Well, not if I have my way they won’t.
Before we bought this finca the wide verge on the top road was a well known spot for nocturnal encounters of both the romantic and the commercial kind.
Gradually, what used to be lines of cars have dwindled to a few individuals and this winter they had disappeared altogether.
However, summer is with us and traditionalists are trying to keep up old customs.
I do not care in the least what people get up to on the verge of the top road…as far as I am concerned they can have a full scale Roman orgy on the Cecil B. de Mille scale complete with female flute players and acrobats.
I also know that with the close knit nature of family life in rural Costa Rica the minute that young lovers booked themselves into one of the twenty four hour hotels of the area their grannies would know in an instant so often the car in a back road is the only means of obtaining a little privacy.
Equally, the ladies of the night find that their clients do not wish to shell out for a room…
However, I am fed up with the orgiasts who shower their rubbish on the verge and inside my property where the dogs and the sheep can get at it.
It might make a sociological study to examine the rubbish thus deposed…from the nature of it, could you reach conclusions about the social status of the nocturnal noshers?
Fast food containers, chicken bones, plastic bags, cans of beer, mixers and soft drinks prevail…together with the ubiquitous used condoms.
I used to go out with a strong torch and one of the Staffies, but I am getting to an age when struggling into the dressing gown, finding the shoes and harnessing up Einstein or Bunter is getting to be rather too much of a performance, not to speak of the distance down the drive and along the boundary, so I asked for advice on Facebook as to how to set up a strong searchlight as a deterrent…and had many interesting suggestions following which I asked Don Freddy if his electrician son had any ideas.
Yes, he had several, including electrifying the fence.
I rejected that as I would be sure to forget to turn the thing off and end up electrocuting myself, so he agreed to set up a light with a cable and a switch on the balcony.
How, he asked, would I know that the cars were there without some photocell thing which any passing animal would switch on.
Because Einstein snoozes on the balcony on summer nights and he strongly objects to cars which stop in the area of the house.
Cars which pass are fine.
Cars which stop are not.
Accordingly Don Freddy’s son set up the light on a tree well inside the property…in case some bright spark should steal it.
Einstein, roused from slumbers, barks. Going to the window I see tail lights being switched off, so switch on my floodlight.
Crumbs! Don Freddy’s son has excelled himself! You could play a Test Match under it!
The car moves off.
One more turns up later…same gravy.
Einstein barks. The sheep, whose pen is close to the road, are also disturbed.
No sign of tail lights, but I switch on the light anyway to illuminate a lithe two legged shape inside my property legging it for the boundary fence with a solid four legged shape rapidly gaining on it.
The four legged shape wins and the night is full of noise and fury…noise from the two legged who is hooked up on the wire in fine World War I style and fury from the four legged who is endeavouring to push him bodily into it.
Monty is loose.
No, I do not have a photograph of Monty in action – you would have to have a screw loose to hang about when he is – but from an abandoned lamb brought up on the bottle he has become a well muscled patriarch with a fine territorial instinct and a murderous temperament.
Someone comes along the road to extricate the intruder and there is a noise as of a car pulling away from somewhere down the hill to leave the night to silence…and to Monty.
Don Freddy’s son was right…someone had tried to steal the light. Might be a frustrated orgiast, might just be one of the local druggies after something to sell to feed his habit.
I await night three.