A few years ago I remarked to Henderson that I was having difficulty understanding how this country functions, how it works as all I could see was corruption on a massive scale and that was just the lawless hinterland I found myself in not the rest of Spain. I never imagined that it would collapse and despite the grim news I still hope that Spain can keep it together. I often think that when Franco died the Spanish went on a massive bender and only now are thinking about applying the brakes. It's as if they have just woken up and read the small print, whereas before they just shoved it in a drawer and resumed the fun and games.
We had an appointment at 8.30 this morning at our bank to do the Renta and were told to take a seat when we arrived. This was at the desk of the person who presumably would do our tax return and while we waited I noticed the back of the cash machine next to me was open and stacks of money lay next to it. The person responsible for filling the machine came along, said good morning and went about his work. I am not sure if this is just a very trustworthy place but it is the same bank that declares it has an alarmed caja fuerte or safe where the key is kept on top of a cupboard just as you enter.
Today we went to Telefonica to finally sort out some sort of contract for my mobile phone. I've been paying between 15 and 20 Euros a month pay-as-you-go and all I get is about 40 texts and a fifty second phone call to H before I get a message saying the credit is low. At first the girl told me that I might as well stick to purchasing credit as having a contract was going to cost about the same. When I pointed out that there was a deal where I could get unlimited texts and be able to navigate the web she said it would be 10 Euros or 13 if I wanted the calls to be 6 cents a minute. This all took about an hour with her talking into two mobiles at once with her arms crossed over her chest and then on a land line and then putting tons of info in a computer. This was multi tasking extraordinario and she even managed to serve someone else and have a chat with a pal on one of the phones. Of course all this infuriated H who expects things to run like Germany with the politeness and charm of the British sales man or woman wherever he goes. He complained that both the girls serving were wearing their sunglasses on their heads and then moaned about the other one chewing gum. He is definitely turning into my father. The girl who served us was very helpful but I fail to see how this sort of business can go on for much longer. The sort that takes hours and involves things that have nothing to do with your purchase. She did however tell me about Whassup or whatever it's called and its free calls and suggested I ring Telefonica to stop the 3 Euros 50 cents I have been paying for years that is apparently for mantenimiento, or maintenance as she reckons it is a bit of a con or a tonteria. I don't find it hard to believe that Telefonica has had a couple of hundred Euros out of me for nothing and I am thinking of trying to get it back. Sadly, as far as I know there is no Spanish equivalent of Dominic Littlewood or Rogue Traders to investigate this con so I will try to do it myself.
Saturday, 9 June 2012
Thursday, 7 June 2012
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'.
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'.
Monday, 4 June 2012
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'.
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.'
Sunday, 3 June 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, 24 May 2012
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............
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............
Saturday, 19 May 2012
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.
Friday, 18 May 2012
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!
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