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Thursday, 28 May 2009


So the plan to pedestrianise our barrio seems to have been put aside once more even though I am sure work was supposed to start soon. This can mean so many things so I won't hold my breath. As I have mentioned before, I only have to look at the various caudillos that stretch from here to London and back again to know that really, nothing matters. It does have a calming effect once you get into it. Henderson just walked in and announced that Newsnight announced to him moments earlier that MEPs will get a pay rise of 45 per cent after the elections. So much for the economic crisis and MPs' expenses and they have the cheek to say the public are on the verge of mob rule. I can't wait.

So I have survived the clutches of 3A and B. 2A and B wanted me to come to their shindig tomorrow afternoon but I think I am getting a little old for all this and so have declined the invitation. A desire to crack open a bottle of champagne as they all ran off into their bright futures is a sure sign that maybe I will start looking for another job.

Meanwhile Piti is still at it and now Mercedes has got the other set of keys, the ones we need to let ourselves in when he is really going for it as she managed to lock herself out again. Mr Ceresuela our other neighbour has started to bark too when he gets home. Woof woof is wow wow here and at first I didn't realise what he was up to but this has been going on for a few days now so we can presume he has finally lost it. With a wife who nags him all day and every day in her vain attempts to get him into his grave and therefore get at his money I guess he has finally flipped. We have been here a while and I calculated in one of those moments of disbelief when they were at it again, that they have had over 5,000 arguments. Surely there is a prize or certificate for this. He threw a bottle at her from the balcony the other day and was heard shouting 'leave my investments alone you thief!' This is from the man who apparently embezzled The Banco Santander and got away with it.

Finally, I learnt why I saw so many butterflies when I was last up in the mountains. There seemed to be thousands of them. On the BBC today I heard that they are now flying over Britain and heading for a holiday in Scotland. It is the largest migration of a butterfly known as the Painted Lady and they have flown from The Atlas Mountains in Morocco. The Butterfly Conservation wants people to track them as they head home in Autumn or rather their offspring. They say that no one has seen the migration back so this will give me something to do as a lover of this mysterious creature. There is also no collective noun for butterflies although there are many suggestions. I like the suggestion bordello. I will try to provide a link to the project as this will be a first.

Toodles. x

Tuesday, 26 May 2009


Since I have lived here folk have talked about the pedestrianisation of our road and the roads around it. The latest news was work would begin in the next few days ( this was in April this year) and the shopkeepers in the Plaza Bolinga were delighted after campaigning for years for the council to do the decent thing. It is now late May and I see no sign of work and am not holding my breath for another seven years. They can do what they like really with our money and keep proving themselves to be as big a bunch of chavs as the British government and all their associates.

In the last few weeks I have seen disturbing documentaries on the BBC involving the motherland and the latest trend for young men to get a big dog to replace the lack of penis. I guess if you can't afford a car a dog will do but the cruelty involved and the horrific stories portrayed gave me nightmares. My feelings toward Piti change when I see the amount of damage inflicted on some of the dogs in London alone. Last night there was another programme about the amount of security cameras around Britain which we all know about but the latest is every car journey is recorded and kept for two years and most of the companies or people running these cameras including the Home Secretary don't realise or at least think or question why no one is monitoring them. When I watch programmes like this I realise I have been away too long or perhaps not long enough. I try to imagine a Spain that tells its citizens off everytime they drop litter and the images of them giving the camera the finger and a mouthful seems refreshing considering the alternative which is living in Middlesborough and duly picking the rubbish up so as your photo doesn't appear in the Gazette on Monday morning with the finger of shame pointing at you and an eighty pound fine in the post. Never mind that you are filmed with your knickers round your neck and no bell on your bike Sunday morning and no photos are published but the security guard watching probably knocks off a crafty one.

Meanwhile here in the time machine that is Huesca people are still getting arrested for being drunk and in possession of a cow and dare I say it, Psychic TV are playing at the village hall tomorrow. We had Gong and Lydia Lunch whose age totals prehistoric. Now with Genesis P. Orrige et al the chapter surely must close. It was all shit the first time around. Why are they trying to torment me now? What next? Kajagoogoo? Cliff Richard?

My pupil Alejandro, who has enjoyed the works of Roald Dahl, The Beano, and everything from My Family and Other Animals to Tom's Midnight Garden has won an English competition and is first in Aragon and twenty first in Spain. The Cabernet Sauvignon and the Somontano his parents gave me were delicious but he is the star here and may it continue. Hic Hic Hooray!

Saturday, 23 May 2009


Waking up exhausted from my dreams which include working in a factory where dead, famous people leave their shoes behind. Serge Gainsbourg's grubby shoes featured and I tried them and zut alors they fitted perfectly. Inspired by all this I rang my mum and asked her how much acid she took in the 60's 'cos this has got to stop. The other night it was mathematics and reincarnation and it all made sense at the time but the next day I just had a headache and fleeting glimpses of the truth.I just need a good night's sleep and too feel refreshed again.

Manwhile ( I like this mistake, will add it to my Polari ) the latest has beens are heading this way. We've had Gong and Lidia Lunch so I guess it's time for Psychic TV. They are here next Wednesday and reinforce the idea that this is the town to go to if you need the money and the accolades.

Clowns to the left of me jokers to the right and Piti upstairs, stuck in the middle of the bleeding lot of them. Piti and the rest of the brood are supposed to be leaving in four days and I think with the last day of school a celebration of some sort is needed here. Painting the town red is translated as something like 'let's go and burn this village' so watch out.

Mulling over the saga of the British politicians and their chavtastic lifestyles I thought a good way of getting rid of them is defenestration (a word I have mentioned before and am fascinated with ) or better still depontification. Throw them off Westminster Bridge. I'll leave it to your imaginations. One can dream.

On the subject of culture, the short film festival looms once more. I can write a book about this place and have even asked one of its workers to fill me in this year so I can post it here but she/he is now paranoid that she/he will be found out. How mad is this? When I worked there it was 'halucinante', the goings on. The latest was the people who work there are not alllowed to have a coffee with another member of staff. Now the coffee machine has been removed altogether to deter staff from having a break. This all seems very un-Spanish and bewildering but not surprising really if you have ever worked there. I need to investigate more or just add what weird experiences I had there. A pity really as it could be quite a brilliant film festival but lacks so much due to the same mentality which seems to pervade so much of our lives here in Europe right now.

Friday, 22 May 2009


There has been an unusual silence of late and I found out that Piti is on medication. It worked for a bit but his octogenarian owner who insists on doing stuff all day which involves opening and closing her door and starting him off again seems to have forgotten to administer the dope and so everyone is treated to the sounds of a beast who howls at the sun and anything else in existence. The animal is now, like his owner, me, and possibly half the street a nervous wreck, shot to pieces and in need of some solace. I hear there is a very good Buddhist sanctuary close to the Opus Dei headquarters so I might be heading there soon.

Meanwhile,the antics of Classes 3A and 3B have calmed down but 2A and B have picked up where they left off and so this morning I was greeted by the bellows of their other teacher who screamed so loud I thought her voice had flown out of her mouth and smashed against the back wall at one point. One more week to go and I find myself on the verge and singing my own rendition of Piti The Phallic Poodle knowing that along with the pupils he will leave a much needed gap in my life.

On a more relaxing note I seem to have found a kind of esoteric peace everytime details of MPs' or Major Ponces' expenses are announced. Up to now my favourite was the moat that had to be cleaned but now it is the duck house. It all reminds me of a moment in a PG Wodehouse novel when Bertie hits upon the idea that staring at a rich, fat man in a loud check suit is rather soothing but also reinforces the view that nothing matters. Part of me still feels it has been some kind of taster for a military coup or revenge for the powers that be having the power that be to listen in on our phone calls etc and now the words boot and foot spring to mind. Everytime I'm on the blower I get pissed and start talking in my own polari just to spite them. That and deliberately not eating five pieces of fruit a day is about as far as it goes these days but I have other plans.

Saturday, 16 May 2009


For someone who is easily perturbed and can spend hours fretting over many a What If? scenario I have not been troubled by the latest flu scare stories even though I am and have been for two weeks suffering from it. I think what has kept me going is the so called scandal involving MP's expenses. MP standing for Major Ponce it seems. Ever since Lord Irving and his flock wallpaper and Cherie Blair frothing at the mouth when told she could take a few gifts from an Australian department store and ended up with over sixty items in her trolley I have been convinced that all MPs suffer from that syndrome where you can't bring yourself to put your hand in your pocket and cough up for anything anymore as for so long it's all been a freebie. I last saw it in action, albeit in infancy, at The Drury Lane Theatre's Christmas party a few years back when Dave the fireman spluttered a vol au vent over me as he tried to balance an overloaded plate of party food and tell me 'it's all free, go and grab some'.

Meanwhile, here in the Merthyr Tidfil of Spain a huge binge has been going on round the corner much to the annoyance of the locals who if they did manage to get some sleep woke up to the many body fluids to be expected on streets throughout Europe over the weekend. Henderson asked me what the strange noise was the following day and I told him it was the vomit cleaner, the man who drives a little cleaning machine that does a good job of getting rid of DNA.

The trend of daylight robbery never seems to end here with one story involving some dude described as dark, corpulent and wearing overalls, welding goggles, hard hat and brandishing a knife trying to rob old ladies who run cake shops and haberdasheries. With the construction industry the worst hit during this recession it seems fitting that he chose this disguise although on his second robbery he ran off and left it all including the knife and money in the park.

To end it all for today I couldn't help overhearing people introducing themselves and their details on that dreadful programme with that awful woman Ann Robinson called The Missing Link and felt compelled to enter the room and announce to the tele " Hi, I'm Ana, I'm 43 and I'm sick to death of the lot of you'.

Goodnight. x

Friday, 8 May 2009


Waking up in an old slaughterhouse that now acts as a bar for the locals and calls itself The Silence of the Lambs is a fitting end to one of the best birthday bashes ever, most of it unmentionable to polite ears. What started out as a civilised lunch in my favourite restaurant in the world, Casa Frauca, ended up in a debauched scene to be expected by old people who know better. May it continue.

Despite the above behaviour we did manage to ramble around the mountains and appreciate the beauty of it all including a cow with what looked like a stick of clover in her gob and the biggest moth ever to land on a wall. As big as my hand and far more sinister. They look like murderers reincarnated.

Keeping it short and sweet with the intention of writing more often, we were asked while doing the 'renta', our tax return, in the bank today whether or not it was a boy or a girl that we had had. Sorry, I replied, I don't have kids or cancer. Well I would have liked to have said that but I skipped the cancer bit but it was one of the rumours going around along with this new one about Henderson or me giving birth. Not a lot happens in the village.

I found out recently that one of the few shops where I often find myself gazing lovingly at the objets d'art in the window is going to close down as it's not every day you need a fancy tagine or a Moroccan tiled fountain. I've been in three times now and each time the proprietor has given me a massive discount but this only leaves Henderson begging me 'please, no more plates' as the house piles up with lumber we couldn't afford before the credit crunch but now people seem to be giving away. Never before have I been offered so much for so little. Free shampoo in the supermercado, free face creams and sun protection of the more expensive French variety from my chemist (about time after all the holidays he has been having with my money). My telephone company sends me messages every day trying to persuade me to take advantage of all the bargains now on offer. The shop with the Moroccan stuff will close at the end of the month and the owner told me she may start giving it away on or around that day if there is any left.

Lastly, yesterday nearly saw my demise in the form of a deluge from hell. 'Did you get caught in the rain?' would be an understatement. I might as well have jumped in the river and it was one of those moments when nature catches you and you find yourself thinking for a split second 'this is it' before someone finally opens the door and you fall into their hallway spitting leaves and expletives.