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

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

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

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

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.

Plum season

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.

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

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…

A traditional Spanish saying

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

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….