Cigarette smoke obscured the 'Prohibido Fumar' sign taped to the door of the bar La Casa Devante. The crowded bar hummed with chatter, the sound of clinking glasses drifting through a cloud of tobacco smoke. Antonio Poyato was the centre of attention and he struck a suitable heroic pose. Standing bolt upright with one foot on a chair, his finger raised to emphasise some point or other. Antonio was holding court before the local elections, summoning his followers and discussing policy. Once again Los Gente del Cerro were making a concerted attempt to gain control of the local council.

Across the other side of the village at the Bar El Golondrina Verde, on the Calle Mirador and opposite the olive mill a similar meeting was taking place. Here, Señor Fernando Rodriguez flushed with self importance and alcohol led Los Recién Venido's debate. It wasn't so much a debate but a series of foul mouthed rantings. Rodriguiz was a stupid man who believed himself to be astute and a superb business man. In reality he was offensive, obese and an arrogant bully. This made him dangerous to friends and foes alike.

The local election was likely to be the most divisive event in the recent history of the village. The renaming of the Calle Generalissimo was high on the agenda for Los Gente del Cerro. Los Recién Venido needed more land for Rodriguez's ubiquitous olive trees and they had earmarked the children’s play area. Policies designed to antagonise the opposition rather than any real practical purpose.

Both sides had checked the legality of their opponents candidates. Entries checked on the PadrĂłn Municipal and the Yo quiero estar censado oath verified. No technical fault became apparent so in true political tradition opposing campaigns of lies, slur and slander began.

Rodriguez addressed a crowd in the town square below the castle. He declared with mock dignity that he would not comment on the rumours that Poyato used recreation drugs. Poyato retaliated with a statement made from the steps of the ayuntamiento. He declared with a grave countenance and a politicians' sincerity. “I don't believe that Rodriguez was in any way responsible for the affliction that caused the goats belonging to José to walk only sideways”. It was all down hill from there.

Metaphoric mud was slung by one and all with the exception of Blyth Gruntmore. Gruntmore declared himself a candidate on an independent ticket. His very bad Spanish spoken with a strong Geordie accent made him incomprehensible in either language. The people of the village were very kind to him. They nodded agreement to his extraordinary utterances. As no one could understand him, no one could contradict nor challenge his words. Overjoyed with his performance he believed he was the only true voice of unity.

Los Recién Venido fielded five candidates as did Los Gente del Cerro, both groups hoping to take all of the seats on offer. Both groups claimed a strong local council could solve the problems of the village. Neither group realised that if they stopped telling lies about the other and told the truth it would do more damage. However truth telling is an alien concept to politicians.

Thursday was the last day of campaigning, then two rest days and the election on the coming Sunday. It was to be all out verbal war. Fronting for Los Gente del Cerro was Poyato and the girl Manuela known as La Comba, the bent one. She was indeed a dark girl in her soul as well as appearance. Her Mother tells the tale of Manuela as a child decapitating her toy dolls and keeping their heads under her mattress. Eminently qualified to be a politician.

A debate was to take place in the town square by the fountain. This was also directly outside the bar La Casa Devante. Here the young-bloods of Los Gente del Cerro had been in residence for most of the day, led, encouraged and orchestrated by Manuela.

With the fragrance of Bougainvillea, Wild Honeysuckle and badly maintained drains drifting in on the evening breeze the two protagonists mounted their respective podiums. Rodriguez and Poyato glared at each other, the gathering crowd, the village in general and in particular the noise coming from the semi inebriated in La Casa Devante. The pair had been steeling themselves all day. Poyato with his law books and constitutional papers. Rodriguez with local brandy unknowingly spiked with Matas´s Remitroot.

The initial round was quite witty, “You sir with either die on the gallows or of a nasty social disease”. “That depends sir, whether I embrace your principles or your mistress”. They came out with all the old favourites. It wasn't until Rodriguez, after another nip from his hip-flask declared, “Reality is a hallucination brought about by my absence”, did the proceedings liven up. He sank to his knees as the Remitroot took effect.

Manuela and her followers stormed the podium, lifting Rodriguez high in the air and depositing him unceremoniously into the fountain. Those with drinks emptied their glasses over him. He sat wet through, covered in wine and beer with a lopsided grin and vacant eyes. The Remitroot had kicked in.

The opposition Los Recién Venido in the crowd hurled stones and rocks at Poyato hitting him full on the temple. The steps he took were very large ones in the direction of Calle Horno and the safety of his home. He didn't surface during the two days of reflection prior to election day.

Friday and Saturday passed without incident as the law stated that no political activity should take place. The sun shone. Children played and birds endlessly circled the castle tower. A world free of politicians is indeed Utopia.

Sunday morning saw a mist in the valley. The night-time temperature inversion was peculiar to Alqueria and just another burden for the village folk. The ayuntamiento, a coveted stable with the town's museum on the top floor became the colegios electorales. Preparations were complete and the electorate duly cast their votes. This was a partisan affair and accordingly the turnout was high, almost ten percent. Democracy was still relatively new and the older people were still suspicious. With the Civil Guard present in numbers, the senior citizens of the village stayed indoors.

With the voting over, somewhat of an anticlimax after the events of last week the counting began. Poyato sporting a heroic head bandage, while Rodriguez strutted about full of his usual pomposity.

The divided village had a divided council, the only shock was the sympathy vote which went to Blyth Gruntmore. The only man who couldn't communicate in Spanish or English became the town Mayor. The remaining fours seats saw Poyato and Manuela for Los Gente del Cerro and Rodriguez and his underling yes-man Roberto Oakanez for Los Recién Venido.

A fifty fifty split with the incomprehensible foreigner as Mayor. Alqueria's future looked turbulent. Only time will tell if this exercise in democracy would be in the interests of the community as a whole.