Summer over

I keep a diary. I have ever since I was 14. At the bottom of each page I note the weather for the day. In most of July and August it has been a pretty monotonous entry. It reads - sunny and warm - high 35ºC low 19ºC - well more or less, sometimes a bit warmer sometimes a bit cooler. I don't write sunny and hot till it gets over 40ºC and it hasn't done that in Culebrón all summer.

These last few days though all that has changed - cloudy, overcast and at times torrential rain. Maximum around 28/29ºC. The reason of course is that August is nearly over and there is a remarkable concurrence between the calendar and the weather here in Spain that I simply don't remember experiencing when I lived in the UK.

Summer is over in other ways too. Maggie is off to Qatar tomorrow so I will be left all alone in Spain for at least the year of her initial contract. I was due to start work again on Monday but there has been a bit of a cock up with my holiday pay so I'm not going to start back till the 11th now. This is actually quite good as I have been doing a half hearted bit of flat hunting in Cartagena and I have run into the problem that everyone is still on holiday. On Monday, being September, that will all change. I will be able to telephone people and get a reply. People will be back at work and there will be items on the radio and television about the inevitable depression that people suffer as they settle back into the work routine.

It's been a pretty standard summer. A good summer. We havent't been very far but we've done plenty most of it recorded in the snaps on Picasa and Facebook rather than as entries here.

That special relationship

I write articles for a magazine called TIM. I was writing one this afternoon and I used a quote from the Bogart/Bacall film To Have and Have Not. "You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and... blow."

Maybe it's just me but I think that quotes from films are a part of everyday conversation. Do you recognise these? "I love the smell of napalm in the morning," "Show me the money!", "May the Force be with you." Maybe you don't but "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

These quotes are all from foreign films. Movies made by Hollywood. They are not British films made at Ealing or Elstree.

The first time I went to the United States I had great difficulty communicating, the difference between scotch and whisky was the first flashpoint but there were others. It was GBS who said, "The United States and Great Britain are two countries separated by a common language" but the truth is much of my cultural heritage comes from the United States. From American authors, photographers, music, TV and places. Show me that tower and we're in Seattle, the red coloured bridge is in San Francisco but the black one is in New York. I know who Babe Ruth was and the NYCs and even the New England Patriots. I hum along to US songs and I watch their TV. I even know some US politicians. I am certain that the main reason is that we share a common language, whatever Shaw thought, and even that language is greatly influenced by the US. When I was a boy they were wagons, they are still lorries to me but I understand and use trucks just as I used movies above.

America - I always find it remarkable  that a country was so certain of itself to choose to use the adjective American to call its citizens - is just a part of my life.

It's not quite the same for Spaniards. When they listen to Bogart doing "Of all the gin joints in all the world" the voice is José Guardiola and it was Constantino Romero who took the voice for Rutger Hauer in the death scene from Bladerunner: "I've... seen things you people wouldn't believe... Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion." It's not the same, it's not as strong. The influence of the States just isn't as strong for Spaniards as it is for me and presumably for other Britons.

So I understand that Spaniards don't know about British things like Sheperd's Pie or making tea properly but I'm consistently surprised that Americn authors or TV shows don't figure much in their lives either. I just presumed that the United States was everywhere by giving us all baseball caps, Google and McDonalds but maybe I misunderstood that language was maybe just as powerful in blocking those things.

The first time that Churchill stressed the special realtionship was in the "Iron Curtain Speech" in Fulton Missouri in 1946. "I come to the crux of what I have travelled here to say. Neither the sure prevention of war, nor the continuous rise of world organization will be gained without what I have called the fraternal association of the English-speaking peoples. This means a special relationship between the British Commonwealth and Empire and the United States."

So you see even Winnie agrees with me about the language.

Separate to save

Apparently, on average, we Pinoseros - the population of Pinoso - produce 500 kilos of rubbish each year. Of that just 28 kilos is recycled.

Rubbish collection isn't done on an individual basis as in the UK. Instead there are big rubbish bins placed at strategic positions in the villages, towns, cities and throughout the countryside. Individual householders have to carry their household rubbish to the bins. Collection in the towns is usually every night whilst in Culebrón collection is twice per week.

There are recycling bins too. Generally it's green for glass, blue for paper and cardboard and yellow for containers. There isn't discrimination within those three categories so the empty shampoo bottles, the tetrapaks and pop cans all go in the yellow container. Green, blue, clear and brown glass all go in the green container.

I'm told that people have jobs separating the different classes of waste but any time I've ever talked to Spaniards about this the majority firmly believe that it's all a big con and that all the rubbish destined for recycling is just dumped in the landfills or incinerated along with the rest because it simply doesn't make economic sense to separate the individual items.

Anyway just before the summer proper got underway big posters went up all over Pinoso "We have a plan" "Separate to save" The thrust of the campaign was that we could keep the rates down by recycling more.

One part of the plan was to provide households with bags colour coded to the different containers for home use. I tried to get some when the plan was launched but the office was closed whenever we were in Pinoso. When we came back for summer I tried again but they had run out of supplies. Yesterday I finally got hold of a set.

We've always used a couple of big rubber buckets to keep our recyclable stuff in but the new bags are much smarter if significantly smaller.

El Misteri d'Elx

Tangible World Heritage sites, on the United Nations Educational, Social and Cultural Organization list, include places like the Taj Mahal and the Egyptian Pyramids or, in the UK, Stonehenge, Blenheim Palace, The Ironbridge Gorge and the old maritime parts of Liverpool. Spain has lots and lots of sites with forty four all together putting it third in the world ranking behind China and Italy.

But not all heritage is "bricks and mortar" - heritage also includes cultural traditions. A good British example might be pantomime although it seems, from a bit of Googling, as though the UK has not yet joined the list of countries which subscribe to the UNESCO definition of what intangible cultural heritage is. Spain has and things like the Human Towers of Catalunya, Flamenco and the Whistling Language of the island of Gomera in the Canaries are all there.

The Elche Mystery play, or in the local Valencian language el Misteri d' Elx, was given the staus of  Intangible Cultural Heritage by UNESCO in 2001.

This play only takes place for a couple of days in mid August each year just before Assumption - the Christian festival which celebrates the taking of the earthly remains of Mary, mother of Jesus, to Heaven. It takes place in the basilica church in Elche and it has done so every year, without fail, for 600 years. Apparently it was a close run thing in 1632 when it took a Bapal Bull from Pope Urban VIII to exempt it from the ban on performing theatrical works in churches.

Despite Elche being just 50km from Culebrón we've never seen the play and it seemed ridiculous to let the event slip by us yet again this year. A quick check on one of the Internet ticket sites and we were in. Front row, only row, on the Puerta del Sol balcony. Just 17€. Well, on the site it was marked as a seat. In fact it was just a space, about 45cms wide, for us to lean against the rail. Nearly everyone else had seats but as recompense we had a splendid view of the action. The heat in the church was impressive. It wasn't actually that hot, maybe around 29ºC, but the humidity was incredible and looking down from above anybody and everybody was fanning themselves. A sea of hand fans in constant motion.

Although I'm on the cradle roll of the Weslyan Chapel in Elland I'm not much of a Christian but, being English and of a certain generation, Christianity came as more or less a standard extra. I know a few parables, the old version of the Lord's Prayer and I know who did what at Christmas and Easter. That didn't help me at all with this story. I didn't have a clue what was going on.

In fact the play was about as boring an event as I have ever witnessed. I don't think I was the only bored person in the audience either. Looking through the telephoto lens of my camera it was easy to spy on people playing with Facebook and WhatApp on their mobile phones. The play was all sung in an ancient form of Valencian and Latin by an all male cast. It lasted for about fifteen hours though my watch must have failed as it measured the actual performance as only lasting about two and a half hours. The watch seemed to work fine before the event, after the event and even in the intermission but during the event no. There were a couple of impressive bits when a trapdoor in the ceiling of the church opened and first one and later five people were gently lowered to the ground wearing angel wings, singing, playing harps and ukeleles (well that's what Maggie says they were though I suspect she may be jesting.) Actually at one point there were two ropes on the go with the five piece being joined by another couple of angels. It must be quite an experience to be hoisted up and down the highest part of a cathedral sized church whilst being required to sing or play an instrument.

Another good bit was that the human Mary, Mother of Jesus, Mary, was replaced by sleight of hand by the carved wooden Mary that represents Mary of the Assumption the Patron Saint of Elche. It was she who was hoisted up into the heavens amongst the harps and angel wings amidst the applause of the retreating audience who headed for the fresh air without any shouts for an encore or curtain call.

Despite it being boring, incomprehensible, sweltering and painful I am really glad I went and I would recommend it to you.

Welcomed into the bosom of our adopted family

I'm not much of a dancer. I don't care for it anyway but then I hurt my hip dancing in 1973 so there was a bit of a hiatus till I tried it again. That must have been the mid 90s. I hurt myself again then though I can't really blame the dancing. I was so drunk that I was a tad unsteady and I cracked my head on the wall when I was in the urinal. I didn't notice at the time but Maggie was apparently put off dancing by the trickle of blood running down my forehead. Anyway I don't dance.

So last night at around 2am I was the only person left seated at the big long table where we'd just eaten. Several people tried to persuade me to dance. I said no, I always say no. Looking at my actions from the outside I must be a bit of a party pooper. I never dance, never sing, never get involved in the hilarious games. Stand offish. I'm better when I've been drinking but I had to drive last night so there was no liquid help to hand.

The events leading up to the non dancing were odd. Last year as we wandered the Pinoso Fiesta we saw hundreds of people having a meal in the car park next to the Town Hall. It looked like good fun. So, this year when I read somewhere that to go to the Cena de Convivencia, something like the Living Together Dinner, you had to register at the Town Hall for a seat that's just what we did. At the time we were told that we had to provide our own food. Fair enough we thought, a late night picnic.

One of the leading lights in the Culebrón village hierarchy is a young woman called Elena. She works on the local radio and, if I understood what she told me correctly, she was reading out, on air, the names of the people going to the Cena and she saw our names there. It turns out, and we didn't understand this at all when we booked up, that the dinner exists principally for the groups that participate in the floral offering which takes place earlier on the same evening.

By sheer chance Elena saw our lone names and invited us to join her and a few other people we knew. At this point we were still under the impression that it was individuals, or groups of chums, taking the meal together. So began a series of WhatsApp messages as I tried to wrest the information from Elena about our part in the jollities. Pretty early we learned that the key element the food was going to come from a local roast chicken takeaway but in lots of ways we were still completely in the dark. When and where exactly would we meet, did we need to take plates and glasses, how was the food being bought, did we need starters, puddings or drinks to accompany the meal? In an English way I wanted full chapter and verse and in a Spanish way it was all in hand because it would be "as always."

It is ages since I have felt quite so confused about what was going on. My WhatsApp messages used lots of words like confused, lost and foreigners.

On the night of course it ran like clockwork. The villagers had everything under control. We were directed to the appropriate seats to make sure we weren't left out of anything. Maggie joined in without any problem. She was grinning, chatting and dancing.

Of course I wasn't dancing, I'm so old that my tenuous grip on the Spanish slipped away as the multidirectional conversation had to be shouted above the noise of the live band providing the dance music. Not much chatting then but I did do my best to grin.

 "Now you don't feel so lost, do you?" said Elena to Maggie.

Taking their revenge

I'm sitting in a shopping centre drinking coffee. If I'm lucky I have another seven hours to kill. If I'm unlucky I will have to get Maggie to come and get me. The car is in dry dock, with the BMW dealer. It has an intermittent misfire.

I have a great service contract on the car. I paid about 320€ maybe three years ago and for that I get the usual services at no extra cost.

It looks as though the it needs new brake pads said the service receptionist. 220€ said the receptionist. Finding an intermittent fault can be a sod said the receptionist. I can't tell you how much it will be until we know the problem. My Barclaycard trembled. You'll have to pay for the diagnostic test even if we don't find anything said the receptionist. I argued. My Barclaycard quaked. It may take more than today said the receptionist. I threw myself on his mercy. I can't walk home to Culebrón from here - about 45 km - please try.

So, here I am drinking coffee in the air conditioned shopping centre fearing the worst. Expecting a whopping  bill. But I suppose I've done pretty well out of the Mini service plan for the last few years.

Time for them to take their revenge!

And they did!

I'm home now. The total cost was 565€. They've not only changed the rear pads but the rear discs as well. The engine problem was some tube which was part of the valve set up. I think that it was a backpressure sensor if that makes sense. Anyway from my translation of his description in Spanish it seems that the misalignment of this sensor allowed diesel to flow directly into the exhaust system which may have sooted up the catalytic converter so that it may need regeneration. I bet that comes dead cheap. Oh, and as a little bonus he added that the gearbox sounded noisy and maybe that needs checking. The gearbox, good grief the car's only 95,000 kms old, a bit under 60,000 miles. Nearly new.