Thursday, 18 November 2021

You know you need new glasses when what appears in the distance to be a food truck is, on closer inspection, a van recruiting or promoting a career in the Spanish army. 

Tuesday, 12 October 2021

Did I mention that I think my neighbours have murdered their father? I thought that might get your attention. 
Yours Miss Marple...

Tuesday, 28 September 2021


Men of Britain. Or should I say, men of England. What's with the fighting on the forecourts of the petrol stations? How am I supposed to explain to my students here in Spain what is going on back in the UK when they ask me if everyone there has lost the plot. #keepontrucking

Sunday, 5 September 2021

Lots of people are surprised when they find out I have an allotment. They say they don't see me as the type. Imagining me more at home at the opera or delivering speeches in Brussels. Well, I am happy doing all these things but there is a little known story that might help in the understanding of my earthiness. When I was a kid I was pushing my toy pram up a London street and an old lady, the embodiment of Margaret Rutherford, ( look her up, you'll get the idea...) all tweed and brogues, approached me and asked if she could peer inside the pram and, ''look at my little dolly''. Apparently I nodded, stood back,  and much to her horror the pram was full of mud, packed down tightly with a few worms struggling to get out. The Beginning...
The Basajuan is a mythical creature who lives in the forests of Navarra and the Basque Country. A hairy hominid Lord of the Woods. He features in a Spanish book I am reading, El Guardian Invisible. In the book there is a character, Aunt Engrasi, who reads the Tarot cards and believes in the Basajuan. I read this book before I go to sleep and the other night it was influencing my dreams. I dreamt of my friend Marge and her Tarot cards which are the Salvador Dali version. During the dream I could hear a loud rustling noise coming from another realm. The realm of reality. I realised there was something in the bedroom and woke up from the dream and tried to find what it was. Mr van de Ven got involved and we decided it must be a mouse or worse, a rat. And there they were. Two eyes peering at us from behind a bag. "What the hell is this and how did it get here? You and that allotment. You are always bringing things home with you. First snails and now this! It must have hitched a ride with you the last time you went. Get a glass and a postcard or something!" The first postcard I could find turned out to be Salvador Dali's Temptation of Saint Anthony. So here he is the little fella'!

Sunday, 25 July 2021

As predicted elsewhere by me...Boris "the cock" Johnson, my bete noir, will leave in a helicopter. From a roof. Of a building he has been chased up. His last words being, "Helicopter. Roof. Now".
Sometimes it looks like everyone around is losing their head, or we seem to have more than our fair share of arseholes dominating the scene, no one is interesting anymore. No escape from the insane and inane. The energy sucking conts the world over. Boring boring boring. Now there is a three word slogan! We are in the Boring Straits! Then you hear these little snippets of news that refresh your soul and energise your mind. We live near the Pyrenees, the Spanish bit, ( the sunny side), a town at the foothills. There are all these ancient mountain passes waiting to be explored. Ancient routes trampled and rambled on in all sorts of situations. Smugglers routes, paths that helped people escape or do trade, take their herds, you get the picture. Well, French couple who live here, who are in their seventies, are planning to visit one of their daughters in France. They have decided to walk and take a donkey with them, to carry the suitcases. Watch this space!!