the plot - he's bought one of those coloured water beakers to keep himself hydrated all day.' More literally, it means that the person in question has lost the North as a geographical reference point. It's a pity there isn't another expression to refer to people who have never known where any geographical point is at all, because that part of their brain has been missing since birth. People like me.

Google maps is useless if you can't sense which way up you should be holding the phone and Spanish street sign putter-uppers seem to have developed a knack of missing out the ones that are most important on any given journey. So it was that I found myself outside Fuengirola train station, needing to be at the main police station, contemplating asking somebody where it was. The thing is, the general public isn't used to being asked anything by total strangers anymore because, in theory, everyone has the answer to everything they could ever wish to ask available on the electronic rectangle that's constantly digging uncomfortably into their upper thigh. Or maybe that's just me. Anyway, not wanting to alarm any member of the general public, I thought I'd ask ChatGPT. That was fun.

"I'm outside Fuengirola train station and need to be at the national police station." The fact that the answer started with "Great!" wasn't, erm, a great start. Trying to be a clever clogs, I used shop names to ask for guidance rather than risk any missing street signs. After ten minutes of positive vibes and over-confident instructions from my new buddy, I found myself within yards of where I'd started. There was, however, no dampening ChatGPT's enthusiasm.

"Fantastic! That means you've looped around to near your starting point." This obviously wasn't fantastic but it was clear the programming had been done by some Americans, so there wasn't much point in debating the issue. At least nothing had been "Awesome!" yet. Little victories.

Having originally arrived with plenty of time to spare, I was, by now, cutting it fine thanks to my misplaced faith in a technological halfwit.

However, not far away, there were a couple of old boys sitting on a bench shooting the breeze. Surely, they must remember the olden days when total strangers talked to each other and wouldn't be frightened out of their wits by a bloke sporting a ridiculous village fair straw hat (it's a long story). I approached.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, do you know where the national police station is?" One of them stood up (always a good sign) and gave directions so clear and to the point that even I was able to grasp them at the first hearing. I thanked them profusely and toddled off victorious.

One of the men said "You're welcome", the other muttered something I didn't catch. I can only trust it wasn't "Awesome!"

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