Monday, 16 September 2019

I live in the street that is named after the patron saint of the village, San Lorenzo, but sometimes I think it should just be called the street of madness. A bloke rang my door bell looking for the hairdresser's next door so I told him where to go but a few minutes later I could hear him shouting and swearing in the street, insulting the hairdresser and anyone else who would care to listen. As you may already know you don't need CCTV cameras in Spain. Not when you've got nosy people like me looking out the window. The man's shouting started to draw the attention of the priests in the charity in front and a crippled man using the centre tried to reason with him. The shouty man grabbed the other man's crutches and started to wave them around and the crippled man who had a speech impediment started fighting to get them back. The priests came out and chastised the madman who by now I could see was homeless as he had all his worldly possessions sitting in a wheelchair. He started shouting at the priests and asking them why they wouldn't help him but they were helping foreigners like the crippled man who he had decided was a foreigner on account of him having the speech impediment and they said something on the lines that they don't help rude and racist people. He kept on banging on about foreigners and someone in the melee asked him where he was from. 'Rioja', he replied. The other man said something on the lines of 'well blow me, I'm from Huesca what does that make you? A foreigner? You are not from here how do you feel now?' Finally the police rocked up, all four of them and tried to calm the situation. Meanwhile Racist Tramp was lambasting the Catholic church and saying Jesus was this that and the other and making it impossible for himself by saying he would cut everyone's throat and plant a bomb at the charity. The police have now gone and Mr van de Ven just told me a Muslim woman has just come out of the charity and has given the Racist Tramp two loaves of bread which he is now cutting up and making a sandwich outside sitting on the steps of the hairdresser's. Never a dull moment here, Happy Monday! To be continued......

Monday, 9 September 2019

The problem with living in a polyglot household is sometimes you don't know what things are called in your native tongue. Well, that is my excuse, it is probably something more serious like ageing. A fine example is I don't know what that thing that people use to clean their terrace is called in English. In Spanish it is called a limpiador de hidropresion, so I call it a power shower. Mr van de Ven has just corrected me. 'It is not a power shower', he says, 'it's a pressure cooker!'

Sunday, 8 September 2019

In the last episode of Brexit the Soap, Doris 'the cock' Johnson has a nervous breakdown and commandeers an open top red double decker London bus and starts waving the flag of ISIS. He tells everyone it is because he is sick and needs help. He then does a runner via the Eurostar, his heaving, sweaty bulk dressed in a burka.  Dominic Cummings' interpretation of his time in Russia is revealed as a lie. That he wasn't trying to get an airline up and flying but was being trained in some kind of psychological operations by the FSB as an unwitting assassin of the Tory Party. I go to the doctor because I believe I am suffering from El Sindrome Postvacacional, to which he says, 'anything to get attention'. Confused? You will be!!! 

Sunday, 25 August 2019


The family next door are having a massive row. The father is being picked on by the matriarch and her many daughters and grandaughters. They are playing really loud music too, quite happy, upbeat music. Meanwhile my mother and I are listening to Charles Aznavour, La Boheme, and drinking a little red wine with water, talking about so many things. There are a pair of magpies on the make, jumping and chattering around the terrace. I feel at once so happy and yet so wistful at the same time and then I hear someone shout out the Spanish equivalent of 'go back to your own country!' I'm not sure who it was directed at but Mr van de Ven came out and told me not to rise to it but I am afraid that all I can think of is DO NOT GIVE ME CAUSE FOR REVENGE.

Wednesday, 7 August 2019

I have had enough. Just got buttonholed by a neighbour. I don't like him because he always strikes me as the intolerant, racist type. Apart from that I caught him taking a sneaky look at my breasts on more than one occasion but what do you do? I just keep shtum, you know, just to keep the peace because if not it could kick of with me headbutting him. Anyway, he is often going on about the 'foreigners' but when I pull him up on this he does that thing of saying he doesn't include me, as if that makes things better or if he thinks I am with him on this one. Prick. Well, I don't know what possessed me but he was going on about some Muslim neighbours who seem alright to me so I told him that contrary to what he thinks they are quite cool people and that I am helping them with the translation of a musical they are working on. I told him, God forgive me, that it's called Jihad The Musical and I am at the jazz stumps bit. It's times like this I wish I smoked a pipe....

Saturday, 3 August 2019

Just been introduced to someone new who said something on the lines of 'encantada, delighted to meet you, I have heard so much about you.' To which I replied, 'oh, really, I hope it was all bad, because if it was it's probably true!' For the love of God, what's wrong with me!!!

Thursday, 1 August 2019

Nobody knows what happens to you when you die. People say they do know but they don't. Some people say there's nothing. That you die and that's it. Sounds comforting. Yet what if they are wrong? What if there is something? What a nightmare! Or maybe it is just like a dream where you know your true self and are capable of extraordinary feats that seem to go on for ever till you get tired and say, you know what,  think I will get up now and start all over again.