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Friday, 26 September 2008

I can't really complain about the Spanish NHS especially as there is anecdotal evidence that I was shouting 'don't leave me in the hotel!' to the Dutchman during my 'estancia' at San Jorge hospital. However, I am getting rather concerned at the volume of prescriptions that seem to be growing as we speak and the cupboard groans everytime I put in more medicines or Spain Killers as the Dutchman calls them. He told me one of his pupils who happens to be a chemist is off on his holidays again. Yes, with my money. I am going to have to keep an eye on this as I am beginning to think it would be healthier and cheaper if I took illegal drugs.

On the subject of teaching, one of his other pupils had to do sentence rewriting, which is very popular here, and had the following examples.His face is always sad...he is a sad faced man. The food looks tasty. It is a tasty looking food. No wonder he will never be out of work.

I'm not sure what it is about the Dutch but they have a worrying tendency to share a similar sense of humour with the Spanish. The Dutch think it is funny to take the Mickey out of the Belgians and think it is hysterical that some people take it out of the Irish. After putting up with crap Irish jokes recently I thought I would see how they feel if I started on them. What do you call a man who cycles up a mountain above any vegetation line where he can buy sausages and sweets when he could have gone up there in a car and taken a nice picnic? A Dutchman. What do you call a man who climbs up and then over a mountain range, gets to the other side and then asks 'is there a bus back to France? A Dutchman. What do you call a man who decides to cross the Pacific on an inflatable banana with a trowel as an oar? OK, I made the last one up but the others are true and funnier than any joke about an Irish brickie.

I had a mini revelation today as I looked up and saw a Red Kite, that I would probably never go back to England. It was reassuring as opposed to the usual angst of 'what have I done' when I realise I have left the motherland for sunnier climes. It is nice to live in a place where you don't feel as though people might stab you. I am not sure I could go back unless I was rich and could afford a chauffeur to pick me up from the pub.

The sound effects from our flat seem to be coming from a radio play. The footsteps clip clopping from God knows where, the strange muffled sound of someone crying, snoring, and then talking in their sleep. Piti continues to howl but then he would as the bickering neighbours next door have had to close their windows on account of the cold so someone or something has to make up for the silence. Spanish friends have confessed to not liking silence and have admitted to having the tele on so as not to feel alone.

If there is anyone out there keen to rob a bank look no further than our local CAI. I don't wish to encourage criminals but there is a sign on the wall in the open plan office warning potential robbers that the door that leads to the safe is alarmed etc but I was amazed to see one of the staff take a key to said door from the top of a cupboard and let himself in.

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