PUT IT ABOUT

Spanish children cringe at the idea of wearing a uniform. They tell you it takes away your individuality, your freedom to express yourself, to choose your own clothes. The only time I see people wearing the same thing in Spain is perhaps those couples in immaculate Barbours or groups of people in the same coloured T-shirts emblazoned with some group they belong to. Then there is the uniformity of the big fiestas where everyone is in white with a coloured neckerchief pouring wine over their head.

While I am writing this someone outside is screaming his head off. No one seems to mind. He might be getting murdered but even I can't be bothered to rush to the window every time screams and shouts are heard. Having been encouraged from an early age to make as much noise as he likes the average Spaniard will think nothing of waking you up in the early hours serenading you with a Jota or two. Parents will often look on in glee as their little one smashes up whatever is lying around the bar or cafe. Tourists especially Brits will look on and say 'How lovely. Spanish children are so loved, no one minds them making noise', until the Spanish parent snaps and shrieks at the kid to put a sock in it. Years later the child grows into the kind of adult who at four in the morning kicks every wing mirror off all the parked cars in the street shouting 'they love me, they love me not' moving on to the next vehicle once said mirror hangs limply to the side. Yet at least you can walk down the street at four in the morning on your own and know the chap won't lunge at you or start an argument. It is rare that a Spaniard will get into a fight, preferring to hug and kiss you instead. They don't have that warlike savagery that many Brits and Irish have after a few bevvies.They don't shag pavements or prostitutes in the street either, having tons of puti clubs to service their needs. 

Ah, the word puta and the diminutive puti. Almost held in affection. Most Spanish children will know what a prostitute is and this word brings great mirth especially when they learn English. There is a well known local case of a Spanish teacher who taught English who refused to say the words 'put on' when referring to 'putting on' clothes as it made the kids crack up every time he said them. The other day an eight year old kid told me that what I had just said sounded like the word puta. All I had said was 'put a saucepan on his head' as that was part of the crazy story we were reading. Even the word computer gets them rolling in the aisles. A parent recently told me that their child was counting in the back of the car as they sped along the motorway. When she asked what they were counting the little darling replied 'puti clubs'.

ENGLAND YOUR ENGLAND. DISCUSS.

George Mikes said 'compromise means that you bring together everything that is bad', and that for the British compromise is very important. He said it was the only place where you can burn and catch a cold at the same time. This is still true as every house I stay in when I go to Britain has a fire that burns my front and a draught behind me. It's all about suffering but grinning while you bear it. What other nation would send its young up a river in the rain accompanied by a philharmonic orchestra belting out songs while catching pneumonia.

Earlier that morning I witnessed a man on one of those Sunday morning debates confirm that it's a lie that everyone on the planet would be watching the Jubilee and he added places 'like Spain' wouldn't be watching it. Well  they were, perhaps not all day as they had better things to do like march up a hill to get drunk.

George Orwell wrote that the British or rather English civilization was or is 'your civilization, it is you. However much you hate it or laugh at it, you will never be happy away from it for any length of time. The suet puddings and red pillar-boxes have entered your soul.' A lot of what he wrote in 1941 still rings true. That when you return to England from abroad 'you have immediately the sensation of a different air'. Then there is the English and 'their obstinate clinging to everything that is out of date and a nuisance'.

He talks about the English love for flowers but as far as I know he never mentioned their hatred toward children or anyone trying to ruffle their child's hair. They still are a nation of 'stamp collectors, pigeon fanciers, amateur carpenters, coupon-snippers,darts players and crossword puzzle fans.' You only have to walk into any WH Smith to have this confirmed today. Who else could come up with the idea of a cryptic crossword. Yet it is the freedom to choose. Not as I call it the 'group thing' that exists in Spain. The freedom to 'choose your own amusements instead of having them chosen for you from above.'

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!'