While I am here I might as well keep going. One of the best compliments I have ever had came from my mother. A couple of years ago I put Mr van de Ven's glasses on as a laugh and turned to my mum and asked what she thought. She looked at me and said 'oh, lovely, you look like Judge Ginsburg'.

I'm presently putting stuff in storage. The amount of shite I have managed to accumulate is shocking. Loads of stuff that I can no longer use thanks to the feckin' virus. Tons of things that nobody will be able to wear or touch, especially the more theatrical contrivances. I am standing in the study and then in the storage room, the 'trastero' as it is known in Spanish. The only word I can conjure up is despair. Bascially a rubbish dump for things you are too scared to throw out. It's Sod's Law that a week later you will find a use for that mile of bubble wrap you kept just in case you meant to send someone something that might break in the post. I could go back years with all this. When I first met Mr van de Ven I witnessed stuff in his flat that had potential to put me off him. One was an apron that had what appeared to be a bikini or bra and pants on it. I turned round to him one day and said 'it's the apron, or me'. He went into a bit of a panic and said it was a gift from a colleague and what if. ' What if what?' I asked. 'Well what if she comes round one day and sees I have thrown it away?' These are the perils of everyone. How often have you wondered this shit? The 'gifts' from the pub on Saint Patrick's night that end up somewhere 'just in case'. The books, presents, clothes, and so on that people get you for your birthday and Christmas that just leaves you thinking 'you don't really know me do you?' Why am I writing this? I guess as a warning. Do not give me anything unless I can eat, drink, read or look at it and admire it. You all have been warned!!

IN OTHER NEWS

In other news...You may or may not be familiar with the local accent here where I live and it is difficult to describe if you have never heard it and quite different from the rest of Spain. There is a tendency to stress the last syllable on certain words especially at the end of a sentence. In other words, everything goes up at the end. Spanish people from other regions say it sounds like the person is singing. The first time I realised was when a student responded with the word 'que?'. Not a quick 'que', more a long drawn out, 'queeeeee?' Later it was the city Zaragoza. Micaela Portaloo ( Michael Portillo, he of the train journey and red trousers, you know the prick) thought it fun to pronounce it Tharagostha, on his recent sojourn there, with a stress on the 'o'. But if you are from there or even here you might like to say 'Zaragozaaaa!'  May I point out that I am not making fun of the accent, I love it and before long I was and am, in the spirit of integration, joining in. For example there was the day I didn't agree with a friend and found myself saying 'pero Jorgeeeeee' instead of 'Jorge' which is just as easy to say. Nowadays I always say to a woman or girl that is doing or saying something contrary to what I think is right, 'pero chicaaaaa!' when a simple 'pero chica' would do. So today when a woman cold called I decided to lay it on with a trowel. She was trying to sell me, of all things, water and I just went into one. 'Pero chicaaaaaa! Hay agua en el grifo noooooooo?' 'Come on girl, there's water in the tap isn't theeeeere?' 'Pero vengaaaaaaa. No me fastidieeeeeeess!' 'Come of it! are you taking the fooooookin' piiiisss?' On I went, egging myself on.  Guess who hung up first?

YES, WE HAVE NO BANANAS!

Britain finally becomes a banana republic. A politically unstable country whose economy is dependent upon the export of a limited-resource product, which in this case is comedy!