Today I saw a young man cycling along wearing a T-shirt embazoned with the words 'Bloody Hell' on the back. The Dutchman told me one of his female students wears one with the word 'Available' on the front. I've seen 'Bullocks' and 'Killer Pussy' too. I wonder if British kids are wandering around with 'Que Cojones' written on theirs.

Last night we booked our tickets to fly back to London for Christmas. These things are never easy and we were worried that we had booked them twice as the computer decided to have problemos at the same time. When we rang the bank they had no problem telling us only one transaction had been made and didn't ask for anything but the credit card number. This being Spain we thought we had better check again this morning for you never know and were passed throught to various staff who insisted that they couldn't check for us without a special code which of course we didn't have. At one point we were asked for our DNI and I felt like doing the usual which is to give them my library card number. We gave it but the answer was still 'Que no'. I'm not sure whether giving the DNI gave the man the go ahead to tell us 'Que no' but he did ask if we knew the woman the night before. You know, 'enchufe' as it is called here. Not what you know, for most don't know anything, but who you are 'in' with.

Everything is impossible and possible at the same time. Sometimes I think I am tripping and that our mayor has decided to put LSD in the reservoir. After the bank people we had a run in with some other lot who deal with let's just say, paperwork of some kind or another. It doesn't matter what as it is always the same. It involves being told 'Que no' as you produce every piece of paper you were asked for and then means you have to go up and down to get another one till you finally are told that 'Ah yes, but the date is not correct and this is in pencil and needs to be printed.' Eventually the thing gets done but not before you start to feel like you are on a piece of elastic and find yourself muttering 'please, can I come back now, before I am found dead in another century?'

Something I miss that says a lot about the British character is a good old rummage. There aren't charity shops, jumble sales or car boot sales here as the Spanish wouldn't dream of wearing a dead person's dress or shoes. At least the Dutchman has stopped asking ' What is it, how much and why?' Greasy spoon cafes with Thai food, tea shops and betting shops are also on my list of things to make me feel homesick.

On my way home across Calle Jasmin I saw one of the storks fly down Calle San Lorenzo and straight after a hearse was going in the opposite direction.

I never read my star sign except out of boredom like I did the other day while in the doctor's waiting room. According to the local rag it's dangerous to shower with cold water and I run the risk of an intoxication..........