EL SILENCIO DE LOS CORDEROS

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.