Tuesday, 22 July 2014
Dear friends. Hopefully you are all well and keeping the rug firmly under your feet despite all trying to pull it from under you. Me? Well things are always a bit hectic here. H has decided to take up a hobby. Fencing if you please. I wouldn't mind if he was sticking bits of wood in the ground but no, I've just seen him lunging, foil in hand towards a policeman who called him 'an aggressive little fucker' which I thought was a bit rich. I know my betrothed is not as lofty as some of his fellow countrymen but I wouldn't describe him as little. Aggressive yes. A fucker certainly but I am not sure there is anything diminutive about him. Anyway this is only the half of it. He's coming back now as I write, shouting 'touche!' and carrying what looks like.............
To be continued.
Sunday, 23 February 2014
As a member state Spain fails to fulfil its obligations when it comes to how long adverts can run during programming. Not being a fan of said tele I had to ask if this was still true, with friends getting quite heated about how they can take a shower while the ads are on and how they end up going to bed late as films last longer thanks to the neverending publicity. I like to do my own research so went to the nearest cafe to see for myself. The channel showing was the local one and predictably it went on for about fifteen minutes but instead of getting annoyed I found it all quite entertaining. Whoever works in continuity hadn't checked or couldn't be bothered to synchronise the various soundtracks to the adverts so every time a new advertisment came on the music or voice over from the last ad was still playing. My favourites were the old people's home that transformed into a luxury hotel but was topped by an ad for a butcher's, showing behind the scenes of its sausage making to the strains of Marvin Gaye's Sexual Healing. The track was still playing as the butcher delivered his gains over to a woman who lived in what looked like the old people's hotel and ended with the name of the butcher's, el Sauce.
Being easily pleased and often bored I found the time to do one of those 'look up line whatever on page such and such and this will describe your sex life' boredom killers. The idea was to pick up the nearest book and turn to page 45 and the first sentence explains your love life. I suppose I could while away the hours reading tarot cards or getting someone else to read my star sign out to me just to alleviate the listlessness but being blessed with a life that means I am never far from a book was too tempting. The nearest read turned out to be one my sister tried to burn but was rescued by me from the bonfire she had built with the aim of reducing our dear mother's library. Being of the belief that one shouldn't burn books unless of course they were written by Sydney Sheldon, said book lives on and goes by the name of a Cottage on a Cliff by Derek Tangye. There was another one by him that didn't escape the flames called The Way to Minack and the last words I saw as it was engulfed went something on the lines of 'please give him this message......'. Cottage on a Cliff will never be read on account of the plot which resembles my own life, a life of 'getting away from it all' and the author being described as 'engaging' and 'reading his get-away-from-it-all stories will leave you longing for the great outdoors'. First sentence page 45 seemed to sum up my love life. Beautifully. 'and our virgin land would have been stocked with bulbs which could have assured us a financial future'. I liked the Dutch angle and was even more reassured as I read further. 'As it is, if anything goes wrong, we will still be able to continue on our own'.
Not being satisfied with this I went to get the book I was reading at the time and wondered if that would satisfy my lust for entertainment. 'Your refusal to sit down could amount to a sort of rebellion' seemed to describe my whole life and finally I stopped on opening Operation Mincemeat and discovering, ' I miss you most frightfully, and life has just seemed one long, grey monotone since we have separated'. There was only one solution, the one I always take when the four walls have had their chance and that is to go out. Moments later, nosebag on, tucking into some carillera and shooting the breeze with H, a charming but drunk man came up to us both and told us we were cachondos, which translates as horny, hot and turned on but also could mean funny, fun loving and riotous, so all in all a rather pleasant afternoon.