Nena Polaris

Oh my goodness

2011-04-11T22:28:00.000+02:00

RoboCop - I spent half an hour trying to persuade it to take my 6,30 euros

Oh my goodness. I went to a slimming club this evening. Came out with a lighter wallet and a wadge of things to read. Got a parking ticket for being a blonde and not realising it. Council offer of the day was fork out 60 euros at the police station or pay 6,30 on the spot. I opted for the second. Several other blondes had parked next to me so I felt a lot better.
At the slimming club I have been paired up with another lady, Christine, so that we don't let our partners down. We swapped phone numbers so we can encourage each other. I found the British atmosphere a little alien particularly that baked beans seem to be allowed with everything. It made me realise I have become quite the native. A lot of useful information including how to make a tortilla de patatas (Spanish omelette) without olive oil. I can't begin to imagine what The Artist would say about that.
Came home and had two glasses of cava and a pizza. Am now off to bed to read up info wadge and see where pizza fits in. Joking apart, I start tomorrow. Before my knees and hips give out forever. I've been given a 1kg goal to lose this week. Even I should be able to manage that.
No weather report - got a new widget on the side of the page that does it all for me.

It’s the little things in life

2011-01-26T22:05:00.002+01:00

The alloy centre that goes inside my 17 215/40 tyre - whatever that means

I’VE BEEN saving up to replace two tyres on the car. It might sound ridiculous but if your car comes fitted with huge, fat tyres that give you traction like a tank and help your car guzzle petrol you’ll know they don’t come cheap. For those in the know they’re 17 215/40 tyres. If that's you, please email me and explain what this means.

Anyway the village taller or garage ordered what I needed and today was the day. We confabbed. Or rather I asked and Paco answered.

“So what’s the plan? New tyres on the front?"

Paco rubbed his blackened hand across his face. Amazingly he didn’t get a sooty chin. The black must be embedded.
“Naaah. Best put the new ones on the back to stop it sliding around.”

An enlightened “Ah” from me in reply.

Paco explained – back tyres on the front, new tyres on the back, old tyres in the bin. And off he went.

I watched him change the first one and asked him if it was normal these days if someone (like me) couldn’t change their own tyre.
“Yes, especially if you have to do this” he replied as he whacked the jammed back tyre off with a large metal pipe. Something I don’t carry in the car. I also saw how he dismantled the alloy drums from the rubber bits and felt old when I discovered that inner tubes had gone the way of the choke and other now-obsolete motoring bits.

Then I wandered off, rather bored, and let them get on with it.

There’s a bakery two doors down and it was tea time so couldn’t resist taking a look at what was on offer. I came out clutching a bag full of calories, mainly in the form of small Argentinean meat empanadas or pasties, having made friends with the bakeress (yes, I know but I like the sound of bakeress). Thought I could tempt the Hockey Star when I got home and of course I’d help him out.

Here in Spain, and no doubt elsewhere, some small shopkeepers aren’t too fussed about the appearance of their businesses or themselves. I’ve been in quite a few soulless places, too depressing to want to hang around in, even less buy anything. But this bakery was different. The affable lady behind the counter knew the neighbourhood customers by name. She was middle-aged, short and rotund. Her tightly bunned hair was the canary yellow colour of home dye, but it had been carefully applied and there wasn’t a grey hair in sight. Her full lips were tidily painted a deep red and her eyebrows pencil-thin.

The shop was warm and clean. The bread was displayed appetisingly in large bins behind her and every counter was groaning with carefully wrapped cakes, biscuits, pastries, croissants – the lot. To one side of the counter was a large fabric-lined basket full of eggs carefully laid out on a bed of straw. She’d obviously taken a lot of care to entice buyers to spend. She told me when they baked the empanadas, twice repeating the days they were made – Mondays, Wednesdays and Sunday mornings - because she wanted to make sure I would return. I will I told her.

Temptation lay all around....

They were still busy back at the taller but an old friend from the children’s nursery school days had shown up with a tyre that had a mysterious slow puncture. We stood by the row of lame cars and tried to catch up on several years of news. The more we talked the slower Paco worked. The more we joked, the wider Paco’s smile got.
“He’s in stitches,” said Regina as Paco went off with another tyre.
We did kids, education, financial climate, lack of jobs and other local empanada salespoints in a flash. Menopause, hysterectomies, age, aches and pains and frightening health stories took quite a bit longer. We women of a certain age seem to be a tad fixated on these things lately. Can’t think why. We parted ways, perhaps for another couple of years.

I drove home content. I’d got my new tyres and a safer car. The Hockey Star wasn’t going to skid round corners any more. My wallet had fainted at bill-paying time but I was looking forward to a glass of tinto and I’d make a toast to the little things in life, may I recognise and enjoy them when they come my way. And another to all the different people who cross my path every day and make it richer.

Ah, and another to Argentinean empanadas …yum. Think I'll open another bottle of wine.

Weather today: Cold, overcast with some showers. Wind has dropped. We appear to be on the path of several low pressure trains again, just like last year. High 13ºC/55ºF. Low 9ºC/48ºF. SE 21 km/h. Pressure 1005 mb and dropping. Relative humidity 80%. UV Index 2. Snow above 1,400 m.

I’d recognise that face anywhere

2011-01-20T22:16:00.000+01:00

FROM time to time in our little village, a desperate pet owner pastes lampposts, walls, in fact anything that doesn’t move, with A4 photocopies of their lost animal. Usually they’re dogs. Some offer a small reward, others don’t. All profess to the family’s love for Fido, and of his delicate health which will suffer without the proper medication. In fact this last fact is such a recurring one that I’ve decided that either there is a senior-dog napper in our midst or a secret Korean restaurant has opened up with a fistful of clients with a penchant for tough mutt.

I’ve never heard of any of the animals being found, though they could have been. As the weeks pass the ink on the posters runs in the rain; the paper goes brown in the sun and the wind rips it to shreds until it flaps itself violently off its support. Interestingly Fido is never worth a colour photocopy. Just black and white.

Today The American and I took our morning constitutional to pick up the daily newspapers. A bit of exercise, a chat and a quick bark at the newsagent (a technique I learned off a Yorkshire Terrier a few days ago so it’s still a joke which has The American, The Newsagent and I rolling around rather pathetically). Overnight a new A4 photocopy had hit our streets but surprisingly this time it is for a lost eagle. Yes, an eagle. And the caring owner had even included a photo of his bird. I studied it for a moment while The American strided ahead (he has long legs).

“Hey O!”, I shouted. “Take a look at this”.

He backtracked. We looked at the poster. “Now there’s a face I’d recognise anywhere” I said. Hoots of laughter. The joys of sharing the same warped sense of humour. I thought the outline of an eagle in flight might be more useful. After all I was hardly going to come face to face with our feathered friend and we have eagles and other indigenous birds of prey flying around these mountains and I don’t think I’m the only one who’d have trouble knowing one from the other.

We walked on. I struggled with the ethics of returning our buddy to captivity should he land unsuspectingly on my shoulder. After all he’d made a successful break for freedom. Would he be able to feed himself? The American thought so. Thought the eagle’s natural instinct would kick in. I do hope so. We mused over the situation.

“Kinda like returning a slave to captivity” said The American after a while.

Fly on feathered friend. Hope you’re enjoying your new-found freedom.

Sorry, no weather included today. TV weather forecast just starting. Sad I know.

A white Christmas at last

2010-12-29T00:45:00.000+01:00

No dreaming needed here, everything was white

Mini Mama's incredibly delicious gingerbread cookies

Sigh. Back to work although I had a marvellous Christmas in the UK. My first white Christmas since I was about six years old although I didn’t have as much fun in the snow this time. Back then I was an energetic little madame and revelled in the stuff. Now I’m post hysterectomy, of a ripe age and worried about ripping my stitches, so no snowman building, snowball fights or treks through the countryside, but plenty of laughs inside the house instead.

We almost didn't make the trip what with Heathrow being snowed in, but after much nail-biting, and angst-ridden moments the Hockey Star and I flew into LHR just as the snow passenger back log cleared.

Literally the first day the airport was just about back to normal.

Before we started our journey I had the uncomfortable feeling we were ‘flying into the storm’, especially after our flight the day before was cancelled. But we got away with just a three-hour delay. The HS carried cases, hand luggage, coats, the lot – he trundled along endless kilometres of airport passages laden down like a Tibetan sherpa’s donkey while I, Lady Muck, swanned along behind him. I could get used to this "I've just had an operation" lark. Still he carried out his task in good humour.

Even so I was surprised just how tiring I found the trip.

Waiting for us at the other end were Mini Mama, Grammy and Grampa, The Beast, Auntie and The Boys (three of my nephews).

Roads were icy and fields covered in snow so it was batten down the hatches and enjoy the company. Mini Mama had baked her heart out and Grammy had a fine menu prepared. Christmas trees sparkled in every room; games were on the table; presents were stacked high; CD choirs were harking the heralds and the fire was lit, though not perhaps roaring, and we truly had a memorable time.

But before we knew it, the Hockey Star and I had been hurtled back across the sky courtesy of BA and Iberia, who were good enough to bring our cases along. And here we are – back in our daily bubble – having said a sad farewell to the family, especially to Mini Mama.

The Artist, who knows what a good appetite I have, was waiting to meet us off the plane, armed with homemade soup, crusty bread and a large leg of Serrano ham which sent the Hockey Star into a frenzy.

Alas, today I have returned to the office in the midst of a deadline and wheeled myself back behind my desk hoping no one would notice I was back.

The day has gone well, although I haven’t resolved the problem yet of how to wish readers a Happy New Year when the splash is about a massive 10% electricity price hike that comes into force on January 1. Plus a gas price hike too.

After all you can't write "Happy New Year"and right underneath have Price Hike Start to 2011. Sounds sort of sarky or contradictory. Will try to resolve tomorrow - my brain cell is about as nimble as a farmer whose welly has got stuck in the mud. I’m sure it’s been knocked for six by the anaesthetic. I’m just hoping it’ll get back to normal some time soon because this floundering feeling is very disconcerting.

Weather today: Grey, grey, grey – but hey, a lot warmer than the UK where we spent Christmas. High 17ºC/63ºF. Low 9ºC/48ºF. Wind, easterly 14kms/h. Pressure 1016 mb and dropping. Relative humidity 67%. UV Index 2. 15% chance of rain. Snow above – They’re not saying. Perhaps because they don’t expect any.

A milestone day

2010-12-01T21:09:00.001+01:00

A short walk and I was exhausted

YES, today has been a bit of a milestone day in my hysterectomy recovery. Given that the sun finally came out and looked like it was staying out for a while I decided to put into action my plan to get some exercise to help me get stronger.

Doctor said I should walk, on the flat. Trouble is I have to go uphill to get to the flat. Hmm, what to do? Drive or walk to flat bit? I decided my midriff is too sore still to wear a seatbelt and I needed to move the old skeleton so I took to the road to walk up to the flat bit. At my usual slow pace this takes 5 minutes. But at my convalescent snail speed it took me 15 minutes. When I got to the flat bit, I was exhausted.

Literally.

Dizzy, shaky and exhausted.

Luckily the office is right there so I was able to sit down for a while and catch up with The American and Miss Moneypenny before The American kindly drove me home.

The results of this outing threw me because I had been wondering whether I was fit to go back to work this week. And it seems that I might not be.

Of course if I am lying around like Lady Muck, or sitting on my bottom in a comfy chair then I'm keen but anything more energetic than a bit of lounging and I'm wiped out. Am now in a dither as to what to do but will see what the doctor says tomorrow.

Second grand event was this evening. The Hockey Star has left to visit The Girlfriend in Holland, but without throwing the rubbish out first. Given that the whiff was maturing rapidly in intensity (I don't want to discuss how long it had been waiting to be thrown out) I took the bit between the teeth and drove the car up the hill, sans seatbelt, to throw it away. Found getting in and out of the car quite tough.

But hey, I did both so although less well than I would have liked, I got there. And I now have a plan. To drive to flat bit, then do some walking. I know I will get very tired, but if I do a little each day it should help me get stronger. It's strange feeling like a wimp.

Oh, and PS - Morning TV was all about feet today - and yes, it was interesting and yes, this is definitely an age thing. I couldn't imagine any health programmes would have been of interest to me at 20.

Weather today: Overcast and heavy showers first thing but the sky cleared around 11am and stayed that way for the rest of the day. We even had some sunshine! High 15ºC/59ºF. Low 9ºC/48ºF. Here there is some debate Aemet internet site says southerly 40kms/h, other sources say westerly 29 km/h and the RTVE gizmo here at the left of the this blog says NW 12kms/h. Based on my sucked-finger-in-the-air report I’d go with the wind dying out over the course of the day. Pressure 982 mb and stable. Relative humidity 67%. UV Index 2. Snow above 1,200 m.

Morning TV

2010-12-01T01:12:00.001+01:00

PISTOL start this morning for The Artist, so while he rushed around getting ready to leave for the big city I made coffee and toast for breakfast. The Hockey Star was long gone when we got up, catching the seven o'clock bus to the university. It was stilllll raining so I spent another day holed up at home (video of Saturday's deluge included today). At one point I thought of foolishly going for my muscle-stretching short walk but decided it wasn't worth the risk of coming down with some lurgy.

Especially after I discovered that I'd had almost 45% of my salary discounted for being on sick leave.

Now I feel very sick.

During my convalescence, especially while in the vegetative stage, I discovered morning TV and also, rather depressingly, that every morning the new health topic was of interest. One morning it was arthritis (who luckily I've not had the acquaintance but The Artist has), then high blood pressure, menopause, then pelvic floor muscles. Need I go on?

This obsession with health is very senior-citizenish and must stop. I must try and will myself into a younger frame of mind if a younger body isn't possible.

Weather today: Overcast and rain most of the day, clearing during the evening but everything is so soggy outside. High 13ºC/55ºF. Low 10ºC/50ºF. WNW breeze 9 km/h. Pressure 982 mb and stable. Relative humidity 87%. UV Index 2. Snow above 1,200 m.

It never rains, it pours

2010-11-29T15:19:00.001+01:00

A LOT of water has gone under the bridge since I last wrote. Most of it on Saturday and today. The first rain since the summer and it's tipping it down out there. It's a great afternoon to be home, warm and cosy, and not have to venture out, but yesterday, after a very soggy Saturday, The Artist and I went for a short and slow walk around the village.

It was one of those sparkly, crystal clear, bright autumn days - chilly in the shade but bliss in the sunshine.
My first leisurely outing since my hysterectomy op three weeks ago.

The Artist succumbed to a Spanish breakfast of churros (fried dough strips) while I munched a pitufo catalana (small bread roll with grated tomato, olive oil and serrano ham), the sun warming my back while we read the Sunday papers and sipped hot, black coffees. Eventually, as the tapas and lunch crowd started arriving, we hobbled off around the village. I made it to the church and back although we stopped a couple of times to rest on nearby benches, watching the world go by for a few minutes. It was a glimpse of old age, if we're lucky enough to get there.

Making the most of what the day offers!

Up by the church we leaned over the railings (wrapped up in jumpers and scarves) to admire the view down to the sea and found a woman making the most of the sunshine, stripped down to her bikini, in a quiet, sheltered (but overlooked) spot by a stream running through the gardens immediately below our vantage point. I don't think she's there today.

It felt good to be back in the world and although I was tired after our outing, I felt a lot better for it.

We knocked back a small beer on another sun-soaked bar terrace before making our way back to the car and home. I'm definitely beginning to feel better.

Weather today: Local orange alert for heavy rain fall until 6pm. This means we’re expecting approx. 3 cms rain in any given hour and around 8 cms of rain over 12 hours. High 13ºC/55ºF. Low 9ºC/48ºF. Easterly wind 19-36 km/h. Pressure 982 mb and descending. Relative humidity 94% and 85% chance of rain (Err, it’s been raining all day so I think they stopped short on that one). UV Index 2. Snow above 1,600 m.

I've added the rtve.es weather link to my blog today although it's sadly lacking in information and won't always say the same as my note here, which is a compilation of data from several reliable sites including the Aemet one.

Another cricket story

2010-09-09T17:38:00.000+02:00

The expat walker recognised my face

THIS happened this morning. Honest.

First day back in the office after a trip to Blighty for a family reunion. It was lovely to catch up with nephews, nieces, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, cousins' kids and Uncle Tom Cobbly and all. My parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary - Congratulations folks, I think that deserves a medal.

Anyway, I arrived at the office to find a little cricket sitting on a computer keyboard. Worried that he'd starve to death in our cement and bricks environment I carefully scooped him up with a glass and magazine and took him outside. I bent from the waist (yes, I know it's not the way to do it) and as I am bending over from the waist, an expat Brit who is but a nodding acquaintance, walks towards me from behind and says....

"Now there's a face I recognise!"

And walks on. I straightened up, was so surprised that I was speechless, and rushed back into the office where I told my work pal O before we collapsed, howling with laughter. Now how's that for a welcome back! I should have told him not to be so cheeky!

PS - Re. previous entry. Despite two days on yellow alert - it never rained. What a swizz.

Weather today: Not a cloud in the sky. High 29ºC/84ºF. Low 20ºC/70ºF. Light easterly breeze 18 km/h. Pressure 1019 mb and descending. Relative humidity 44%. No chance of rain. UV Index 8. Snow above 3,900 m. Information source: AEMET.

No exaggeration

2010-08-16T23:41:00.001+02:00

Jiminy Cricket sheltering from rain underneath a leaf - Actually this was just a practice drill the other day when I watered the garden. He was a great poser and sat very still so I could get my snapshot. Click on the photo to enlarge it and look at the water 'bubbles' on his body and legs.

IN CASE you thought I was exaggerating about the Terral - turns out it was the hottest night in the last 68 years which is the time they've been keeping proper weather records here (I learn something new every day). Since then temperature has dropped slowly and tonight is blissful. A cool breeze bringing in the rain.
We're on a yellow Meteo Alert for heavy showers and a good ol' summer storm as of midnight tonight. I love thunderstorms just so long as I'm safely inside and not sheltering under a solitary tree on the hillside.
Electricity always goes out when we have a storm. It's mathematical.

Weather today: Overcast with some sunny spells. Felt a lot cooler, especially this afternoon. High 29ºC/84ºF. Low 21ºC/70ºF (what a difference). Light westerly breeze 18 km/h. Pressure 1020 mb and descending. Relative humidity 87%. 25% chance of rain. UV Index 9. Snow above 3,700 m – and yes, there is still snow on the Sierra Nevada. Information source: AEMET. Silly comments: Yours truly.

The terrible Terral

2010-08-12T17:05:00.001+02:00

A helicopter douses flames just behind the village. The pilots do a remarkable job flying with all that water and the drag it creates on the aircraft.

IT INVARIABLY strikes us foreigners as strange, when on a very, very hot day, the Spanish will shut all their windows and doors. Just the opposite of what you’d expect. Leaving everything opens means a welcome breeze can flow through your house. Except when the terral starts. Then it is no breeze, it is a blast of blistering hot, dry air. “Terral” whispers one neighbour to another. “Viene terral” (terral is coming), shouts the next to another as they all scuttle inside to shut up the houses, lower the blinds and stay off the streets.

There are several kinds of terral but the one that is loathed here, on the southern coast of Spain is that which comes in from the west, over Portugal then turns sharp right and comes bearing down on us from the north, across the scorched land of the Iberian peninsula, bringing with it extremely hot, dry temperatures.

If you have never experienced terral – a near enough comparison is to heat up your oven and then when it reaches top temperature open the door. That blast of scorching hot, dry air is what you feel when you step outside the aircon here on a terral day.

So there we were last night, The Hockey Star and I happily settled in our comfortably cool aircon watching The Tudors (boy, are we’re hooked on this series at the moment) when – blaff – out goes the electricity.

The fact that last night was the first official feria evening when the mayor proudly hits the switch to light up our fairground with thousands of non energy-saving light bulbs meant that we were almost expecting a power cut. But as time dragged on and I lit my ready supply of candles, (nowhere in western Europe are there power cuts as frequently as in our village) we realised that we were in for the long haul and that it wasn’t the fair but the fact that it was the hottest night this year and everyone was using aircon or fans. Or had been. Sleepless, restless, sweaty, uncomfortable, gasping night. The electricity came back at 6am and the temperature outside was already 32ºC/90ºF.

Terral is ideal fire weather and no sooner said than done. Thick, white smoke and flames could be seen from the office mid morning as the mountainside above the motorway caught fire. Odds on it was a cigarette butt flung from some caring citizen’s car window. Fires by the motorway invariably are.

In the meantime, fingers crossed for tonight . let's hope the local power grid is up to the challenge - think I might try and get some sleep while we have aircon. Just in case.

Weather today: Ghastly. So hot and dry that I can feel the hairs in my nostrils crisping up. Severe weather warning: Yellow alert for heatwave (Yesterday was orange alert and highs of 42ºC/108ºF – Bluurgh). High 38ºC/100ºF. Low 25ºC/77ºF (Met Office erring on the side of caution). Northeasterly breeze 18 km/h this morning after last night’s gales. Changing to southerly 22km/h this afternoon which will hopefully bring lower temperatures. Pressure 1012 mb and stable. Relative humidity 33%. Officially zilch chance of rain. UV Index 9. Snow above 3,700 m – and yes, there is still snow on the Sierra Nevada. Information source: AEMET. Silly comments: Yours truly.

Ayyyy, feria time is here

2010-08-09T00:22:00.004+02:00

Estrella Morente (in the cream dress) doing her stuff - Look her up on YouTube if you want to know more...

MID August is feria time in our village. Any hope of a normal routine is useless. Anyone who is someone, and let's face it we'd all like to think we are, will be out until the wee hours dancing flamenco, downing fino sherry, paying small fortunes to let the kids ride on bumper cars and generally behaving as if the end of the world will arrive tomorrow, which it will - for those who've overindulged - the next morning, but that's another story.

You might detect a note of envy - regarding the all night partying - and you'd be right. Some of us have to stay on the straight and narrow and go to work.

But last night being Saturday we did manage to get to the village flamenco festival - the start of our annual festivities.

Flamenco has a bit of a reputation for going on into the night. And this it did - until just gone 2am.

I'd faded a while before (well we were out the night before too - as in Rome etc) and was having serious trouble trying not to fall asleep while sitting on the cement seating of our local bullring. Ayyyy,y ayyyyy, ayyyyy, something unintelligible, ayyyy, sang Estrella Morente, who is actually quite good but by the time she got on stage it was past my bedtime. Still it was good to go out and there was something rather special about sitting under the stars in a bullring high above the Mediterranean, the sea below glittering and the gypsies guitar chords drifting off into the darkness while Estrella ayed and ayed a bit more. I must go out more often....

Night.

Weather today: Strange sort of day. Quite overcast and heavy. Felt cooler although temperatures were similar to the rest of the week. High 30ºC/86ºF. Low 24ºC/75ºF. Southerly not-even-breeze, more like a whisper. Zilch to 7 km/h. Pressure 1015 mb and stable. Relative humidity 68%. Possibility of rain 5% (as if...) UV Index 10 - sizzling skin time. Information source: AEMET. Silly comments: Yours truly.

Be warned, new driver on the roads

2010-08-05T17:43:00.003+02:00

A great moment indeed

THE Hockey Star has passed his driving test. Congratulations My Boy. First time too. Much clucking and chest puffing from mother hen. Of course.

Actually he passed it 12 days ago but it has taken that long for his provisional driving licence to come through. The definitive official driving licence could take (shrug of shoulders here from driving school receptionist, and pause while she thinks of a reasonable lie so that I don't get cross, "Perhaps two months. But of course with August in between it could be longer. As you know it's Trafico not us "... blah, blah, blah).

Still he can now drive my car, if he can still remember what to do.

All that is left is for us to hand over an almighty large amount of dosh to the insurance company this afternoon and spit-and-stick the L plate to the back window (where of course it will interfere with his rear-view vision but hey, what are side mirrors for?)

Ah yes, L plate?

Driving school receptionist "Ah well, we haven't received those yet but I'll let you know as soon as we do."

Luckily I still have MiniMama's L-plate, so we'll use that.

Be warned, there is a new driver on the road. I hope my nerves are up to it...

Weather today: Hot and sweaty. High 33ºC/91ºF. Low 22ºC/72ºF. Slight Easterly breeze 11 km/h. Pressure 1008 mb and rising. Relative humidity 68%. Possibility of rain 5% (as if...) UV Index 9 - equivalent of being roasted over an open fire. Information source: AEMET. Silly comments: Yours truly.

Cars, the dreaded ITV and pit fear

2010-06-14T00:03:00.002+02:00

The gaping ITV pits that you have to drive over - yes, I know the car can't fall in there but it's nerve-wracking all the same

ITV time (Inspeccion Tecnica de Vehiculos), or MOT for non-Spanish speakers, comes to all good cars at some point. It’s a time consuming but necessary part of owning a vehicle that’s over five years old. For worry-guts like me it’s a test of nerves. For others in a worse mental state, it’s time to sell the car and buy a brand new one again.

When I owned Beryl, my bright yellow, trusty and ugly Renault 4, who was already 18 when I bought her, I’d worry each year but only slightly whether she’d pass or not. But because Renault 4s were pure mechanics, no electronics, just metal and cables, not much would go wrong and if it did it was dead easy and dirt cheap to fix.

Taking Beryl to have her ITV was a pleasure. She’d be much admired by the ITV boys for the relic that she was and treated with awe and reverence. She was a star and given VIP treatment. But as she went from old to almost vintage Beryl became unstable (please, no comparisons with middle-aged women) and lost her brakes one time too often. I sold her and bought a safer, brand new Peugeot 106, all singing and dancing, it even had air-con and a radio although no character or quirky bits and I became just one more silver dash on the roads.

Loretta, as we called her on account of the foul smelling trail she left (possibly something to do with the combustion?), which rhymes with pedoretta – a made up family word for the foul smelling trail that some people leave behind them, especially after eating beans - behaved reasonably well and passed most ITVs. But she was just one of the crowd. No special treatment and each year I’d worry a bit more about passing. Not passing meant spending lots of dosh at the garage and returning for another test.

But ITVs evolved. On the bright side, you no longer had to sit for hours in a humungous queue but rang for an appointment, making it a faster event that no longer required taking a good book and a picnic. On the dark side, you had to drive your vehicle over an open pit with a man in it who would indecently poke and prod your car’s undercarriage while you accelerated and braked above him, trying to guess what he was looking for. A friend of mine compared it with a visit to the gynaecologist.

After 10 years Loretta died. While parked she was backed into by some kind driver who didn’t leave their details. The experience shifted her radiator and the repair was going to cost more than she was worth. She was towed away to the scrap yard. This time without the emotional wrench and tears we shed when Beryl left us.

Perhaps it mattered less because as tired and worn Loretta was towed off, Poppy sat gleaming and gloating, like a younger, more beautiful lover, outside our front gate. Her former owner had called her Poppy, on account of her bright red colour, so we kept the name.

Last week Poppy was called up for her first MOT. She’s a bit racy, a special edition Polo which I’d been lucky to pick up for a good price but I felt that her flashiness could weigh against me, and no extra consideration given by the MOT lads. This fact together with my nervousness about driving over THE PIT meant that this time I enrolled the reluctant moral support of Minimama and took her with me to hold my hand under the guise that she should see how this was done now that she is a driver.

She saw through me straight away. We arrived at lunchtime. We knew it was lunchtime because in 20 minutes they called out just two number plates. After 20 minutes it became like Bingo gone mad with numbers being garbled out at such speed that we were all dashing from the cool shade of the trees back into our sweaty vehicles to race from the car park to the line we’d been designated before we lost our slot.

The Number Seven line chap waved me into the hangar towards the dreaded pit. He looked relieved to find out I spoke Spanish (un point in my favour). We began the usual ritual – windscreen wipers, left indicator, right indicator (no Señora, left is the other one…) headlights, fog lights (err, que? Ah, those – nervous giggle – sorry, I’ve never used them before). I think he was beginning to see what he was up against. My daughter certainly was. She squirmed down a little more in the passenger seat hoping no one was going to see her. Then I confessed, much to my daughter’s disgust, my pit fear. Don’t worry, Señora, he said making me feel the twit I am, I will steer you in while you slowly accelerate. Minimama rolled her eyes. It sounded a bit too intimate but I was willing to do whatever to avoid having to drive over The Pit on my own. And so he did – steer the car through my open window while I, oh so gently, pressed the accelerator and Cookie on my right kept saying – oh come on Mum a bit faster than that.

With The Pit done we bounced, joggled, tossed and bumped through the rest of the test before moving aside to await the verdict. Would we, wouldn’t we? Oh joy, minutes later ‘my’ man was walking towards me with a red ITV sticker in his hand. We’d passed. I was so relieved that after having thanked him far too many times and almost kissing him on both cheeks, I drove out of the exit and turned the wrong way down the one-way street. No doubt, if he was watching, it would have confirmed what he’d been thinking. Nothing wrong with the car, it’s the owner who should be tested.

Weather today: A tad overcast with showers promised this afternoon. Not quite the usual weather for this time of year. High 24ºC/75ºF, low 16ºC/61ºF. West North West breeze 16 km/h. Pressure 982mb and stable. Relative humidity 66%. UV Index 7.

Health and safety - Spanish style or a law suit just waiting to happen

2010-05-23T07:52:00.005+02:00

Adios mulberry trees

Our urban obstacle course

For a long time I've known it's safe to assume that because Spain hasn't yet been hit by the American craze of suing over everything and anything, authorities here are rather more relaxed over health and safety issues than in other countries. Take the little urban obstacle course that has materialised outside our office for example.

Until recently, our street was a pretty tree-lined affair. Leafy and shady in the hot summer months, clear and light in the winter. Regularly spaced street lamps lit it at night, rubbish bins hugged each corner and all was well until ... the town hall ripped up the mulberry trees. Local residents had complained that each year the berries created such a juicy, sticky, mess that they wanted the trees removed. With local elections just around the corner - next year - the mayor was happy to oblige. The offending mulberry trees were uprooted and were, we were told, transplanted to another corner of the municipality where they could drop berries to their hearts' content.

We heard that other 'cleaner' trees, probably oranges, were going to replace them. But the weeks have rolled by and the only thing that has materialised is a series of holes in the pavement covered up by cones (at best), big wooden pallets or loose paving stones (at worst) which blend in with the pavement and disguise the danger.

To add to this, on Friday, council maintenance staff started removing the street lights, saying they were broken - which was strange as they worked just fine. In their place, they left holes surrounded by large, protruding nuts and bolts sticking out of the pavement - and as a warning - a yellow plastic bag stuffed in the hole.

Since then we've not got much work done as we sit, biting our nails, enthralled with the suspense of watching passers-by - gossiping mothers, small running children, doddery old men, spaced-out teenagers and intent businessmen - walk unknowingly into our urban minefield. Will they, won't they....

So, because the town hall coffers are empty and the mayor isn't a bad chap (for a politician that is) and I needed to get back to work, I sent an email to a friend at his office on Friday - saying I am tempted to accidentally trip over one of the obstacles that the council has so readily provided me with and sue the town hall for a substantial amount or wait, camera ready, to get a photo and front page exclusive for the local papers when some poor soul has an unexpected head-on encounter with the ground and rearranges their nose.

The reply came back - He was very fond of me and couldn't bear to think of me hurting myself - so the better option was to wait for the world exclusive....PS - They'll address the problem on Monday.

Here's hoping nothing happens over the weekend because I'll miss my scoop.

Weather today: It's very early and hazy but the forecast promises another beautiful crystal-clear spring day. Lovely and warm in the sunshine, cooler in the shade. High 26ºC/79ºF, low 14ºC/57ºF. Easterly breeze 13 km/h. Pressure 1015mb and stable. Relative humidity 63%. UV Index 9.

Discovering Tenthredo scrophulariae … and other fun activities

2010-05-13T21:05:00.005+02:00

Is it a bird? Is it a frog? No, it's a Tenthredo scrophulariae (name just rolls off the tongue, right?)

Rain stops play

EEKS, Day Eight already and I don’t seem to have crossed off much on my To-Do-List. Or maybe I’ve done more than I think. I’ve finished reading a book, done my tax declaration, painted the inside of the garage, lots of gardening when rain hasn’t stopped play, gossiped in the village, had a siesta after lunch a couple of afternoons and cooked (willingly) something tasty every mealtime. Trouble is my list was impossibly long to start with. Still, I’ve a few more days to go before it’s back to the grindstone.

Interestingly, it has taken until today to start to truly unwind and enjoy myself. Enjoy a slower pace, one that gives me time to appreciate everything so much more. It’s a good feeling and I’m wondering how I can slow my usual hamster-wheeling lifestyle once I’m back at work. I shall work on that.

In the meantime I’ve been having fun in the garden. I came across some rather fancy caterpillars during a weeding session the other day, so of course I took a photo to add to my collection of bugs I’ve met in the great outdoors. I spared them and their habitat, romantically imagining the three of them turning into beautiful butterflies. However, research on the internet told me they are Tenthredo scrophulariae, or meat-eating wasp-like insects. Blurgh. No doubt they’re important in nature’s chain but it sure shattered my illusions. Still, if I come across them again I shall let them be (I’m already in deep karma trouble for having squished a legion of snails this week without meaning to and a baby preying mantis, completely intentionally - didn't want to meet up again when it was an adult).

Weather has been strange for this part of the world over the last few days. So changeable. Much more like English weather – showers one minute, sun the next, overcast, then another shower. I like it, although it has made my gardening efforts more sporadic than I had hoped for. Still, things are coming along but I can’t see me starting on painting the garden walls, wrought iron or even the house, any time soon.

Busy weekend coming up, with the Hockey Star playing in several matches and the Artist participating in a macro cultural event which will take us into the early hours of Sunday. I’m thinking of going along to do a massage and yoga workshop tomorrow but it’s at a huge yoga convention and no doubt there will be people oh, so, naturally wrapping their ankles around their necks, and I can’t even sit cross-legged without a limb going into spasms…

Weather today: Cloudy with sunny intervals or was that sunny with cloudy intervals. Lovely and warm in the sunshine, chilly in the shade. High 19ºC/66ºF, low 11ºC/52ºF. Southeast breeze 12 km/h. Pressure 982 mb and stable. Relative humidity 45%. UV Index 7. Snow level: above 1,600 metres.

Holidays are progressing but progress is slowing

2010-05-10T14:04:00.005+02:00

The señor who plastered my garage walls must have been a Christmas cake decorator

DAY TWO - Holidays are progressing but progress is slowing.

Friday or Day Two is spent resolving domestic problems such as microwave which also decides to take a holiday and dies while zapping my morning coffee. They’ll need 10 days to diagnose the problem. Ten days! It’s not heart surgery. No señora, the repairman says calmly but we have a lot of work on. Luckily Mini Mama comes with me to help lug microwave into the shop while I double park.

Mini Mama’s laptop charger breaks. Fifty euros lighter and an hour later we resolve this problem.

On to the highlight of the morning – a visit to Leroy Merlin, your friendly DIY superstore. I find the excitement overwhelming as I clutch my big plastic bag weighed down with the broken loo seat, strange light bulbs that need replacing, garden hose pipe connection thingamajig and a list of must-have hooks for my gleaming garage and hover at the store entrance. My excitement is topped by the alarm I set off as I walk in. The security lady and I dig out contents of handbag including tampax and other embarrassing items on show to the world. Also take out contents of plastic bag including rusty toilet seat. Ten minutes later and with nothing to hide I'm let loose. As I stride purposely, list in hand, into the nuts and bolts aisle I feel strangely masculine.

We have mixed luck (they’re out of loo seats ‘til next week) but manage to get the rest. I’m worn out after lunch. Must be a side effect from Day One. So much so I can’t face a strenuous afternoon up a ladder but at the same time can’t wait to hang something in the garage – anything – it doesn’t matter what. I need to feel I’m progressing. Want to hang the shovel hook so shovel’s not resting on the floor, but can’t find a flat piece of wall. Garage walls are like Mum’s 60s Christmas cakes when she used to whip up a snowy storm of icing so ferocious the peaks would reach the plastic Santa’s thighs. So move shovel hook down to small flat piece of wall. Mistake. Shovel still rests on floor but now won’t fall over. Give up for the rest of the day, and being Friday afternoon I take myself off to our weekly girls’ Cava Club before The Artist arrives for the weekend to find me alcoholically euphoric yet again.

Operation Garage

2010-05-10T12:59:00.004+02:00

Tom oversees Operation Garage

AT LAST I’m taking a break from work. Two weeks without going to the office, just pottering around enjoying the house, the garden and the wonderful spring weather. Bliss. I’ve made a list so long - gardening, painting walls, reading, writing, cooking, swimming at the gym, watching telly, chatting to friends, catching up with village gossip in the local shops, tax declaration, err, renegotiating the mortgage – that I’ve become stressed just thinking about it. I think I’m trying to get a life’s retirement plan into two weeks.

Day One dawns in glorious sunshine – so garden wins and once I’ve donned my grubby gear (ancient sequined top - but then you just never know who might pop in) I go off in the direction of the garage to get my tools. Getting in through the garage door, past all the things that have been dumped there for the last six months, takes two hours. Well, ok, five minutes. But the scale of the problem is evident. So garden abandoned and garage becomes the day’s project. The freedom of being able to change my mind at a minute's notice from my given plan is not lost on me.

For 18 years I’ve been meaning to paint the garage interior. And so I do – more than anything because to achieve any other chores this week I need to get inside and by painting it I get to move the junk for free. Two jobs done for the price of one you might say.

I’m wary of entering into the depths of the leaking structure I grandly call garage (it started life as the builders’ shed when the house was built 30 years ago and I’m not even sure it has foundations) because it’s deepest, darkest bugsville.

But I’m lucky. No snakes, mice or preying mantis materialise. Just whole families of geckos and hundreds of snails leaving wobbly shiny trails over every surface. I’m sure if I stand still long enough they’ll cover me too. I rescue the ones I see, airlifting them to safety outside in the garden and apologise profusely to the ones I tread on with a sickening crunch.

I take an executive decision and decide that quality control is not coming to inspect the job so I paint around the piles of old tiles and bricks, saved forever for that one just-in-case day. No one will know except me.

By eight o’clock that night I can't move past my congratulatory beer. It takes all my will power to get into the shower I'm so stiff and sore. I weigh myself in anticipation of having lost at least three kilos in one day - but scales say I weigh just the same. Not calorie-burning stuff is DIY but definitely satisfying. Garage interior now gleaming white with strong chemical smell which I hope will keep bugs at bay. Tomorrow I must hit the DIY store for hooks, pegs and all manner of gizmos to hang things on wall.

How to understand European when it is Spike

2010-04-29T23:43:00.006+02:00

EUROPEAN isn’t a language yet, but I can’t help thinking that in our company, (Brits, Spaniards and Germans) and in many other businesses that employ workers of different nationalities, it can’t be too long before it becomes one.

There is one rule at work, one linguistic meeting point and that is we should communicate between us in one official language – and being in Spain, it was decided it should be Spanish. Good move. Nearly all of us are able to carry out some level of conversation in Spanish and although misunderstandings happen, no one has been fired because they got the wrong end of the stick. Almost, but not quite. Not yet.

Unofficially,(ie when the boss isn’t around) we lapse into the language which is most comfortable for us, depending on who we’re speaking to (or about) and the subject. So English to English-speakers, Spanish to Spanish speakers, Spanglish (a mixture of Spanish and English in each sentence) to bilingual colleagues, and Spanish or English to our German colleagues, after we’ve enquired which they prefer. German has a harder time crossing borders than English or Spanish so only they speak their fine language.

All this works well when we’re talking.

But when we get on the computer it becomes a little more challenging. Programmes are either in Spanish or English. You get used to it after a while and can forget the language you’re working in. There’s the odd blip - my Spanish Microsoft Office changes words for you without asking, like the Spike in the title (wrote spoke but there you are, it prefers Spike), but you learn to check your copy. And you get on with it.

Until that is, you crank up our German-built content management system. At some point it was translated into English by German IT chaps, who to be fair probably only speak IT, in any language.

You know you’re in trouble when the warning messages suddenly appear in German and the computer makes a loud clonk noise (it reminds me of the sub in Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea) to let you, and the rest of the office, know the disdain it feels at being used by such a plonker. None of us know why it goes into German, but perhaps it is so annoyed it reverts back to its mother-tongue.

Yesterday however, it went a step further, bypassing the German and spouting the message in the photo. Howls of laughter from us. We’ve stuck it on the pin board in the kitchen along with other gems such as the appetizingly-named Salmon in Swamp Sauce from a local restaurant’s menu. (It should be salmon in mushroom sauce).

So is your European up to scratch and what in heaven’s name does ‘Exception has been thrown by the target of an invocation’ mean? Send me a comment if you know…

Weather today: I'm not sure, it's very dark outside but I'll look again tomorrow.

Speechless and very touched

2010-03-12T18:52:00.004+01:00

THESE are tough times and sadly because our publication is tightening it's belt (yes, again. We are now sporting a corporate wasp waist) I have had to part company with one of our already sadly depleted staff. The deciding factor in this cost-cutting exercise wasn't based on performance but on who is cheaper to fire. And so I warned my loyal team member to expect the blow and today, sadly, he came in to sign his finiquito.

I've not heard of anyone being given a huge,beautiful bouquet of flowers for sacking someone. Not until today that is. Accompanying the flowers was a note. It said:

Thank you for the support and help that you have given to me during our working relationship. Your input, advice and expertise has always been a constant source of inspiration, and on the odd occasion a good old kick up the backside worked wonders too! It has been an absolute pleasure working with you and both D. and I firmly believe that the future holds great things for us all.

With very best wishes

Well J. My life is a richer one for knowing you. This is not adios but just hasta luego. You have rendered me speechless and that is quite a feat.

I'd best be off and find a different ass to kick ;)

Rain, rain go away

2010-03-10T18:17:00.008+01:00

Rock fall damage

Police keep an eye on a country road as rising water from a nearby river overflows its banks

A road subsides after rain washed away the earth below it

Here comes the next borrasca, that fluffy white bit just left of Spain. Taken by Aemet at 5pm yesterday. Storm came in last night.

HOW can it be that me being such a weather friki (Spanish street-speak for freak) I haven't managed to post a single entry about southern Spain's wettest winter since records began. Which, down here on the coast, wasn't actually that long ago, though I have failed to find a record of when they began. If you follow me. Around the mid 1900s I believe.

I haven't written a word - and there has been a huge amount to say - about the trenes de borrascas (low pressure 'trains') that have steamed across the Iberian peninsula from the Atlantic since before Christmas.

One storm after another, with barely a weak ray of sunshine in between, has made this winter a sodden and, for those who lost loved ones, a tragic one. In Andalucía an elderly Spanish lady died from a heart attack as her house filled with water in January and a British couple was crushed to death recently when the roof of their home fell in on them.

In a nutshell here are the other sadly eloquent figures:

150% up on the average rainfall.

205 million euros of damage to roads alone (no figures in for agriculture or homes yet)

Serious damage to 107 beaches, from Huelva to Málaga, that will not be repaired before the summer and which will mean loss of income for many already-financially stretched families, over the Easter holidays.

70 towns and villages flooded at different times.

700 homes have had to be evacuated - some have been flooded; others have been demolished by landslides or rock falls. And we're still counting...

2,000 people affected.

20% more animal deaths.

965 road cuts

Sun forecast this weekend. Let's hope it stays next week as well.

Weather today

2010-01-30T20:00:00.003+01:00

Weather today: Crystal clear, sunny day with small cumulus clouds scurrying across the sky. Lovely and warm in the sunshine, cold in the shade. High 13ºC/54ºF, low 6ºC/43ºF. North, northwest wind 25 km/h. Pressure 1017 mb. Relative humidity 55%. UV Index 2. Snow level : above 1,100 metres.

Weather today

2009-11-06T00:34:00.005+01:00

After yesterday's touch of the 'verbals' I'm keeping it short today...
Weather today: In a nutshell - windy. Temperatures have dropped - whoppeeee, at last.
Cloudy start but mostly sunny from mid-morning with a High 17ºC/63ºF Low 11ºC/52ºF. Northeast wind 29km/h (It felt more). Pressure 1018 mb. Relative humidity 61%. UV index: 3.

It's the wisteria way

2009-11-04T00:12:00.008+01:00

Before....

After

LIFE is full of surprises. Like this afternoon. I kept hearing a kind of cracking then stone-pinging noise coming from the terrace. Ting, ping, pang, ching - One, then another, then silence for a while, then another, then two or three. I had to cock my head and tune in to pin down the source. I saw some leaves russle over to my left just as I heard another paaang. It took me a minute or two to work out that the wisteria seed pods were bursting and sending seeds scattering over the ground and the garden. There were so many that you

couldn’t sit anywhere near the pergola without being hit. A horticultural battle field.

The wisteria is eight or nine years old and I’ve never heard it like today – with all the pods bursting one after another.

I ventured cautiously out to take a closer look and saw the floor littered with burst pods. Another one cracked almost overhead and sent its seeds flying, and me back to the kitchen. I never knew it was such an explosive affair. So I looked on the internet and came across this enlightening piece at
http://www.mastergardeners.org/publications/wisteria/wisteriaSeedPods.html.

Popping Wisteria Seeds Pods!
by: Allen Buchinski
It’s autumn, and that means my wisteria seeds will soon be popping! If you’ve ever seen this happen, you know exactly what I mean, but if you don’t have wisteria in your yard, it’s likely that you’re not aware of the phenomenon.
We all know that plants spread their seeds using different mechanisms; some of the most common methods are distribution by wind, water, and animals. But the most fascinating, at least to me, is explosive dispersal, where a seed pod pops open and flings its seeds away from the plant. The evolutionary explanation for this is to prevent overcrowding of seedlings around the parent plant, giving them the light and space they need to mature.The pea-like pods, unremarkable from an ornamental perspective, are often overlooked in a profusion of vigorous leaf growth, especially because they’re green until they mature into 4-6 inch long hard shells. The pods turn brown as they dry on the vine. It’s after that drying process is complete that the fun begins, that and a hot Indian summer day.
It’s on those hot days that the seed pods are most likely to explode, typically later in the day after they’ve had a chance to absorb the most heat. If you have patience, you can sit and watch it happen. Look for empty husks where there weren’t any before (next to a lawn or walkway is perfect for this), then sit and watch. In fact, it’s more accurate to say “sit and listen”, because it practically impossible to be watching one when the moment occurs. It’s kind of like listening to the first few kernels of popcorn pop, the noise is a sharp crack followed by the sound of seeds landing away from the plant. If the wisteria is near a building, you can catch the sound of seeds bouncing off windows or walls, when it’s near a driveway or street, you can hear the seeds skitter across the surface.
The force of the explosion is truly remarkable; enough so that I don’t look directly at the plant if I’m not wearing glasses. I’ve seen a seed come to rest a full 70 feet from the plant, starting no more than 8’ off the ground and landing in the street (which starts 35’ from the plant), coming to rest against the curb on the far side. It’s exciting to see!
So how does it work? Forces build up inside the pod during the drying process, and when strong enough, the pod pops. The best description I’ve seen states: “as a pod dries, tensions are set up in the wall of the pod eventually causing it to split along two lines of weakness. As the two halves curl back, suddenly released like a tense spring, they flick out the seeds inside in an explosive manner.”1
You don’t need a hot day for the process to happen, it’s just that those days speed the drying process. If you take the pods and set them aside to dry, it’s just a matter of time before they pop; inside or out. Or you can speed up the process by putting the pods into the oven. The photo above shows the result of doing just that. The twisted halves of the pod, demonstrating the forces that had built up, are clearly evident. It’s a bit like running a pair of scissors along one side of a ribbon, where the uneven stretching causes the ribbon to twist and curl. In this case it’s the drying causing it to happen.
Plants serve all types of purposes. And while food and decoration are the most common, it’s kind of nice to find one that also provides entertainment!

He explains it so well, doesn't he? Come spring we should see quite a few offspring.

Weather today: Warm, warm, warm. Far too warm for this time of year which is why the wisteria probably went mad. At 11pm this evening it was still a balmy 22ºC - that's 72ºF for you farenheit folk. Officially - Sunny with a High 22ºC/72ºF Low 12ºC/54ºF. Variable breeze 12km/h. Pressure 1015 mb. Relative humidity 46%. UV index: 3 (can still get burnt if you're fair-skinned).

Happiness is a spring onion

2009-09-12T09:31:00.004+02:00

THIS could be hard to explain, but if you have lived in a foreign country you’ll know just how much people miss their home comforts.

Expats, when asked what they miss about home, always say (first, and with some resignation), family. It is, after all the expected reply. Then they say friends, and lastly they’ll reel off a short list, at great speed and with gathering enthusiasm, of their favourite food. Their eyes glaze over as they relive those sublime moments when they last bit into a freshly grilled Cumberland sausage or crunched the batter on cod ‘n’ vinegar-soaked chips.

It’s an age-old formula. And it’s true of any nation.

News had reached me that a large supermarket, stocked to the brim with British goodies, had opened nearby. I hadn’t been enticed. These places usually have the stock selection of Marmite, Cook-in-Sauces and Heinz soups. I can live without those. But a recent, long-overdue lunch invitation to my Spanish ‘in-laws’, (known in Spanish as familia politica which sums it up in a nutshell) sent me off in search of exotic guiri foodstuffs to knock their socks off.

I took The Artist with me to keep me in check. Our first trip to this temple of Britishness was surreal. Aisle after aisle full of expats happily torn between so much choice.
It’s sad I know, but I’ve waited almost 30 years to be able to buy spring onions in Spain and here I was living the moment. After that it just got better and better. Cheshire cheese, fruity herbal teas, sickly ice-cream soda, ginger beer! We came away laden down, me feeling hugely comforted by all these long-lost familiar ‘friends’and The Artist wondering whether he should get a Spanish girlfriend.

Yesterday I returned and in anticipation pushed the door open, ready to pounce again on the spring onions. It was then I noticed stacks and stacks of fresh eggs. Imported from the UK. I stood there for a minute trying to work out the logic of importing fragile eggs all the way from Britain when there are chickens just around the corner. But I couldn’t.

In fact, there were quite a few things that could be easily bought at Spanish supermarkets at a lower price but everyone is free to spend their money how they like. I’m not sure whether the cats here can appreciate the difference between Spanish cat food and imported Whiskas but it is on offer all the same.

I started to hone in on other incongruent items. Trawling the massive freezer section I came across the winner. Frozen vegetable and chorizo kebabs. Chorizo that had been made in Spain, of course. Shipped to the UK. Strung on a stick with veggies. Frozen, and shipped back to Spain to a British supermarket to be devoured by Brits, living in Spain. I’m still trying to figure this out, but coals to Newcastle is a phrase that keeps coming in to my head.

Still, I wish the supermarket a long and very successful life, which judging by the hordes of hungry Britons there yesterday, is almost guaranteed. We may be in the middle of a recession, but who can resist a little of what they fancy, from time to time.

Weather today: It's very early so it's hazy but the sun is up and it will probably be a glorious cloudless day. The rain in Spain is definitely staying on the plain today and forecast to miss the coast. High 29ºC/83ºF Low 19ºC/66ºF. Barely noticeable breeze 7km/h. Pressure 1014 mb. Relative humidity 58%. UV index: 7.

Summer is coming to an end...

2009-09-10T16:53:00.005+02:00

Who would have thought that an ice cream or two could do this to a girl?

SUMMER is just a terrible time to diet. When you're not downing the G&Ts then you're having a congratulatory beer (reasons are varied: Mowed the lawn; It's the weekend; Just because etc). Alcohol makes me hungry. Hungry for carbs not lettuce. It's pretty much a chain reaction. Alcohol=carbohydrates=another kilo on the hips/waist/tummy/dinner-lady-arms. That's not to mention the ice creams, the long fried fish lunches on the beach, toes dug deep into the cool sand while you wipe the garlic sauce from the plate with French bread (sigh)...

And so to the groaning scales I go, to confirm what I already knew. My weight has gone up and I need a plan with military precision and determination, not to mention discipline if I am to succeed. I've had a week of mentally acclimatising myself (no weight loss though) and next week I shall go to the sports centre to see if my beloved Aquagym classes are back. Tragically this may not be enough and I could have to bare flesh in the proper gym. Will my fellow 'gymnasts' be able to cope. We shall see.

Soo, what do you think about the video below eh? Impressive? I'm quite chuffed. I've been trying to figure out for months how to put a video on my blog. And today I've finally worked it out. Not bad for a blonde. Now I have to see if I can post one of my own videos rather than one off internet.

Weather today: Overcast and muggy although this evening's a tad less humid and the sun is out. High 29ºC/83ºF Low 19ºC/66ºF. Despite the clouds, zilch chance of rain. Light southerly wind 11km/h. Pressure 1015 mb. Relative humidity 49% (Find that hard to believe). UV index: 7.

One lucky penguin

2009-09-10T16:42:00.001+02:00

My furry friends

2009-08-09T23:56:00.008+02:00

Sockiboloski reading MY paper before ME.... What audacity..

Ayy, Minimama when are you coming home?

IT'S LATE and I'm tired so I'll be brief. I just wanted to share these two photos of my furry friends, both taken today. Kitty was obviously missing Minimama so she sat on the pine trunk in my bedroom and stared at a photo I have of Cookie when she was younger. It was a rather magic moment. Early Sunday morning and the air was still cool. I'd just got back into bed with a cup of freshly made coffee and was about to pick up my current book (Gerald Brenan/The Face of Spain) luxuriating in the knowledge that there was nothing I had to get up for. Outside I could hear horses' hooves as riders passed up our street en route for the village annual romeria (it's when the natives go folkloric and traipse into the countryside with our local virgen to enjoy song, wine and tapas. A Spanish knees up and great fun).

The other photo, of our rather intellectual Mr. Boloski, was taken after lunch when tradition dictates feet up for half an hour, and in my case a spot of work, going through the day's local and national press to see what stories are breaking. Old Socki was just lending me a hand by reading the Spanish national El País. As you can imagine he was a great help. He manages to nod off even faster than The Artist, who I believe must hold a world record for falling asleep in seconds.

Weather today: Hot but a nice cool breeze, quite pleasant in the shade and not like yesterday's sauna - High 28ºC/82ºF Low 19ºC/66ºF. A few clouds around but zilch chance of rain. Light southwesterly wind 14km/h. Pressure 1010 mb. Relative humidity 53%. UV index: 8.

To go or not to go, that is the question...

2009-08-06T19:06:00.004+02:00

Err, does this say how ill I am?

AND LASTLY, at least for today, I’d just like to share this thought with you. An agency headline in the papers today quoted a Catalan regional government press release, saying - The latest fatal Swine Flu victim went to hospital “too late”.

That’s eight dead in Spain, and counting… of course.

So what do you do if you think you have Swine Flu? See a doctor, no?

Err, don’t think so, at least not initially. We’ve been advised recently by the Spanish health service, through the media, to stay away from health centres and hospitals unless we are really ill (a bit of a dodgy one that, as we’ve no thermometer that says if we are - a little ill, quite ill, ill, looking pretty sick, really ill, seriously ill or just about to pop our clogs)

We’re told not to block up our GP’s waiting room and generously share our germs with our long-suffering doc and other patients. The message is clear – stay away, at least initially. Until what? Until it’s “too late”?

Difficult one, isn’t it? If I feel ill, if I have Swine Flu symptoms, do I see a doctor and get diagnosed, thus aiding a speedy recovery or do I wait until I feel desperately ill and take a chance I might not get better?

Is Swine Flu more of a killer than our usual winter run-of-the-mill flu that does the rounds? It doesn’t appear to be yet. Do we usually see a doctor when we have flu? I guess not, unless we are really ill… What would you do?

Hot July

2009-08-06T18:23:00.005+02:00

AS YOU'LL have guessed by now, I am a bit of a weather friki so just had to include this snippet – and as the coastline is just heaving with tourists baring pasty winter flesh (yes, even the Spaniards) to turn a golden brown, I've included a snap from our very short holiday last week (more about that another time if you're unlucky...)

July registered the highest average temperatures in this area since 1949. Nine alerts of forecasts for temperatures of more than 40 degrees were issued by meteorologists during the month and the average daily maximum was 32.3 degrees. The average minimum was 22 degrees, just half a degree less than during July 2008.

Am I grateful for the aircon, or what…

Weather today: Hot and sweaty - High 32ºC/90ºF Low 23ºC/73 ºF. Early morning sea mist along the coast that was soon burnt off by the sun. Not a cloud in the sky. Light southwesterly wind 15km/h. Pressure 1015 mb. Relative humidity 51%. UV index: 10.

Tragic run

2009-08-06T18:17:00.003+02:00

Ermitaño takes umbrage but the runner survived
Chaos as Ermitaño ploughs into runners

SO MUCH has happened since I last blogged. Too much to put in one entry, your eyes would just cross. My middle name should have been Keepmeaningto.

Tragically, the day after I wrote my last entry on San Fermin, a young man from Madrid was killed. Twenty-seven-year-old Daniel Jimeno was an experienced runner and aficionado de toros, but was in the wrong place at the wrong time. One of the Jandilla bulls, by the name of Capuchino, gored Daniel in the neck, severing an artery. The medical team moved swiftly and got him to the operating theatre in record time, but the surgeons couldn’t save him.

Ten more runners were injured, most of them by the same bull. One was a 60-year-old American who had a serious head injury. Americans, and foreigners in general, are notorious for getting hurt in San Fermin. Either from lack of experience or sheer foolhardiness. This was one of the worst encierros I have seen.

Two days later (it’s an 8-day affair) a Miura bull named Hermitaño took umbrage with another experienced runner, just outside the bullring, and attacked him continuously, despite other men’s efforts to distract the beast. From the TV footage you’d never think the runner’d survive – but he did, despite being gored twice and thrown around like a sack of potatoes. It is always a question of luck – good or bad – on where they get gored that determines whether they survive.

Moving on –

A load of bull

2009-07-09T17:12:00.007+02:00

I CAN'T begin to describe how San Fermin got under my skin – it just did. The first time I remember getting hooked was nine years ago, while we were in the middle of a building frenzy on the house, although I’m sure I watched it before then, on and off. But for the last nine years, I’ve only ever missed watching the running of the bulls through Pamplona’s historic streets at the beginning of the July, if I’ve been ill.

From July 7 at 8am for half an hour each morning, until July 14, I’m just not there for anyone. The Hockey Star used to watch it with me, but since he’s become a fully fledged teenager, it gets in the way of his sleeping through ‘til lunchtime. In any case, he was always very censorious of me, because I ooh and aah (as you do) if someone gets tossed by a bull or if a mound of men pile up in front of the oncoming horns. And he can’t stand the fact that I sing the chant to the Virgen along with the runners before the race starts. Just a party pooper – no fun. Minimama has never professed any interest but it could have something to do with the date coinciding with the beginning of the school summer holidays.

So today was the third encierro so far this year – and luckily no one has been gored yet, though a few have been carted off to hospital with concussion, contusions and a couple of lads have had a close encounter with a horn, which has punctured their flesh, but no proper goring. It’s a risky business. At least 14 people have been killed over the decades.

I’m dead against bullfighting, and I know that the horned beasts that run the streets will turn up in Pamplona’s bullring in the afternoon, but I am fascinated by the encierro. If I was young and in Pamplona I’d have to have a go – but I’m middle-aged and my running’s not up to scratch so if I ever get to be there for the fiestas – I’ll be content to get a spot to watch them rush by.

If you’d like to learn more there are countless sites on internet – just google San Fermin or take a look at this pretty basic web - http://www.navarra.com/english/sanfermin/index.htm
Or better still - check out the Spanish TV site - http://www.rtve.es/noticias/sanfermines/2009/even though it's not in English you can see photos - click on the fotografías tab at the top or videos. There is also a section on how not to be a guiri (foreigner). They're notorious for behaving badly.

My poor little girl

2009-06-30T22:01:00.007+02:00

TODAY I’d just like to say that my little girl (she’s only 20) has been very poorly. Minimama, as we call her, on account of her being a younger, more clever, more beautiful and slimmer version of me (I know, I didn’t think it was possible to better the present, but there you go – wrong again hey) has been smitten by a nasty bug over in Ecuador where she’s living right now.

She’s had a fever, cough and flu-like systems as well as a dodgy digestive system. She's felt very rough, but the worrying thing is she was at a wedding with another girl who has been diagnosed as having swine flu, or whatever you want to label it. Luckily Minimama is on the mend and the hospital she went to doesn’t think she has the same problem, just a touch of a stomach infection. I felt quite useless half the way around the world.

Here are some get well flowers just for you… And a kiss from the Hockey Star, the Artist, Kitty, Sockiboloski and Tom. Hope to see you soon!

PS - Just seven days until San Fermin starts in Pamplona - I'm getting excited already...

Weather today: Hot and sweaty - High 32ºC/90ºF Low 23ºC/73 ºF. Not a cloud in the sky. Light southwesterly wind 12km/h. Pressure 1016 mb. Relative humidity 56%. UV index: 11.

Plum season

2009-06-23T22:02:00.001+02:00

THIS year our little plum tree has surpassed itself and yielded almost 2 kilos of fruit. I’d like to take credit for this – having nurtured, watered it, and catered for its every whim. But I’d be lying. The plum tree has adapted to my brand of organic – thrive or die. There is no special treatment as I’ve no time. All that is left, quite naturally, is a garden of survivors. So, well done plum tree and let’s be seeing an extra kilo or two next year.

And while I’m on the fruit subject – I''m already looking forward to lots of apples this autumn - the tree is positively groaning while the grapefruit tree struggles to give fruit every other year. This spring it was covered in blossom but the vicious winds in April knocked most of them off, which is a good thing because the poor little tree looks barely big enough to stand up – and it is ancient so it must have been planted on some pretty poor soil.

Weather today: High 32ºC/90ºF Low 22ºC/72 ºF. Not a cloud in the sky. Light southwesterly wind 11km/h. Pressure 1012 mb. Relative humidity 55%. UV index: 10.

Ayyyyy, they’ve axed my Aquagym

2009-06-22T23:15:00.001+02:00

Just got back from the gym. Yes, me. Incredible I know but two months ago I signed up to an exercise programme, under careful medical scrutiny. Not a doctor as I had thought but a chap in a white coat with a degree in sports. In any case, my Not Doc was very thorough and as soon as he heard my knees crackle like crisp packets he sent me off to Aquagym classes which was probably all the Fitness Centre’s insurance would cover me for.

Aquagym is a small group of ladies of a certain age and girth, who perform aerobic-like exercises (that’s the theory) in a waist-deep swimming pool to the thump-thump-thump of disco music while a young, svelte slip of a thing yells instructions from the pool’s side. It must be an attention-grabber because we inevitably draw a sweaty audience from the upper floor gym. For The Artist, who is at least as athletic as me, this whole thing conjured up images of the dancing hippos from Walt Disney’s Fantasia. How rude…

Actually it’s probably worse than that. We go red in the face too which the hippos didn’t. I thoroughly enjoy the whole thing, except perhaps the ladies’ communal showers. My legs no longer feel like cement blocks when I get out of the pool after our class and I feel so much fitter.

I even thought I was on my way to becoming thin. Not so, said Not Doc who soon clarified that a little water-bouncing was never going to make me thin, just tone me up a bit.

He must be right. Since then I’ve met several girlfriends who swear they go to the gym every day from Monday to Thursday to do excessive, masochistic exercise routines. Rather disappointingly they still sport their usual porky silhouettes.

But today I heard crushing news. The FC management swines have wiped our Aquagym off the timetable - changed for the summer while the Fitness Centre is overrun with kids – out of school for the three-month academic break. Ayyyyeeeee - How frustrating. I mean it’s OK for me not to go because it’s not convenient/I’m too tired/I’m too old/too busy/got to have a tooth pulled etc. But for THEM to cancel our class until October – How could they?

I have come home and opened a bottle of cava to commiserate with myself. Now I shall be forced to spend my summer evenings with my feet up, quaffing chilled white wine and enjoying some splendid Spanish cuisine … life is tough.

A little history of Chefchaouen

2009-03-05T22:38:00.000+01:00

A LITTLE history of Chefchaouen, courtesy of http://www.chaouen.info/ and unedited, arrghh it was tough but I think it is much more charming in its original form.

A little history of Chefchaouen
The city of Chefchaouen was founded in 1471 by Mulay Alí Ben Rachid. Located in an enclave difficult to access it dominated the mercantile route between Tetuan and Fez and served as a base to restrain the entrance and influences of the Portuguese of Ceuta.
During 15th and 17th century the city prospered and grew in considerable form with the arrival of the moriscos and sefardíes who were expelled from Spain. Until nowadays the district Andalúz is one of the most popular of the medina.

The Kasbah was constructed by Mulay Alí Ben Rachid and soon recovered by Mulay Ismail at the end of 17th century to defend the city. First of all the Portuguese tried to attack the city then later the rebellious tribes Bereberes and after that the Spaniards tried to attack.
The city was closed to all the foreigners, especially to the Christians, until the beginning of the Spanish occupation in 1920.
However, at the end of 19th century the first travellers arrive: the French explorer Charles Foucauld, disguised as a rabbi; the English journalist Walter Harris as rifeño, and William Summers, an American missionary, who was poisoned and died there.
Between 1924 and 1926, during the war of the Rif, Abd-el Krim was able to expel the Spaniards, but these did not take long to occupy Chaouen again in September of 1926, this time they remained until the Moroccan independence in 1956.

Chaouen here we come...again

2009-03-05T22:17:00.000+01:00

MARCH is here at last and our mini trip to Morocco is getting closer. I'm so looking forward to going back and to introducing the Hockey Star to a new culture. I want to see his face as his senses are assaulted with so many new sights, smells, sounds and sensations.

If his globetrotting sister was with us she'd be fascinated - there again so would the locals - with her.

This trip will be different of course -it's not the first, so it won't be as intense, but it will give me the opportunity to see things in a more familiar and relaxed light. I shall take fistfuls of batteries for my camera and dither outside little shop entrances trying to convince myself that I don't need to buy anything. What I will buy is orange blossom oil - just smelling it relaxes me instantly. And this time I will buy the rose petal cream - how did I come back last time without it?

Weather today: High 16ºC/61ºF Low 12ºC/54 ºF. Overcast with sunny spells. Moderate westerly wind 39km/h. Pressure 1017 mb. Relative humidity 47%. UV index: 4

Living on three euros a day

2009-02-19T17:57:00.000+01:00

WEEKDAY mornings usually start off with a wrestling match to tune the car radio in as I drive the Hockey Star to school. It’s a fight for either the local thump-thump-tonka-tonka rock station or the news analysis discussion programme. No guesses for who chooses what. The Hockey Star has the advantage of not having to keep his hands on the wheel and, quite frankly, I’m not much up to a fight before my second coffee. So we have the seat-vibrating stuff on the way there and the political post-mortem drone on the way to the office.

Today, after ten minutes of button-pushing even My Boy admitted there was nothing worth listening to, so I got lucky. We tuned in just as they were asking, what would you spend your money on if you had to live on three euros a day? Ho, I thought, a coffee is one euro – and I need two to get operational – which would leave me with a euro to eat something – one euro of food for the whole day? I’d have to cut out coffee so I didn’t fade away. Gone would be the days of dribbling industrial quantities of olive oil over a toasted bread roll and a steaming hot coffee for breakfast. That costs over two euros.

We listened some more. A lot of people interviewed said food, many others would rather starve and buy cigarettes. One hygienic chap couldn’t live without a toilet roll. It started us thinking. Bonzo said he sometimes buys a bread roll and a couple of slices of something porky from the supermarket next to school during break time. That costs 60 cents. You can get a 1.5 litre bottle of water for around 25 cents. Not much of a breakfast but it will keep you alive and leave you with 2.15 euros for the rest of the day.

On the home front we’d be sleeping in the street on and under cardboard we’ve found in the rubbish containers – so no costs there. We could also get one free hot meal a day and an occasional shower at a homeless shelter. I don’t think there are any costs for showers – but there might be. I told the Hockey Star that I’d seen a programme where a reporter lives rough for a month. She’d filled up a small plastic bottle she found with liquid soap from a public bathroom (so don’t say you don’t know now). Same soap will do for bod and hair. So by now we’ve had breakfast, showered and had lunch and still got 2.15 euros. Free meals involve a lot of queuing but we can cast our eyes over a library book or a discarded newspaper. Both are in abundance and keep us culturally up with the best of the property-owning capitalist bunch, err like you and I for instance.

I think you get the gist. Clothes from the bin or from the church and so on. It can be done if you pare life down to barely an existence. Sadly millions cope like this every day.

Street sleeping and a tramp’s life means hardships beyond my imagination but I think the idea of trying to work out how to live in Europe on a ridiculously small amount of money is an instructive exercise that can highlight just how much we spend on unnecessary things. And talking of unnecessary things, now that I think of it I shall do away with Bonzo’s pocket money. What’s he need it for anyway?

Weather today: High 18ºC/64ºF Low 9ºC/48ºF. Sunny. Light southerly wind 11 km/h. Pressure 1017 mb. Relative humidity 73%. UV index: 3

I’ve felt like a dog this week

2009-02-18T18:19:00.000+01:00

OVER THE last week my companions at work have heard me coming well before I get through the office door. The elephant-bellowing nose blowing that precedes me is a hint. And try as I might to be discreet, I just can’t get my atomic-blast, brain-lifting sneezes down to a polite kerchu, kerchu. Some women can. I can’t. And that’s on a good day. On a bad day, I accompany the above with a range of sniffles, tragic sighs, croaky voice and a cough that masquerades as a St Bernard’s bark. I also look very sorry for myself. At the risk of cracking a cheap joke, and I can’t resist it, I’d say I was well in touch with my male side. Sorry chaps.

However, this bout of gungy germs – my first this winter I can proudly claim – has its bright side too. It means I can finally doze and do dying-maiden, err correction, I mean dying-matron, impressions on the sofa with a clear conscience and not feel lazy or under pressure. Real colds, or imaginary, are also amazingly good at keeping the old gaffers at bay and my cheeks free of toothless kisses which are almost all I can expect these days.

The vicious microbes that have knocked me rather more off my feet this time than I expected are still with me a week down the line. I had hoped they’d be on their way to another bod by now. It must be an age thing, but it serves as an excuse, or reason even, to apologise yet again for not ‘blogging’ more often.

In fact, truth be told, I’ve hurried back today because my amigo El Funcionario (http://www.yasoyfuncionario.blogspot.com/, where you can practice your Spanish) has linked me once again to his increasingly famous blog, not as a favour you must understand but more as a whipping to get my act together. At least I can be consistent in my constant apologies for not keeping this blog up. And being consistent is a good thing, so I am told.

Weather today:
High 17ºC/63ºF
Low 7ºC/45ºF
Sunny
Light southerly wind 11 km/h
Pressure 1017 mb. Relative humidity 55%. UV index: 3

It's late, it's cold and it's Monday

2009-01-12T21:38:00.000+01:00

It’s late, it’s cold. It’s Monday and I’m tired, but I feel guilty I haven’t posted anything on the blog for almost two weeks – especially as I promised myself that I would be consistent – so here is proof that it is brass monkey weather. I should have posted other stuff too, but it’s been even more hectic than ever recently.

Today, at last – I have made it to the health centre where, weighed down with forms to fill and leaflets on all the different options I have to get myself fit, I dithered as to what option would be the quickest, least painful and that required the least amount of effort. I can see I am starting out with just the right attitude, hey. Will the flat-stomached, stick-insect me finally find the way out of this fat, bingo-winged version. It would be great. Having lost 10 kilos last year, (and put on several over Christmas, sniff) now is the time to get another 10 kilos off. Watch this space…

Weather today

2008-12-31T11:20:00.000+01:00

High 15 °C /59ºF

Low 12 °C/54ºF

Overcast with showers, heavier rain later in the day.

Light south-east wind 17 km/h.

Pressure 1021 mb. Snow above 2.300 m. Relative humidity 85 %.

A traditional Spanish saying

2008-12-30T23:45:00.001+01:00

As 2009 timidly approaches most of us are busy battening down the hatches in preparation for its arrival, having heard the pessimistic winds of economic gloom that precede it. A few are, rather unnervingly, going where no man has gone before and throwing caution to the wind while spending lots of dosh. What, I’m sure we are all asking, are we in for next year? The overall scenario is quite unnerving with shops shutting, airports empty, electricity bills poised to shoot up at one second past midnight on Thursday and newspapers scaremongering on a daily basis (ahem). I wonder, like many, where it will end but I try not to get too jumpy about it, sticking my head in a good novel at night, until it falls on my nose and I fall asleep.

And so, tonight as I wash and fuss 12 small green grapes into umpteen bits of uncooperative cellophane and ribbon, in preparation for the 12 chimes of midnight and our annual hamster-face impressions as we attempt to bolt them down almost all at once, I think of the coming year and remember one of my favourite Spanish sayings: Virgencita, déjame como estoy – Little virgin, let me be. Let me be healthy, wealthy and wise and you too of course.

That is what I wish, just for starters, but if possible I wish that 2009 be a truly magnificent year for you. And although I have a feeling that I may need a larger virgin to make this wish come true it is nonetheless straight-from-the-heart sincere -
May 2009 bring you health, happiness, peace of mind and even a few shekels.

Happy New Year

The fat one has touched me

2008-12-22T22:42:00.000+01:00

EL GORDO, or Fat One was held today. Spain goes hysterical every December 22 when the annual Christmas lottery is drawn. No other lottery creates quite the same expectation, nor makes normally sceptical and sensible people, like me, buy lottery tickets – except at this time of year.

The night before, when the nation is tucked up in bed, the collective thought is how to spend tomorrow’s fortunes. I’m no exception. Last night I tiled the back garden, put a swimming pool in, and took a long, luxury trip abroad after settling my debts and mortgage and even put some shekels aside for the family and the kids’ education. Once you’ve worked out exactly how much you can win with your 22-euro ticket – 300,000 euros tops, although of course you can buy an infinite number of tickets – then the only restriction is your own imagination.

At 9 am, the sing-song voices of the children start to call out the numbers, creating a nationwide echo as ears are glued to radios, and eyes to TV and computer screens. Wherever you go, in and out of shops, offices, taxis, banks, past homes and bars, the continuous roll call goes on, non-stop – through the streets and in and out of the buildings, across the plazas and out into the countryside.

As the morning grows old and the numbers and prizes come up it, becomes clear that this year, like all the previous, isn’t going to be your lucky one when it comes to El Gordo. Although for the hysterically excited people that bob up and down in delirious crowds it is thumbs up as they gather round narrow lottery shops while the owners pop the cava bottles, spraying the happy crew. It’s never too clear how many have really won, and how many are just there to soak up the happy-clappy, feel good factor and appear on telly – but once you’ve seen this scene a few times, you begin to feel like the loser you are, and as all the TV stations go into the Fat One frenzy all you want to do is turn the box off before you see another idiotic grin.

And so, another December 22 ends, bringing to a close the most clichéd event of the year, with most of us trying to convince ourselves that we don’t mind not winning, brightly spurting out the same age-old sayings: “Well, it was shared out”; “I’m so glad it went to people who really need it”; “It’s only money, the important thing is to be healthy.”

But not me, not this year – because the Fat One has touched me – El Gordo me ha tocado – and I have won a whopping great 10 euros, of which The Artist takes half (an arrangement that has, until today given him four euros from my earnings and 100 euros for me from his).. Oooeee, I nearly won 100 euros – but the last number was a six instead of a five. As the saying goes, an inch is as good as a mile….

Anyway, the important thing is to be healthy…. Merry Christmas….

Beam me up Scottie

2008-12-15T20:05:00.000+01:00

Ahhh bliss, nothing like being pummelled and abused by a physiotherapist. ‘My’Eli is only five foot nothing but she can pack a punch with those tiny hands and on a Monday, when she’s been resting for a couple of days, it's hell.

Still the up side is that whatever it is she does - when she pulls, hits and pummels my bulging calves, to stretch my short Achilles tendons - along with the exercises and stretching, it works and the pain in my foot gets marginally better.

My usual routine takes 40 minutes. After the massage bed battle, I’m left, tummy down – girth spreading out dangerously to the sides of the narrow trolley - and legs under an infra red lamp, set to fry me for ten minutes. It’s late in the evening, it’s warm and relaxing, and I have to make a real effort not to fall asleep, in case I dribble or snore – or worse.

On a good day, or rather a bad day when the foot hurts a lot, I get a session of ultrasound on the ball of my left hoof. I’m not sure what this does, but it feels nice at any rate. I try to make out that every day is a bad day, but I can’t be convincing enough because I don’t always get the jelly treatment.

After that it’s 10 minutes on the conveyor belt, learning to walk properly, ie heel down first and roll the foot (I have been seen doing this around the village, which just shows that I am of an age, as I don’t give a cucumber what anyone might think) before going to the ramp and stretching the calf muscles for 15 minutes. This is all done in front of large glass windows that reflect things you’d rather not see.

Then comes the best bit. I’m taken away to a small room, where hospital noises and nurses’ voices are reduced to a muted sleep-enhancing level. Here I get to lie down again (yawn, ‘scuse me) and my feet are zapped in a magnetotherapy thingy-ma-ging that is supposed to reduce inflammation.

It feels so modern, lying with my plates of meat tingling under this metallic arch while it works its invisible magic. When I am left by myself, after the nurse leaves, I mutter quietly in the hope of being tele-transported to a life of luxury, “Beam me up Scottie” but Scottie must be out to lunch with Lieutenant Uhura, in her tiny Starfleet dress, because so far he’s failed me and the session ends and I have to tumble out into the reality of a cold evening and a bathroom to clean…

Red hat days

2008-12-10T19:19:00.000+01:00

Well, the wind is still howling round the house and down the chimney, trying to get its chilly tendrils into our home, shaking the windows, pushing the doors and trying to squeeze in any cracks. It has been a howling day from dawn to dusk, and then some. At midday the bright sunshine made the temperatures go up a little, but now they’re creeping back down the Celsius scale. The cats are disgusted by it all and don’t want to go outside. Any jangling of keys and they hide in the hope that I won’t throw them out. Even Tom is curled up on a dining room chair, snug underneath the table in the hope that I might forget he exists.
So we’re in for our second polar blast already this autumn. The north of Spain is covered in snow and the mountains that tower over our bay are white-capped again. It’s definitely red hat weather, just like the nippy stuff we had in Madrid where this photo, definitely my best, was taken last month. At least today it’s been dry which is a plus.

The Darkling Thrush

2008-12-09T22:07:00.000+01:00

This is one of my favourite poems - Thomas Hardy works his magic, portraying a truly wintery image. This marvellous photo of a thrush, puffed up to keep warm, reminded me of The Darkling Thrush especially tonight, as the wind howls outside and temperatures plummet to 5ºC, which for the south of Spain is very cold. There'll be lots of birds puffed up tonight, trying to shelter from the wind and frio.

THE DARKLING THRUSH

I leant upon a coppice gate

When Frost was spectre-gray,

And Winter's dregs made desolate

The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky

Like strings of broken lyres,

And all mankind that haunted nigh

Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be

The Century's corpse outleant,

His crypt the cloudy canopy,

The wind his death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth

Was shrunken hard and dry,

And every spirit upon earth

Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among

The bleak twigs overhead

In a full-hearted evensong

Of joy illimited;

An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,

In blast-beruffled plume,

Had chosen thus to fling his soul

Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings

Of such ecstatic sound

Was written on terrestrial things

Afar or nigh around,

That I could think there trembled through

His happy good-night air

Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew

And I was unaware.

To Christmas card or not?

2008-12-03T21:03:00.000+01:00

Not. Definitely not. Take Bishop Stephen Cotteral for instance. What an intelligent chap to have written the book reviewed below…

Do nothing: Christmas is coming, says bishop

Do Nothing: Christmas is Coming by Stephen Cottrell
With just 31 praying days to Christmas, a Church of England bishop has penned a book which aims to be just the tonic for the frenetic activity of Advent – even suggesting cutting up the credit card, making friends a simple homemade gift, and pruning the Christmas card list to those you really care about.
It follows the success of Do Nothing to Change Your Life in 2007, when Bishop Stephen Cottrell, the Bishop of Reading, handed out egg-timers to commuters at his local train station to highlight the value of time spent in stillness.
His new book, Do Nothing: Christmas is Coming, is an ‘Advent calendar with a difference’ offering readers “another way of celebrating Christmas, where its joys and promises can help put life back together again” rather than risk it imploding with “all the conflicting demands and expectations” that the season can bring.
Far from a killjoy’s manifesto, the book’s brief, down-to-earth daily reflections take their cue from the trimmings and trappings of contemporary Christmas – from buying the turkey to the office Christmas party. Each ingredient of the modern Christmas is given a twist, encouraging readers to consider their preparations for Christmas in ‘slow motion’: to create time amid the Advent rush to rediscover the real joys of the festival by taking time to look afresh at how to prepare, and wait patiently, for the celebration of Christ’s birth.
Each day’s reflections, which serve as prompts for quiet periods of rest and contemplation, conclude with practical suggestions for further thought, prayer or action – ranging from reviewing your charitable giving, to creating homemade gifts, seeking out vulnerable people who might be alone this Christmas, or bringing back family mealtimes. This book offers a conversation between the imagined voice of the sort of frazzled and fragmented person that many of us become at Christmas, and my own reflections and suggestions on how to make sense of this and start sorting things out,” writes Bishop Stephen in his introduction.

The original article is at http://www.ekklesia.co.uk/services/dailyemail

Christmas puddy cat

2008-12-03T20:58:00.000+01:00

One thing I have done is get out The Christmas quilt. It is so lovely and doesn’t get seen much so it’s coming on full display in the living room over the festive season. I can already hear my friends wowing and ooohing. I’m honoured to have it. It was the first quilt my mum made, which makes it even more special. Of course finding a free sofa here in the winter is impossible, and who should be sat posing by the quilt but Socki Boloski who must be getting old, ‘cos this is the first winter he has preferred to be inside rather than out. Well, I had best beetle along. Despite zenning Christmas I have Christmas lunch to prepare for Sunday. We’re celebrating early this year as we won’t all be around on the day.

I'm zenning Christmas

2008-12-03T20:41:00.000+01:00

I can’t get that phrase out of my head – it’s going around like a limerick…

I’m zenning Christmas this year
And letting stress, its ugly head rear .....

Think that's enough - Go on you finish it. I’m hoping that this will cure my desire to talk in rhyming phrases…
So Christmas is coming and we took an executive company decision, the Hockey Star and I, and decided we were going to go for the minimalist bit. Lots of candles, the fire blazing and end of story, well alright maybe just one or two special festive pieces, like the tree.

I put the tree up this afternoon – As you can see from the snap shot - it's very special and it took me 30 seconds to put it up, and is fully decorated. As for the fairy lights, they can run along the dining room table when we devour the turkey.

Diet? Yes, diet, face lift, new body – everything…now

2008-12-01T00:19:00.000+01:00

Aaaaaaarggghhh. I’ve just seen a vision of the future – me at 80. Three chins surrounded by bouffant streaked-blonde hair and wrinkles scratched like jet plane lines in the sky. Honest. In other words a woman of a certain age – and let’s not mention weight – even though we all know that the telly makes you fatter, my screen has just gone into overdrive. Never again will I let a TV camera film from the side, the swine.
The report was actually very good. Our football correspondent was an absolute star (no extra chins on her) and the clip was fun and informative but the blasted camerman certainly didn’t get my best side. Tomorrow I really am on the food straight and narrow.

I shall take my depression to bed, along with my dieting CD – which always sends me to sleep instantly, although the other night I did wake up to hear the old bat rattling away absolutely drivel – and to think I have been listening subconsciously to that every night.

TV stardom while the snow sneaks closer

2008-11-30T22:40:00.000+01:00

I wish I could have a day in bed. Not tossing with fever or nursing a bandaged ankle. Just a day in bed. Wake up late, get a coffee, crawl back under the still-warm covers, snuggle down with a good book, and cuddle up to the inert mound of the usually very active Artist. Then I could drift off to sleep again. Although, truth told, by about midday I’d be getting all fidgety and nerviosa.

I’m only whinging because today was an early start for a Sunday, although totally laid back compared to yesterday’s 6am Up And At ‘Em. The Hockey Star had a match in Madrid, poor chap. The team left at 7am, played at 4pm, won the match, returned in the minibus and the Artist and I picked him up in the drizzling rain at 1.45 am this morning. We got to bed by 3am and I was showered and dressed by 9.30am ready for my next media star part. I’m glad to say that the Hockey Star didn’t fall out of bed until around 2pm.

Anyway, off I went (in my new wheels, naturally) to the office to welcome journalist and camera from the Andalucian TV company, where they were going to interview our football correspondent. Experience has taught me that if I go dishevelled and hair unwashed, they’ll want me in the shot too. So I washed the bouffant and wore my high heels, though I could hardly walk, but even then, they still wanted me in the shot. Me, on a football programme? Of all things. I doubt Andalucía will understand what we said, in our guiri Spanish. Here's hoping in any case.

The experience was painless and quick. I doubt I will be more than a fleeting shadow as a day’s filming will be reduced to four minutes on the screen. To celebrate my new celebrity status the Artist and I went along to the local bar for breakfast - black coffee, toast with tomato and olive oil for me – Big fat, fried, hot and crunchy churros for the Artist. Who said diet?

On the way home we stopped to admire the peaks beyond the bay, sprinkled with snow. If I hadn't got up to do the TV thing I wouldn't have seen the snow-capped mountains. Life is like that, it gives you little presents, and if we're lucky, the ability to enjoy them. (If you click on the photo you can actually see the snow).
Slowly over the last few days the snow has been creeping closer to home. Last night it rained quite heavily but today it has been gloriously sunny and crispy cold – just 10ºC at five this afternoon. The snow won’t get any closer but it’s lovely to see.

Why say yes when you really mean no?

2008-11-28T20:08:00.000+01:00

Why say yes when you really mean no? That was what I was going to write about today. I had the whole thing written up in my head and just had to get to a computer quick. But I failed. Work got in the way and now I have forgotten the argument and I am too befuddled by tiredness to say much of worth. If you're unlucky, I'll get back to it another day.

Anyway, I'm tired but happy. It’s Friday, and the weekend stretches ahead and outside, in the street, sit my (hopefully) soon-to-be-new-wheels. I have been given the car to use all weekend to see how it feels and whether I want to buy it. I suspect I shall spend the next two days driving the Artist round the bend and then another, and another. Poor chap. Our old and battered silver Loretta sits dejectedly in the street, quite forlorn with the cocky red VW gloating behind. I feel quite the adulterer, but we need a car.

I confess, that it was love at first sight and that I can hardly say anything coherent because we only met today. Such excitement has left me yawning for oxygen, emotionally exhausted and the biggest car bore this side of Sierra Morena.

Grey days

2008-11-27T17:31:00.001+01:00

We woke early this morning to a lead grey day, tinged blue with icy light and 5ºC, although the kitchen window's thermometer was marking an enthusiastic 10ºC. It was cold, but didn’t feel like five degrees. However, Boloski Boy didn't agree, and for the first time that I can remember, our fat cat begged to stay indoors when we tumbled out the front door at eight o'clock. Luckily it hasn’t rained so far, and being carless, we’re more than thankful for that. After yesterday’s downpour, which drenched my hockey star on his way home from the instituto and covered the nearby mountains with snow, it’s been nice to dry out a bit today.
By mid morning the sun was gaining some ground but the winter weather has come ahead of its season and the next few days are set to be stormy, wet and cold. Ideal weather to be without wheels and a hot water heater. Guess that leaves one more thing to break before we get to the proverbial no hay dos sin tres or perhaps it was a la tercera va la vencida - three times lucky!

Did I mention the wonderful cava cooler?

2008-06-18T02:06:00.001+02:00

Is this cool or what? Here it is again, this time in its glorious green version. I shall remember this birthday, at least so far, for this toy and for the singing of Bear Necessities in the restaurant. We howled with laughter.

Happy Birthday!

2008-06-18T01:55:00.000+02:00

Life is tough and then it gets so much better. Work over and off to dinner with the girls to celebrate Gony's birthday. There we sat, surrounded by luxury yachts, the full moon shining down on the Med in the company of old friends and enjoying excellent food. What a way to end the day. Then down to the hot bar area where we sat underneath the swaying palms and shared a bottle of cava in this truly wonderful cooler that shines from within and changes colour. If it had fit in our handbags we would have taken it. The evening only spoilt by the 20-year-old waiter saying "guapisimas" every time he came near the table and wasn't dribbling over some ridiculously dressed, skinny and incredibly good looking girl. I almost clobbered him with my sensible middle-aged handbag. A lovely evening... and a lovely prelude to my birthday, finished off with me holding a sparkler while we all sang Happy Birthday - and the wonderful thing was that at this age we just don't care who looks at us and if we make fools of ourselves - the only thing that matters is that we are enjoying ourselves tremendously.

It's been a while, I know

2008-05-24T17:47:00.000+02:00

It's been a while I know. I've been meaning to get back to writing this blog but have found all kinds of reasons not to. Today, though, in a five minute break after a stressful morning, I've decided to write a few lines.

My son's field hockey team are immersed in the regional play-offs for the national championships. It's serious stuff, and not for the weak-hearted.

Yesterday they played against the team from Cádiz and beat them, with difficulty. While their match was being played, the chaps from Madrid and Alicante arrived. They were HUGE. Real men, not young teenagers. At least they appeared to be, but they're not of course, as all players have to hand in their IDs with their birthdate on it - Even so, they were big and strong and we are having to bring in lads from the younger teams as we just don't have the personnel.

Beating Cádiz yesterday was a psychological plus.

Today our lads were up against Alicante who won against Madrid yesterday - so a lot of pressure. Our team played, what was for me the best game I've ever seen them play, and the drew 2-2. Boy did we, parents and friends, suffer. But the score much better than we expected. Bonzo played so well, I swelled up like a mother hen. He was impressive, but the effort took its toll and at the end of the match he almost fainted.

We spent a memorable half an hour or more in the changing room with me supporting his legs in the air while The Artist first fanned him cool, then rubbed him warm as he lay on the floor trying to get down a sugary drink. He was all over the place poor guy. Finally, he felt better and we came home, where on his request The Artist conjured up a mouth-watering paella, while our hero had a long shower.

Fully fed and restored he's now gone off to chill out with the rest of the team while they plan the strategy for tomorrow's game. I'm quite frankly exhausted!

Last night us mums, known as the Veteranas, had our weekly field hockey training session. We played a full hour on a half-field pitch which brought lots of complaints from us girls but our trainer wasn't hearing them. I didn't sleep at all well because I hurt all over. It was exhilarating and I can tell I'm getting fitter but boy this morning I felt I'd had the stuffing beaten out of me.

More tomorrow. If our team wins tomorrow, they're off to Zaragoza next week to play in the national championship - my nerves are shot to pieces!

Feliz Navidad!

2007-12-26T22:26:00.001+01:00

Cinderella Sunday - Whinge, moan, grumble and complain

2007-11-04T20:21:00.000+01:00

Sunday morning, early - most other people are still snoring, but not me, I’m listening to my washing machine proudly announce the programme I’ve chosen while loading the first of three washes. A brief interlude, of coffee and chat with The Artist before he leaves to spend the day painting for his December exhibition, and it’s back to the grindstone.
What feels like the rest of my day is spent in the kitchen cooking for the next few days, hanging out washing, bringing in washing, mopping the floor, dusting, organising news items in preparation for our usual Monday deadline rush, and oh joy, I still have a little free time to iron.
Am I complaining? Of course I am. Like anyone else I’d like to spend the day slothing over a Sunday paper before easing myself out of the armchair to sit down to Sunday lunch, followed by an even more slothful afternoon in front of the telly, sewing – whatever….
Still – I don’t have to walk three kilometres to get water, we eat every day … and there is free medical care available 24/7. So I shouldn’t complain, I know. I should find the positive side to this situation and change my mental chip. But I don’t want to – I want to have a 46-year-old paddy and throw myself on the floor and yell it’s not fair.
Not a good example to the kids I know.

And having got that off my chest – I must leave you and turn my attention to a hot drier which is giving the finishing touch to my still damp washing before I tackle the ironing. Do I know any men who spend their Sundays like this? And if not – am I stupid? Rhetorical questions – so no replies please.

Bugsville, Spain

2007-10-28T19:53:00.000+01:00

Soon to be a view of the past

Sadly the wildlife outside in the garden doesn't just rear its ugly head in spring. Today I killed a small scorpion by the rubbish bin. I didn't enjoy it but I decided that I wasn't up for a reunion inside the house. Shortly afterwards I came face to face with my first, and rather large (5 cms or so) red palm beetle, weevil, mite or whatever, clinging to one of my new curtains. It was a soul-destroying moment. The Artist claimed he had seen one two weeks ago in the garden but I hoped against hope that he was mistaken. However when a neighbour told me she had found one floating in her pool, I resigned myself to the fact that I am going to lose my palm trees. Today this new sighting has confirmed my fears. The whole of the coast and inland is suffering a real plague of these destructive little b**gers as they suck the life out of palm trees before moving on to fresh pastures. So, here in their honour, before they start to lose their wonderful fronds, are two of my three palm trees.

The culprit

Awesome view from hilltop hotel

2007-10-22T00:25:00.001+02:00

QUITE a breathtaking view and so was the road to get here, just above the village of Tolox, with sheer drops on one side and deep ditches on the other. Incredibly on the horizon we could see a darker blue patch and the more we squinted our eyes, the more convinced we were that it was the sea - some 50 kilometres away. It has been a magical day, full of shared memories and experiences to put away in our treasure box and bring out to relive again in the future. Getting away from all the drudge and responsibilities was energising. We've decided that we need to take to the road more often. Click on the photo to make it bigger if you want to enjoy the view.

The Artist recharges his batteries

2007-10-22T00:09:00.001+02:00

How relaxing green is. Looking across the mountainside at the pine forest we could see the afternoon sun searing through gaps in the foliage to touch the ground. Grey green mixed with yellow green, blue green, dark green, light green, green turning orange - sunlight turning one tree several different greens, shady green, shadowy green, bright sunlight green. From a distance they all make up one green mass but like everything, when you look closer, the subtle differences come forward and become obvious. Like everything in life, it just depends on your point of view.

Appreciation

2007-08-14T22:48:00.000+02:00

Appreciating rain clouds over my house

I have just had the luck to come across http://1000daysatsea.blogspot.com/

Quite amazing. I'd like to include here one of Soanya's entries because I think she sums up appreciation so well. It is something that would do me good to read every day. They are a couragous, or perhaps slightly mad, couple. I shall be following their progress regularly.

"Appreciation is an interesting concept. To consciously acknowledge your environment, the people around you and the events life puts before you as fortunate is like making every day Thanksgiving Day. Sometimes it's hard to even know that you've got it good until it's gone and you feel the absence. Appreciation makes you observe the details, to attempt to see what you haven't noticed before and be glad that you finally did notice it. It makes life richer and is not the kind of thing you need to spend money on. To always have a reverent state of mind is the most fulfilling and the moment you operate out of that state, life gets more difficult to deal with."

Life is full of surprises

2007-08-14T21:56:00.001+02:00

LIFE is full of surprises, or perhaps I should say the post box is. Hardly a day goes by without some fast-moving reptile or insect shooting out as I put my hand in to pick up the mail. Today, gingerly, I opened the flap and something yellow, black and furry buzzed away. I think it was a bee, but it could have been a wasp. Inside by the lock, the beginnings of a nest. Summing up great courage I destroyed it. Much to my relief nothing else moved. Never in a hundred years did I dream that getting mail was so hazardous. I'll have to start getting the children to pick it up (wicked witch laugh)...

Lying back and thinking of England

2007-07-22T17:43:00.001+02:00

ALTHOUGH out of chronological order - I wanted to share this restful and familiar view of the green outback, or in this case, outfront at MH. If only I could see it more often. It's impossible to get up in a bad mood after seeing this. If you want to make any of the pictures bigger - just click on them.

Tom Tom Go

2007-07-22T17:34:00.002+02:00

AS I've managed to catch Tom, the stray who adopted us, on camera too I thought I'd introduce him. Ever since he's been coming over to the food bar at the kitchen window, he has blossomed from a frightened, skinny, abandoned waif to the glossy, confident, ankle-nipping chap he is today. I'm surprised our relationship didn't end when I whisking him away to the vet to have his balls chopped off. But today he's a lot happier for it and can dedicate himself 100 per cent to fattening up and lazing around without having to worry about what the ladies might think. A bit like the average middle-aged man.

In theory, I'm still looking to home him - and will probably have to when the cooler weather comes as The Artist is allergic to cats and it's just not fair on him to bring another one in. Only Kitty has avoided the camera this time. She's finding the heat hard to deal with and moves very little. It's hard to remember that she is an old lady as she is still lithe and agile.

Life's tough

2007-07-22T17:17:00.002+02:00

LIFE'S tough for a cat in this household where their biggest decisions are: Shall I get up? Shall I eat some more? Where's the coolest spot? Where's the warmest spot? Shall I sleep here? there? or in the lavender bush? It is easy to see how Socki gets so stressed out. Here's a picture of him looking completely out of his box after a day of challenging decisions. I have to say, he makes Garfield look like some kind of athletic feline superhero. So here he is - our village's feline philosopher - doing a few neck stretches to tone up his triple chin.

Born to be rich...and fat

2007-07-13T19:24:00.002+02:00

WELL, here I am into my third day at MH and you just can’t believe how easy it is to slip into a-do-nothing mode. I’ve decided, rather unsurprisingly, that a life of luxury is for me. Today, after the unappetising waft of meals-on-wheels, M&D and I were struck by severe hunger so we fell into the nearby Royal Dragon. Mmmmmm, excellent. I’ve included a picture of me just after lunch. M&D looked just the same but I couldn’t squeeze all three of us into the camera lens. Otherwise my stay has been sleep, eat, quilt, quilt, quilt, unpick, unpick. Today as I’ve reached my sleep and eat targets so I’d better waddle off to the quilting room….

Porked out

2007-07-13T19:12:00.001+02:00

Me after Peking duck, sweet and sour pork, bird's nest of beef, huge prawns, fried rice, prawn crackers... I was completely 'stuff-ed'. Time for tea then?

Body count rises

2007-07-10T22:33:00.002+02:00

THE body count rises to include one more cadaver. A rat this time. Was it you Tom? I do hope so - your industrial feeding is making your upkeep expensive - the least you can do is zap the odd rat.

Miss Kitty takes a rest from spring hunting

2007-06-06T21:40:00.000+02:00

Washing up liquid

2007-06-06T21:14:00.003+02:00

AT THE check-out in the supermarket this afternoon, whiling away time as you do, while the queue moves slowly forward to the pulsating peep, peep, peep of the bar code reader - I noticed that the couple in front of me had bought washing up liquid. Whether this was before or after the till girl rang for assistance, standing and holding up a box of Durex contoured condoms, to ask the price - I can't remember. I can only remember how glad I was that it wasn't me. Anyway, back to the washing up liquid - Some bright spark had thought to call it 'Exotic Washing Up Liquid'.
What is exotic about washing up? It certainly isn't in our house. Even if the liquid smelt of Caribbean islands, Chanel No 5 or passion fruit salad, washing up would not be exotic. In any case it convinced the couple up front. Let's hope the condoms do too. A sort of exotic, erotic shopping trip. Who would have thought that a visit to the local Lidl could offer so much. Struck by curiosity I was dying to rush back and find out what 'exotic' smells like but I was trapped by the trolley behind me. Another day perhaps... or there again, perhaps not.

Great looking grass

2007-06-05T21:08:00.001+02:00

Thoroughly recommend grass-ripping-out to relieve stress. Not only do you feel better, but you get great pleasure out of the rough physical effort, and to boot - a great looking lawn... what more could I want.. actually...

Body count goes up

2007-06-05T20:59:00.001+02:00

SADLY our body count has gone up - it's now four mice, one bird, two lizards and one sales director - Oh sorry, how silly, it must have been wishful thinking. Well, here we are at the thankful end to a difficult working day, but nothing life threatening so I must be grateful for that. Following a little grass-ripping-out session I now feel a lot calmer.

A true portrait

2007-06-04T22:23:00.001+02:00

A true portrait of daily office hysterics. I'm the one in red at the top lefthand side (I think...)

2007-06-04T22:20:00.001+02:00

SON had a slight medical problem so I rang his doc this afternoon, thinking they’d be open but I was too quick or they were late. In any case, I got the answerphone. Instead of the usual “leave a message” spiel, a metallic male voice said “Memory full, please call later”.

Isn’t that wonderful! If a machine can have a full memory, then surely I, a middle-aged blonde qualify on a regular basis to use the same phrase. I think so. So from now on, I shall just say that when things become too much. “Mum?…” “Sorry, memory full, please come back later”….

A splodge of geranium fuzzy-felt fuschia

2007-06-03T16:22:00.000+02:00

Garden body count

2007-06-03T16:07:00.004+02:00

GLORIOUS Sunday. Cool breeze coming off the Mediterranean, sky blue, sun hot, shade deliciously cool and all the flowers are out in the garden - even the grass is still looking green. Sneaking around watering every two days now. Like I said before, no hosepipe ban but I still feel guilty as there are other parts of Andalucia that have water restrictions - so I try to be careful.
Sadly spring brings its usual garden body count as the cats sharpen their nails and hunting skills. So far four mice, one bird, one lizard and, thankfully, no snakes. Kitty is top for birds, Socki for mice and Tom? Who knows. On a very windy evening last week we came home to find Kitty had cornered a rather large baby blackbird. Luckily, with Mini Mama's screaming and flaying (distracting Kitty's attention) - it got away. Son picked up Socks and put him inside. Then he and I watched the hilarious spectacle of lithe Kitty running around the garden with Mini Mama thundering about behind her, trying to catch her. Finally, cunning won over speed - and in the house they came and we hoped the night would enable the blackbird to make it back to safety. No body - so looks like it did.

Lip Service

2007-06-01T23:32:00.003+02:00

WHAT an experience! A couple of days off work and there I was with my mother and daughter (known to her inner family circle as Mini Mama on account of her being a smaller version of me) trawling the store I love to hate – El Corte Ingles. Love to hate because its overpriced and the shop assistants have no idea what customer service means. But mum loves it and she was only here for a short visit. While she tried on clothes I wandered over to some lipsticks claiming to pump up your lips to grouper fish size. What fun! I’d heard about them but never seen any before. With a less than generous upper lip I was game to try so while the shop assistant slapped on one she swore by – I chose another. Then we stood there for a while and watched how each other’s lips got redder and more swollen. On the inside, it felt like I’d kissed a stinging nettle. Not unpleasant but not something I’d like to go through on a regular basis. I thanked the girl, saying I’d be back another day and wandered back to mum. My daughter caught me up. She could see some difference. I definitely felt like a grouper fish by now but it was more apparent to me than to others.

The 'after' photo

2007-06-01T23:28:00.002+02:00

The 'after' photo. Despite fat lips I really didn't feel at my most attractive

2007-05-28T22:52:00.002+02:00

BY JEEVES, I think I've done it - I've worked out how to get one and a half space interlining, and all on my own. Or have I? Nope - seems like I haven't What have I done? Who knows? I don't. I guess I'll have to publish this and see what happens. The beauty is you can rub it out afterwards. To finish up, I'm going to include a photo that I love. It's the Faro de Trafalgar (of battle fame)on the Cadiz coastline in southern Spain. The beaches are wide, the pace is laid back, the Atlantic sea fresh and in the wrong places, treacherous - but it's the best place around here for chilling out.

London in three days

2007-05-25T22:49:00.002+02:00

Riding at the top of a double decker -
Trafalgar Square here we come!

WE MADE a lightening trip to London at the end of February. What a buzz - back in the centre of the real world just for a few days. Adios Spanish suburbia, hola big city. The Artist was on a mission to visit every art gallery and museum that was open. I was hoping for a rather slacker pace.

He almost managed his objective but I did slow him down every time I succeeded in squeezing in a quick coffee somewhere before being whisked off to the next exhibition. If you're up for burning your throat, have tireless legs and just can't get enough of virgins, Renaissance landscapes and religion then it's fine. We saw truly beautiful paintings, others were awe-inspiring and then there was stuff that you just wondered how it had made it into a museum. I was OK with most of the contemporary work until I saw the red-triangle-on-purple-background legpullers that just don't do it for me.

I also sneaked into the gift shop at the Tate Britain and National Gallery but was very restrained, buying just two books - one on Turner and another on Impressionists. Which is just as well as I already have a shelf full of unread art books.

Basil basking in the afternoon sun

2007-05-24T17:25:00.001+02:00

May rain, deadlines and non-starter diets

2007-05-22T18:46:00.003+02:00

RAIN. What a luxury to wake, so late in spring, to the plop, plop, plop of water dropping from a broken drainpipe. Everything's soaked so no need to sneak around the garden watering the grass, at least not for two or three days. There’s no hosepipe ban but I still feel guilty. A wet-earth scent invades the air and it smells so good. Almost healing. Temperature is down so I can wear sleeves and cover up bulging-wrestler arms, at least today.
It's an early start at the office today so I drag bod out of bed. First day of new diet so exercise must accompany it so I walk to work with much huffing and puffing, as the route is mainly up hill.
Diet stopped at 10. The American brought in excellent homemade chocolate cake. It'd be rude to say no.
The American has also discovered some first class crisps, the good old, fried in a ton of oil, Spanish ones. He brought those in too. Diet finally shot to pieces when I realised I couldn't make it home for lunch so ordered fat-ladden sausage and bacon buttie on white bread from English bar next door. Must be stress-eating, or maybe it's just because I decided to start diet today.