JUBILEO EXTRAORDINARIO

I wonder what the Brits would do without their queen. Who or what else could motivate them into a baking frenzy and drape everything in triangles. Yet how long before most Brits will be cursing that they are all buntinged out and if they see another bowl of Coronation Chicken they will scream. I know how fickle they can be. It took me about three weeks before I realised I really didn't like Will.i.am. While on the subject of Coronation Chicken I noticed the one Jamie Oliver 'rustled up' in my Woman and Food magazine. The man is taking the piss.

Meanwhile I doubt if the Spanish and I would survive without their virgins and martyrs. It all comes down to how we can get the most out of a day with plenty of grub and drink thrown in. The big difference between Spain and the motherland is here there is a fiesta every day of the year, often involving a walk up a hill to a hermitage, eat, drink wine and roll back down again to be greeted by a brass band in the village square. This was one of the things that inspired me to come, along with a bat on a flag and to be some place where it didn't matter what time of day I was living. The other day Santa Quiteria was celebrated. She is a lesser known saint but one worth mentioning. She is supposed to have been one of nine sisters all born at once. Her mother wanted them all drowned so it wasn't a great start. She is often accompanied by a dog and is said to be the patron of rabies. It is claimed that dogs will calm down in the presence of her icon so I might leave one in Mercede's letterbox for that dreadful hound of hers.

YOU BE 46

Ensconced at the foothills of the Pyrenees is the Sierra Guara where there is often an overwhelming sense of prehistory. Stop the car, get out and all you can hear are insects buzzing about and getting eaten by the many beautiful bee eater birds who turn up at this time of year. If you are lucky you might get to see a couple of Quebrantahuesos, bone breaking bearded vultures, flying above. We stopped for coffee in the Hosteria de Guara in Bierge and were instead tempted by the smell of ternasco, ternera and entrecote and the sight of the Somontano wine. At three o'clock there were a couple of people dining quietly, a French family and a Spanish priest and I wondered if this was a reflection of the recession but half an hour later loads of people turned up screaming and shouting for food and drink so no change there. During the meal the heavens opened and gave us one of those fantastic storms we get here which are great if you are inside but not much fun rambling through the mountains. The French kids were running in and out aghast at the size of the hailstones while the rest just ate on.


On the subject of prehistory, UB40 are coming to Huesca. I never liked them the first time round and am amazed when people ask me if I am going to see them at the Plaza de Toros and they are amazed when I tell them I am not. There is still the old joke 'where do you run to when the world ends?' Huesca. People here are still talking about the time Bob Dylan played in the plaza back in 1993.

On the subject of bone breaking bearded vultures, I see my sister and her beau are up to their usual shennigans with my elderly parents. The latest stunt to drive my folks crazy or out of their home so my sibling and her other half can move in concerns a dog my parents recently required. Said sister claims it bit her and then she, my sister, rang the love of her life to come and get her as she thought she may be scarred for life and need a tetanus injection. When her sweetheart rolled up my twisted relation apparently let out a scream that could be heard across the Hampshire borders, even thought the dog had 'bitten' her an hour before.. Just thought I would write that for the record.

Here she is............

GREECE THE MUSICAL

I admit to being far removed from reality at times. I thought I just heard someone on the TV say the Olympics have been torched. In anticipation for more summer riots maybe where the Brits will win Gold for thieving and looting. H wonders why so many people are happy to pay for Seb Coe's auto fellatio. 

UNCIVIL REST

Should I be worried? Should I draw out my last 40 euros from the Caja Inmaculada bank and watch Europe fall to its knees. All I hear or read about in the press is that it is all about to collapse and  last night I had a uncanny desire to rush out to the LIDL supermercado and stock up on seeds in case it all goes to pot. I was spurred on by Robert Peston's exit from my TV screen. He sauntered off out of view, stage left, with the words 'not seen since the 1930's' echoing in my ears, after educating us all on what we already know about the state of the Euro. I'm not sure if he thinks he is Nostradamus with his 'I told you so' look in his eye or a modern day soothsayer journalist who can't wait for war in Europe.

Meanwhile hybrid cars are still near silent and so threaten blind people and folk like me who don't expect to find one running them over on a pavement like I did yesterday. Henderson tells me there are technicians working on the problem now creating a noise making device for the hybrids. He came up with galloping horses or the sound of broken glass while our Basque friend Jon said it would be better if the car cried out 'ahi va la hostia!', a Basque exclamation of surprise just before it hit you. On this subject I did hear an incredible sound coming up our road the other day, something so loud that it drowned out the expletive roaring from my gob as it screeched past. H told me it was an electric pick-up van of sorts, Spanish style, which makes me think they should just put this noise in all those hybrid cars as you would get out of the way before you saw it.

Finally, a friend asked me how to pronounce the name Michael Douglas and then told me that whenever Michael's name is mentioned on the television it is pronounced more or less the way I said it but his father Kirk is pronounced Kieeerk Doughglass even when the pair of them are mentioned in the same sentence. Is there no end to all this madness!

CHARACTER BUILDING BOOM

According to Pedro Cobo, researcher for CSIS ( Agencia Estatal Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas), Spain is no noisier than any other European country and it's was a 'hoax'  started in the 70s which suggested otherwise when some international organisation asked Spain to study some data on the subject and on getting no response Spain was placed high on the list of countries that have the highest noise levels. Mr Cobo's argument is the only difference with Spain's noise levels and those of other European countries is that the traffic noise continues longer into the night. He argues that any other noises are due to 'cultural characteristics' often found in Mediterranean countries. For all I know Mr Cobo may have been taken out of context but the comments that followed in the newspaper article all seem to reflect a bunch of pissed off Spaniards complaining about the general disregard for others when it comes to making noise. Major gripes seemed to be the ability to let everyone know what you are saying every time you have a chat on your mobile ( a universal problem I think) and not being able to hold a conversation without shouting at one another. The latter has always been a problem for me till recently when something happened and I found myself bellowing and butting in as much as the next man. I interrupted someone a few weeks back and on apologising once I'd grasped what I had done she replied sincerely 'that's OK, I often talk too much myself, so it doesn't matter, go on, what were you saying?'. That's when I knew I had cracked it. A word of advice though, never start a sentence with the words todo el mundo  (everybody) as most people will immediately interrupt and say 'everybody? NOT me..' before you've even told them what verb everybody should, mustn't, wants or likes to.

Not long ago I heard that the British were spending their cash on I-Pads and chicken and chips washed down with stout but were not into buying leather which sounds about right, or maybe I dreamt it. Judging from recent trips and excursions here in Spain I'd say the Spanish and I are hell bent on eating and drinking our way out of the recession. This town boasts at least two Michelin restaurants and the number one restaurant in Aragon 2011 and the past two months have seen numerous gastronomical promotions which have brought the locals out in droves. 

One of our excursions found us in Riglos which is a beautiful part of Aragon famous for climbers. The day we went it was being frequented by many young and some old people who cultivate a look which might be described back in the UK as 'crusty' but here is often referred to as 'hippy'. These people don't really bother me as anyone who makes themselves look so unattractive must be a dying breed but they seem to bother Henderson  who makes it a hobby judging people on what they look like.  I was more bothered by the price of our two peach juices. 3 euros eighty if you please. There's something really uncomfortable about being overcharged as you are never sure if that's the price, or if the owners think you are a gullible foreigner but it was my own fault for not questioning it so I had to let the resentful feeling brewing in my bones lie. 


Lastly, on the subject of judging people on their looks,  we had to go to the Dutch Consulate in Barcelona the other day and on entering a photographic shop to get H's passport photos done, the owner took one look at him and said  'don't tell me, you are here because you need a photo for your Dutch passport!' 

HITS I MISSED

Last night I could hear hammering upstairs around eleven o'clock and can only conclude that it was Mercedes adding another nail to the cross she has to bear. Talking of crosses, it is only a matter of time before I head for the hills to escape the Pointy Hat Brigade, the KKK, AKA the Pentitents coming up the road to get me, H and any other Jews or heathens lying around. I'm interested in religion, theology and  history but lines need to be drawn when up against the Catholic Church.

I always know it's International Women's Day here in Spain as Suzanne Vega and Tracy Chapman get their yearly airing on the local radio.After last night's community meeting I would like to think that the few neighbours who could be bothered to turn up left with no doubt in their mind that this woman, meaning me, is not to be walked over or dismissed ever again. I hate these meetings and I stood my ground over several things knowing that the others are quite happy for muggings here to take the flack as no one wants anything to get in the way of their wonderful time. There was a box of paperwork from last year that needed shredding or burning and at first I didn't understand what the problem was as the reactions seemed to be a bit over zealous with the ensuing pushing and shoving away of said box by various neighbours across the table as if it were a bomb. Jesus from upstairs ( flat 1D not heaven) finally gave in and said he would take care of it. 

I've been wondering at what point did British newsreaders and politicians start to say 'our country' as in 'today in our country there has been...'. I know they didn't say this ten years ago in the UK because that was when I first came to Spain and I noticed that Spanish newsreaders and politicians would say 'hoy en nuestro pais ha sido.....'. which I thought was jingoistic or maybe patriotic. Back in the UK folk would say things like ' ....difficult times for the country'. So when it started I am not sure. Feel free to comment.

ET TU BRUTE?

I have noticed that a certain type of Brit feels guilty if they feel they are enjoying themselves. Eating a nice meal or drinking expensive wine often has to be justified. There also seems to be two types after the age of fifty, the drinkers and the non drinkers. The non drinkers are often people who have had to attend AA because they have had a problem with alcohol and the rest seem to have mellowed when it comes to their drinking and drug taking and are now capable of having their wine and drinking it. I guess it doesn't matter so long as you know what you are doing.

Guilt is a funny thing and here in Spain it doesn't have anything to do with enjoying yourself with food and wine. Guilt is something dragged out when someone has done something you feel is an injustice and they look back at you and say 'y tu?' which roughly translates as 'and you? who are you? You are not perfect'. I suppose it is better to be accused of being another law breaking individual. In Britain if you knocked on someone's door and asked them if they would mind not playing the same song by Whitney Houston a hundred times a day or if they would mind not parking on your lawn with the engine running you would probably get stabbed, so here 'y tu?' is something you just have to put up with. When Spanish folk try to do the 'y tu?' number on me I often feel like telling them to forget it as I am Jewish and I don't do guilt but I know this will be met by a perplexed look and then a seething, confused anti-Semitism. Likewise, if a Brit tries it on when I have had too many Riojas I like to tell them I am a Catholic or better, that I am Spanish and I couldn't give a toss.