HUESCA'S GOT TALENT

The War of Attrition continues between me and Mr Personality AKA Senor Harley Davidson and his girlfriend Gerald, Piti the Priapic Poodle, The Ecuadorian Folk Ensemble and Mr DIY himself two doors down. The latter thought it would be a good thing to start hammering at ten o'clock last night and pick up where he left off this morning with a drill my dentist could do with, seeing as she has been unable to extract my molar of late and said I should come back in September for the third time. If I need reinforcments I thought I might recruit some small children seen last night in the park and dressed against their will in traditional Aragonese costume singing the dreaded Jota. Anyone unfamiliar with the Jota should be aware that as far as tunes are concerned this one could be best described as the sound of a castrated goat about to have its throat cut before being tossed off a church tower and landing in a vat of boiling oil. Hold that thought for a moment and mix it with the sound an Iman makes at the call of prayer from a minaret but this time he's got half his body stuck down an industrial mincer without an anaesthetic. I was wondering how much it would cost to hire The Drums of Calanda which I am sure I have mentioned before as the perfect solution for noisy neighbours. Hire them to play those drums till their hands bleed when the neighbours need their beauty sleep.

Those children seen last night on stage dancing and singing folk songs in the local park while the wine fair went on a few yards away reminded me of some far off time when some of my school teachers thought it would be good idea to teach us something 'traditional' and got us to come back after hours to school and practice 'country dancing'. 'Which country?' does spring to mind but I do remember the words 'heel toe, heel toe, off we go, off we go' which sounds like some sort of drunken, hunting song you might sing on a winter's morn with a flask of whiskey and a Jack Russell in toe as you chase Mr Fox through the Dorset countryside. Suffice to say those extra curriculum classes lasted about two weeks.

Finally, the weather descriptions from the weather man or woman back in Blighty get better by the day. I should make a list. My favourite is 'much of the same' but today i heard 'some rain for all'. This contrasts nicely with the doom and gloom of the news. In the Spanish press my favourite was the true story of a man who run or rather drove amok knocking down it seems, several policemen in the spate of 24 hours before one of them shot him. It seemed there was no stopping him at one point as he carried on aiming his vehicle at any Guardia Civil looming before him. When the village folk found out they were heard to cry the Spanish equivalent of ' he was an accident waiting to happen'.