Village life in Andalucia

The day I left England, got into my car under the gaze of the CCTV. I drove to the supermarket, trying to avoid being photographed by speed cameras. Walking through Tesco’s car park surveillance I entered the world of the in-store security cameras and made my purchases. I paid by card which noted the time and amount of the transaction and I received a receipt on which was recorded the detail of my purchases so that Tesco could send me intrusive emails suggesting what else I might “like”. Waving goodbye to the cameras I made my way via speed traps into the train station’s camera surveillance and from there to the Southern Train’s anti-vandalism carriage video system. This took me to airport security where, under the cameras, the process of regulation and control began to assume a human face.

The border guards that keep us safe from terrorism and protect our liberties decided to take my luggage apart. “Books!” They gave me a suspicious look as though I had conspired with person or persons unnamed. “Ah, birds eggs of Britain and Europe” said the female goon, passing it to her testosterone laden companion “You’ll like this” “Ah!” he retorted “The shorter Pepys, I see!” Short but presumably deadly, like a Deringer. “A very eclectic collection” he whispered as though broad mindedness had just become an offence. They went through my personal effects item by item. Intrusively, offensively, passing comments as they did so.They handled each item with obscene intimacy like a priest handling a child’s bottom.
“And why are you going to Malaga Sir?” inquired the officeress “Off for a bit of sun?”
“No I don’t like the sun” I replied “I’m going for the surveillance”. “There isn’t any”.
Narrowly escaping a full body search and the temporary confiscation of my passport, the usual punishment for members of the public who are less than ingratiating to customs officers, I boarded the plane.

Three hours later I was standing in the darkness on the edge of Malaga airport. Due to the expansion of the site (14million passenger throughput increasing to 26 million in five years) and the building of a motorway, it looks as though it has been hit by a bomb. I sat in my car, noting the isolated road trailing across an expanse of bare churned earth lit by small pools of light supended from temporary lamposts. Nowhwere to hang a camera. In later, darker times, lovers and conspirators would have to plan the new world in places like this. As I took to the road and headed for the hills I was confident that, whatever electronic trail I had set up in the UK, this would be where it disappeared. . . .