Little England

We now have a satellite dish the size of Jodrell Bank in our back garden, just beside one of the fig trees. At about 1.9 metres it's smaller than some and not big enough to pick up, for instance, BBC2 all through the day. Maggie paid for it and I'm sure she'll get value for money. She's sitting in front of it now with the aircon on in the background.

Greetings!

Maggie has always thought that the range of greeting cards on sale in Spain is a bit limited. Those that are available are either poor quality or expensive, or both. So when she realised someone she knew made cards she put in an order and she also bought a few commercially.

Today she set up her stall at a local car boot sale. She sold quite a few but not as many as she had hoped. She's not going to give up the day job quite yet

Doing penance

Our village has its local fiesta this weekend in honour of St James. We were looking forward to participating.

Last night we went to the meal along with our ex next door neighbours. We were greeted by several Spaniards but our conversational level being what it is the conversations soon petered out and the Spaniards, after a moment or two of checking their footwear, moved on. When two more Britons joined us the predominant language became English and people stopped speaking to us. When it came time to sit down our pals chose a table well to the side, away from the mainstream. Some Spaniards nearly sat next to us but they thought better of it and left a couple of empty chairs between their position and ours. Everyone was perefctly pleasant, they kept us topped up with beer and wine, and made the odd comment as they passed but, in truth, we were a little ghetto of foreigners.

Today we set off to try the gachamigas (a local food) at lunchtime. We were amongst the first there. We were offered beer, we sort of participated in the conversation about how hot it was and why it would be a while before the gachamigas got cooked. I felt even more isolated and foreign than the night before. I really felt that we were intruding; that we shouldn't be there. So we left.

And, as penance, I decided to tidy out the garage. It was hot work as you can guess from the pile of stuff on the patio. Maggie thought I was mad but I never did like the idea of hair shirts and self flagellation.

Fine!

Bit of a blow to the household finances.

There was a form in our post box to say that there was a letter waiting for Maggie at the Post Office that had to be signed for. When I went to pick it up the chap in the Post Office was almost gleeful. "It's a traffic fine".

Apparently Maggie had been photographed by a speed camera doing 88kph in a 60kph zone last month and the fine is 200€.

It's just one of those things I suppose but it's a fair bit of money.

Fiesta, party!

Last night we went to the village meal in the nearby village of Ubeda. About 200 of us sat in the village square, at long tables, and tucked into a meal followed by a bit of dancing.

Today, at 2pm we popped back to eat some of the free paella made from rice, rabbit and snails. One picture shows the paella being cooked on one of the village streets, the other shows some of our pals delighting in the healthy water melon provided as pudding.

We have the village meal in our own village tonight. More chicken I fear!

Eddie regains his perch

The MG broke down on 20 June just outside Monóvar. The clutch hydraulics went and the R.A.C.E. tow truck picked both the car and me up and dropped us at Teo's garage in Pinoso.

And that is where the car has been for the past three weeks. First waiting for Teo, the boss, and the only mechanic who does work on classic cars, to come back from a week away and then for the spare parts to come from Barcelona.

It only took them a couple of hours to fix the car once they had the parts. Apart from costing me 285€ it all seems to be fine though the feel of the clutch pedal has changed so drastically that I thought it wasn't working properly. When the mechanic came to have a look and it worked for him, because he pushed the pedal all the way home, I felt like a real fathead.

I drove home and Eduardo, our Spanish cat, ran out to meet us. He scrambled up the tailgate and flopped onto the sun roof where he has remained ever since

Knowing you're in Andalucia

We went to a town called Cazorla over the weekend which is in the province of Jaen, part of the region of Andalucia.

Andalucia provides Spain with lots of its stereotypes. Bull fighting is big in Andalucia, they dance and sing Flamenco, lots of the men are swarthy with slicked back hair, men ride their prancing horses in amongst the traffic and women wear the big swirly dresses given half a chance.

We were sitting outside a bar having a bit of a snack and a beer a little before midnight. There was a constant procession of Land Rovers. The town square, Santa Maria, was full of kids riding bikes, kicking footballs and doing what children do. Just opposite us a girl of about 12 was showing some younger children how to do the rhythmic flamenco clapping and how to match that to a few dance steps. Her mum occasionally passed by and gave her a hand with practical demonstrations.

Another generation learning how to be Andaluz.

Buenos Días Señor Guardia

There are basically three police forces in Spain. The Local Police exist in every town of any size. They're a bit of a joke. They seem to spend a lot of time in local bars chatting and drinking brandy before popping out to tell people off for leaving rubbish outside their houses. They do impose quite a lot of traffic fines though.

The National Police operate in any town with, I think, over 30,000 people. They seem to be a proper police force with neat uniforms and a crisp manner. In the Basque country and Catalonia the National Police have been replaced by a regional force with Catalan and Basque names.

The Guardia Civil are the ones that used to wear the tricorn patent leather hats; they don't any more except at dress events. They deal with policing in rural areas and they are the main traffic police as well as running the coastguard and the environmental protection service. They're a military outfit so they wear green and their police staions are called barracks. The motorbike Guardia ride around in pairs on big BMW bikes, they look dead tough but they have a reputation for being helpful to stranded motorists.

Spain has just introduced a penalty points system for traffic violations as part of a big crackdown on reducing the number of road deaths. There are controls all over the place to carry out alcohol tests, check that people aren't speeding, are wearing seat belts and to catch people talking on mobile phones as they drive. Unlike in the UK the Guardia can pull you over for a random check anytime and ask to see the car documentation (which you have to carry) as well as your personal ID and driving licence.

We got stopped somewhere in Castilla la Mancha as we drove down to Andalucia over the weekend. The Guardia man was very nice and wished us a pleasant weekend after he'd checked our paperwork.

Bits and bats

I can't pretend life's that exciting at the moment. Then again I've been listening to the Archers for 30 years or so and they manage to keep going on what's happening at the Flower and Produce show, how Adam held up against the new mystery bowler from Darrington or Hayley's problems with stoats. The script writers only throw in an occasional death, adulterous relatonship or TB outbreak to keep BBC management happy

So, around the house in the past couple of weeks we've bought a pool cover to keep the wasps from drowning themselves in our "pool", we've bought a new shelf unit that adds some furniture to the back of the room and makes a place to display my small collection of old cameras and, just tonight, we've taken delivery of a couple of chain fly curtains that help us to keep most flying beasts out but still let a nice breeze blow through the house to take away the stuffiness that builds up after a day with temperatures of 36ºc. We've even been to a solicitor to get him to sort out our Identity Cards rather than go and stand in interminable queues ourselves which means we will have resident status sometime in the New Year.

We've got a pal staying with us who's adding a bit of variety to our daily routine including a couple of meals out and a third voice as we lounge on the sofas making ill considered comments about the latest World Cup game. Maggie has just taken on her four week summer school role with a bunch of a thirteen new children; she's supposed to be improving their English but as none of them has any English it's been a bit uphill. We're even half planning to go away for a bit of a jaunt this weekend and our next door but one neighbours have moved out and been replaced by a new couple.

I had to hand over the Land Rover today to a repo company. It turns out that my boss had been guarding it after someone he knows had recovered it from someone else who had decided not to keep up the payments. I drove it out to meet the car transporter that was going to take it back to the UK for sale. A sad parting.

Certainly enough there for at least one Archers episode.

Lel fiesta

According to the last census Lel has 44 inhabitants. It is not a big place. It's one of the villages, like ours in Culebrón, linked to the larger town of Pinoso.

Over the weekend they had their annual fiesta so we thought we'd go and have a look.

We got there just before midnight and there were cars parked all over the place. The village square was lit with strings of lights, there was a two piece band banging out Pasa Dobles and recent hit songs and there were several long tables just outside the village hall littered with the remains of quite a grand meal. At least a hundred people must have eaten. The more energetic were dancing, the youngsters, dressed in their finery, leaned against parked cars loaded with sound systems. There was a stall selling the equivalent of "kiss me quick" hats and popcorn but there was no bar.

As we didn't have a suitable car to lean against, as I never dance and as there was no drink to be had we left within a few minutes.

It wasn't that impressive in one way, very routine really, but the idea that a village served by roads better described as tracks and with no population to speak of would go to the effort of mounting a fiesta was impressive.

On being warm

It's been relatively warm here for the past week or so; often over 30ºC with the temperature in the house never dropping below 25ºC even in the middle of the night.

Everyone, Spaniards and Brits alike, complains about the heat but I have this theory that once it's warm the actual temperature is more or less inconsequential. After all if you're sweating then you're sweating and until it actually gets above body temperature we must still radiate heat. So - bring it on I say. After all we expect Spain to be sunny.

And there is no rule that we have to wear shorts and drink beer. Though I refrain from the first I do try to keep my end up with regards to the second!