Back in the mother country there is nothing I'd like more than to see the Muslims Against the Crusaders have a punch up with the English Defence League and have Harry Hill as compere. Looking out of the kitchen window last night and seeing Jesus, once again coming up the road on wheels accompanied by a load of folk covering their ugly mugs with a pointed hat and other creepy masks, I wondered if Spain will ever entertain the idea of banning the bhurka or the monarchy and if and when they will start banning things like Los Moros y Cristianos, a big punch up in some areas of Spain between blokes dressed up as Moors and Christians and attacking one another. There are as many Muslims and more defenders of the patria living here than Britain but they don't seem as sanctimonious except the pointy hat lot once a year. Henderson tried to prevent me from filming them all last night as the Messiah was wheeled out again across the streets of Huesca. His argument, H's not the Lamb of God, was that they, the pointy hat lot, don't need any encouragement but I think he was just jealous of the attention I was giving them.
On the subject of flying or perhaps burning flags and wondering if you need an anthem to sing when you are drunk, I am wondering whether or not to ask my Irish boss to give me the day off on the day of the royal wedding. I have a rather pathetic paper Union Jack somewhere and failing that there are some Union Jack oven gloves that Henderson burnt in a fit of pique. I like to tell visitors they were burnt by some Muslim neighbours which along with my pointy hat lollypops I leave lying around to put people off coming again. It's good to have some ammunition in case of unwanted guests. My mum likes to leave hundreds of books piled high on any available sofas and chairs. Samuel Becket refused to switch the light on till his insufferable arrivals would have to leave or sit in the dark.
I was asked yesterday for help in translating a sentence which goes something like 'La musica de Augusto Alguero es uno de los hilos con los que durante decadas se armo el tejido simbolico de EspanYa'. Quite often what sounds poetic in Spanish sounds ridiculous in English and if we talk about the fabric, or tejido, symbolic or otherwise of England or Britain it is often in a negative way, usually to do with something from abroad, and which has changed the fabric of society forever.
Wednesday, 20 April 2011
Tuesday, 12 April 2011
FIGHT!
Henderson told me that they, the local TV station probably, were filming the soon to be pedestrianised square which incidentally is named after Alfonso el Batallador, which seems quite fitting given the constant battles fought in this town, including the one I had with Henderson in said square this morning after he was nearly run over on it and then threatened to kill the driver. Lots of arms and hands were raised and weird tribal noises uttered from both parties but these acts of aggression made me turn and retreat as there is nothing more ungallant than two men shouting at one another before noon.
It seems the timing is perfect. We have elections coming up and now our old mayor Fernando Elboj has gone to resume his job as senate down in Madrid, I am at pains to who I should vote for. Anyone aware of Harry Hill would know there is only one way to find out but having seen Luis Felipe, the present mayor ( PSOE) walking along the streets minus the bodyguards Elboj needed, I am quite enchanted. In fact Felipe had a gang of women around him the other evening which is in sharp contrast to the hordes of men in black that SenYor E needed. I will never forget the day Henderson lambasted them all for parking outside our garage with their bullet proof BMWs. There is a snag though, as I haven't received my polling card and dread to think of the scenario in search of one. Alternatives to Mr Felipe seem to be the CHA, or the Izquierda Unida but I would need to go and have a chat with them soon.
Regarding the PP, I saw a young girl with quite a spring in her step being followed by three men who seemed to be acting in a way that suggested she had robbed someone. Then I turned the corner and found myself on another square where someone had put out high tables to drink some coffee. I didn't know it at the time but the PP candidate Ana Alos had put the tables out and was having a chat with the locals and someone, the girl presumably, had made off with her mobile. Wonders will never cease.
It seems the timing is perfect. We have elections coming up and now our old mayor Fernando Elboj has gone to resume his job as senate down in Madrid, I am at pains to who I should vote for. Anyone aware of Harry Hill would know there is only one way to find out but having seen Luis Felipe, the present mayor ( PSOE) walking along the streets minus the bodyguards Elboj needed, I am quite enchanted. In fact Felipe had a gang of women around him the other evening which is in sharp contrast to the hordes of men in black that SenYor E needed. I will never forget the day Henderson lambasted them all for parking outside our garage with their bullet proof BMWs. There is a snag though, as I haven't received my polling card and dread to think of the scenario in search of one. Alternatives to Mr Felipe seem to be the CHA, or the Izquierda Unida but I would need to go and have a chat with them soon.
Regarding the PP, I saw a young girl with quite a spring in her step being followed by three men who seemed to be acting in a way that suggested she had robbed someone. Then I turned the corner and found myself on another square where someone had put out high tables to drink some coffee. I didn't know it at the time but the PP candidate Ana Alos had put the tables out and was having a chat with the locals and someone, the girl presumably, had made off with her mobile. Wonders will never cease.
CUNCTATOR BY NAME
We had lunch with Rosa, at her wonderful 16th century house with good company, fine wine and conversation and a fantastic rip into the pen pushers and powers that be that hold this country back and kill off any talent. From education to the buffoon who looked me up and own the other day at the local council because I had the affront to ask him about the whereabouts of my fifty euros said gobierno owes me from December, they all got it in the neck. Our voices and laughter echoed round the village and across the fields towards the Pyrenees. Later, a wind of the mistral type, probably the cierzo, reminded me of ghosts and now I know where the expression 'put the wind up me' comes from. It is a peculiar wind, making you feel like a storm is coming but there are no clouds or sign of rain. The sky was clear with so many stars, the view you get when you are near the mountains. We wondered about the previous inhabitants of the house and the village too, so Henderson suggested to Rosa she bury a plastic box or container in the garden so someone would find it in another five hundred years and know a little about her. Much later when we were clearing the table and Rosa was stuffing corks and other souvenirs of a good evening into an ice-cream tub he remarked that maybe that was a better idea, to leave a time capsule full of red herrings just to confuse the future archealogists.
Despite the unreasonable behaviour of bureaucrats and other arseholes whose role on this planet is to try us, the Spanish have retained a way of life probably unlike any other country in Europe. I really don't know what century I am going to wake up in and once you realise this and try to accept it, it gets easier and you have more fun, recognising the surrealness of everything. It is a country full of time capsules, with towns and villages a world away from the one you might see in San Sebastian, Bilbao or any of the major cities here.
There seems to a lot of crime locally but not as unnerving as the chilling stuff you hear back in Britain. I should be reassured that some maniac addicted to fags robbed the tobacconist round the corner of 3,000 cigarettes or the romantic thief who stole some poetry books from the vitrine outside a bookshop here have nothing in common with the freak back in Britain who went around raping old people for twenty years. Instead of the Daily Mail there is Spanish TV, but as scandalous and bizarre as it is I am convinced Britain is full of murderers you are not related to. Henderson doesn't agree and says these things happen everywhere which I know is true but I am still convinced Britain has more than its fair share of killers and weirdos only being outdone by the States. Maybe there is an argument to keep bull fighting.
On a more trivial note, the pedestrianisation was said to start 'in days' and I did see a topographer on the square last week. Then they said it would start tomorrow, Monday but in today's rag it says, due to a meeting tomorrow, work is going to be put back till Tuesday.
Despite the unreasonable behaviour of bureaucrats and other arseholes whose role on this planet is to try us, the Spanish have retained a way of life probably unlike any other country in Europe. I really don't know what century I am going to wake up in and once you realise this and try to accept it, it gets easier and you have more fun, recognising the surrealness of everything. It is a country full of time capsules, with towns and villages a world away from the one you might see in San Sebastian, Bilbao or any of the major cities here.
There seems to a lot of crime locally but not as unnerving as the chilling stuff you hear back in Britain. I should be reassured that some maniac addicted to fags robbed the tobacconist round the corner of 3,000 cigarettes or the romantic thief who stole some poetry books from the vitrine outside a bookshop here have nothing in common with the freak back in Britain who went around raping old people for twenty years. Instead of the Daily Mail there is Spanish TV, but as scandalous and bizarre as it is I am convinced Britain is full of murderers you are not related to. Henderson doesn't agree and says these things happen everywhere which I know is true but I am still convinced Britain has more than its fair share of killers and weirdos only being outdone by the States. Maybe there is an argument to keep bull fighting.
On a more trivial note, the pedestrianisation was said to start 'in days' and I did see a topographer on the square last week. Then they said it would start tomorrow, Monday but in today's rag it says, due to a meeting tomorrow, work is going to be put back till Tuesday.
Monday, 4 April 2011
LA PAZ
Mr Ceresuela had been quiet lately. The last I saw of him he was being bundled into a taxi by his lovely lady wife but then nothing. I thought about searching the obituary pages but Henderson told me the wife told him Mr C was in the Sacred Heart Hospital having fallen over for a change in the Puerto Rico bar. Apparently she had told everyone who rushed to his aid to leave him be as he is always falling over. I met the builders who work downstairs from us and have their offices under Mr C's balcon in the Tomate Jamon the other night and they said they would rejoice if Mr C was dead and his bloody wife too as they were sick to death of him spitting on their heads as they arrived for work, and the rest. No love lost there then.
Meanwhile Mercedes is still ignoring me but vibing me out as la Mala, the ruin of her life as now she has to sort the dog out. Seems to me that it is perfect. The dog is delighted as he is now with her a lot, she is with the dog and surely happy as what's the point of having a dog or a kid if you never see it? And we are happy as we aren't being serenaded by its howls during our siesta. Surely a result? Not saying hello or having some peace and quite for once?
Meanwhile Mercedes is still ignoring me but vibing me out as la Mala, the ruin of her life as now she has to sort the dog out. Seems to me that it is perfect. The dog is delighted as he is now with her a lot, she is with the dog and surely happy as what's the point of having a dog or a kid if you never see it? And we are happy as we aren't being serenaded by its howls during our siesta. Surely a result? Not saying hello or having some peace and quite for once?
COUSINS WITH COUSINS
To get British people out protesting takes some organising, a number of placards boasting wit and ingenuity, steel drums, trumpets and kids on shoulders and perhaps the opportunity to smash a few things up but in this town it is in the shape of a sausage. Chorizo was given out last Saturday to entice the locals to hopefully go on a bit of a rampage to protest against the cuts. It also alludes to the word 'chorizo' or crook, a way of poking fun at the greedy capitalists who are taking us all for a ride. While about a hundred folk turned up for the sausage and pretended they were upset by the state of things the rest took to the bars and restaurants. Likewise, I turned the corner in pursuit of more than a banger and was greeted by the feeding of the 49,900, with folk out en masse withought a care in the world. Crisis? What crisis? Or maybe it's just that other philosophy, the one were you eat today and starve tomorrow. Hours earlier a crusty had stopped me in the street and asked for my opinion on the state of things and would I like to write them down as part of the protest to which I replied I thought the bankers should all be lined up and shot but was anyone prepared to do it? I suggested we make placards of Fred Goodwin being spit roasted. She looked a bit ruffled to say the least and fork in the air I left her to pursue culinary delights.
For a small town loads of stuff seems to have kicked off lately. On Sunday morning some gypsies gave someone a bit of a pasting. So much so that he ended up in intensive care. It's still not clear what happened but the gypsies were arrested and while walking up the high street this morning the family members were seen congregating outside the court house and across the road waiting presumably for the verdict.This same morning two men were being tried for an attempted robbery a couple of years ago here in the BBVA where the customers rained chairs down on them in their pathetic attempts at a hold up, firing a gun off in the process. Their excuse? That they are unprofessionals as they have never quite pulled a crime off but have a string of efforts behind them.
This morning I saw some men roaming the plaza which is in danger of being pedestrianised. They looked pleased with themselves so I presumed they were the 'winners' the folk who will get the contract to turn the square into a haven, a leafy glade were a tapa or two can be taken without fear of death by dangerous driving. I read in the paper later that the job should begin in the next few days.
Finally, when Henderson finds himself in a queue he will often protest by bemoaning to anybody within earshot that only Brits and Russians will pass the time patiently doing this activity. Last week he found himself in one at the CAI bank and stormed off but not before he vigorously tapped an idle bank worker chatting to some pals and bellowed that said worker 'had customers'. Today the very same bank worker rushed up to me, who had been instructed by H to get into one of the various queues forming around the bank while he waited strategically in another, and asked if I would like to be served. This was a bit of a result as H thought we may never get served again what with everyone being related to one another here except us.
For a small town loads of stuff seems to have kicked off lately. On Sunday morning some gypsies gave someone a bit of a pasting. So much so that he ended up in intensive care. It's still not clear what happened but the gypsies were arrested and while walking up the high street this morning the family members were seen congregating outside the court house and across the road waiting presumably for the verdict.This same morning two men were being tried for an attempted robbery a couple of years ago here in the BBVA where the customers rained chairs down on them in their pathetic attempts at a hold up, firing a gun off in the process. Their excuse? That they are unprofessionals as they have never quite pulled a crime off but have a string of efforts behind them.
This morning I saw some men roaming the plaza which is in danger of being pedestrianised. They looked pleased with themselves so I presumed they were the 'winners' the folk who will get the contract to turn the square into a haven, a leafy glade were a tapa or two can be taken without fear of death by dangerous driving. I read in the paper later that the job should begin in the next few days.
Finally, when Henderson finds himself in a queue he will often protest by bemoaning to anybody within earshot that only Brits and Russians will pass the time patiently doing this activity. Last week he found himself in one at the CAI bank and stormed off but not before he vigorously tapped an idle bank worker chatting to some pals and bellowed that said worker 'had customers'. Today the very same bank worker rushed up to me, who had been instructed by H to get into one of the various queues forming around the bank while he waited strategically in another, and asked if I would like to be served. This was a bit of a result as H thought we may never get served again what with everyone being related to one another here except us.
Sunday, 27 March 2011
While watching the events of yesterday I had a creepy feeling of deja vu and now realise on awakening this morning and looking out of the kitchen window at the evidence of a good time had by all, why. The riots in London resemble an average Saturday night out here. In fact I would say the Spanish could give the Brits a lesson in civil disobedience and criminal damage. I am quite used to seeing the recycling bins burnt to ashes and grafitti sprayed willy-nilly by the youth of today here and so my fellow brothers and sisters back home look like a bunch of amateurs. Nevertheless, every generation should have its moment of excitement if the alternative is to stay in and watch Ant and Dec and down troughs of Coca-Cola..The memories of my incendiary youth need a nudge now and then as do Henderson's whose arrest in Trafalgar Square some decades back need a little kick his way. The BBC reporter outside Top Shop in his gung-ho underpants, was creaming them at the excitement of it all, and while no fan of Sir Phillip who owns Top Shop I am sure I heard this reporter say the words 'this is Jew to....' Later the same journalist got an earful of beer from a bloke who thought what he was doing was cool so generally everyone got what they wanted. Meanwhile my own efforts at competing with Sir Phillip with my shop Top Wank have failed miserably like most of my stabs and cracks into the world of business.
Talking of H, he told me the other day that the Japanese had already rebuilt a road that had been destroyed by the tsunami while back in Britain Telegraph readers are so fed up with the state of their roads that they have started taking photos of potholes so they can get vent their anger. The roads here are in such a state that I thought I might send the Telegraph readers some photos just to make their day.The last I heard on the pedestrianisation of our barrio was that about 21 companies were vying for the job of doing it. Then today I read that the bar owners are not happy with the idea as what with the no smoking ban an' all they are losing enough money already and don't like the idea that the workmen might up tools and start the project now when money is to be made owing to the good weather. 'Can't you do it in winter?' they ask. It won't be interesting to see what happens unless the mayor has the balls to say 'I'm the boss here and we do it when I decide, that's why they call me the mayor'.
STOP PRESS!! just found out the council says the plans for the above will not be put back despite the bar owners grips and work should start sometime before May........
Talking of H, he told me the other day that the Japanese had already rebuilt a road that had been destroyed by the tsunami while back in Britain Telegraph readers are so fed up with the state of their roads that they have started taking photos of potholes so they can get vent their anger. The roads here are in such a state that I thought I might send the Telegraph readers some photos just to make their day.The last I heard on the pedestrianisation of our barrio was that about 21 companies were vying for the job of doing it. Then today I read that the bar owners are not happy with the idea as what with the no smoking ban an' all they are losing enough money already and don't like the idea that the workmen might up tools and start the project now when money is to be made owing to the good weather. 'Can't you do it in winter?' they ask. It won't be interesting to see what happens unless the mayor has the balls to say 'I'm the boss here and we do it when I decide, that's why they call me the mayor'.
STOP PRESS!! just found out the council says the plans for the above will not be put back despite the bar owners grips and work should start sometime before May........
Monday, 21 March 2011
THE DOG, MR C, ME AND YOUR MOTHER
Henderson and I have given nicknames to the various bods that litter our lives like the man upstairs who will be for ever known as 'Takes All Sorts' on account of him trying to steer the VERGUENZA away from us all and towards the aptly named 'effing bleeder/c*nt/clever bastard AKA Mr Ceresuela. There are others but I was thinking of renaming Mercedes as Reuters or maybe the Herald and Piti can be the Prophet of Doom. Perhaps they have names for us too. I like to think they wouldn't overstretch the imagination and so I guess I am known locally as the Supergrass or perhaps Nark or Snitch but it's probably more animal inspired but I am glad that bitch translates as cabrona.
I've escaped with my life once more from the clutches of death or the community meeting as it is more commonly known. I was the first to arrive and no one else came for forty five minutes and then when they did it was the usual gripes about Mr C and his wife. I told everyone what I was told by a lawyer, the gestor herself and the police, to keep reporting him until he either sorts his life out or ends up in prison. No one wants to do this as this would involve a certain amount of work and was proved when the gestor asked one of the residents 'why didn't you call the police?' when we heard the story about Mr C during one of his more boring momentos letting off a fire extinguisher and coating everything in a fine blue powder. He must have plenty of money to burn as he is running up quite a tab for the community and no one seems to mind but me. Isabel Upstairs, with her request for glass to enclose her terrace was met with nods of approval, about the only time we have had the chance to do something good in nine years. I have come to the conclusion that like most things in life if you want anything done then you must do it yourself which is why I didn't even mention Mercedes and her dog as no one will follow my example by denouncing her as well as that would mean standing up and picking up the phone. Mercedes' daughter did come, right at the last minute and I had been there for two hours already so wasn't in the mood. I was a bit perturbed in case she was there to have a barney with me about the bloody dog and her mother, but I felt well prepared to deal with all of us and in any order. Mercedes' daughter's husband is a psychiatrist I believe so I thought I might ask her if he could treat me for my nineteenth nervous breakdown owing to Piti and his owner, her mum, but all previous displays of sarcasm etc might get confused and they might not believe me. In fact, like a lot of things here, I shall never really know what anyone thinks or feels as the point of view is constantly changing by the minute. 'Takes All Sorts' wasn't there thank God as he is a great example of Spanish inconsistency.Roll on next year.
I've escaped with my life once more from the clutches of death or the community meeting as it is more commonly known. I was the first to arrive and no one else came for forty five minutes and then when they did it was the usual gripes about Mr C and his wife. I told everyone what I was told by a lawyer, the gestor herself and the police, to keep reporting him until he either sorts his life out or ends up in prison. No one wants to do this as this would involve a certain amount of work and was proved when the gestor asked one of the residents 'why didn't you call the police?' when we heard the story about Mr C during one of his more boring momentos letting off a fire extinguisher and coating everything in a fine blue powder. He must have plenty of money to burn as he is running up quite a tab for the community and no one seems to mind but me. Isabel Upstairs, with her request for glass to enclose her terrace was met with nods of approval, about the only time we have had the chance to do something good in nine years. I have come to the conclusion that like most things in life if you want anything done then you must do it yourself which is why I didn't even mention Mercedes and her dog as no one will follow my example by denouncing her as well as that would mean standing up and picking up the phone. Mercedes' daughter did come, right at the last minute and I had been there for two hours already so wasn't in the mood. I was a bit perturbed in case she was there to have a barney with me about the bloody dog and her mother, but I felt well prepared to deal with all of us and in any order. Mercedes' daughter's husband is a psychiatrist I believe so I thought I might ask her if he could treat me for my nineteenth nervous breakdown owing to Piti and his owner, her mum, but all previous displays of sarcasm etc might get confused and they might not believe me. In fact, like a lot of things here, I shall never really know what anyone thinks or feels as the point of view is constantly changing by the minute. 'Takes All Sorts' wasn't there thank God as he is a great example of Spanish inconsistency.Roll on next year.
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