Life in Culebrón

The one on the left is Edu, first language Castilian. The one on the right is Mary - an English speaker like us. They don't get on very well but tomorrow, at 1.30pm, the small orange chap is going to the vet and when he comes back he may not be such a problem for Mary. Castration without the high pitched singing.

There is something about moving to Spain. The cliche is sunny Spain. Now we knew before we got here that it gets cold in Spain in winter. We'd shivered in places as far apart as Caravaca and Bilbao. In fact when we first talked to some Spanish friends about living here we told them that we fancied somewhere near Burgos. "Colder than Siberia" they said. So now we live in Alicante Province. That's the one full of Britons - here for the sun. But at the moment it isn't warm, it isn't even comfortable. It's absolutely perishing and it's making all us expats feel really miserable. Cold in front of the TV (actually we can just about keep the marble floored, uninsulated, curtain and carpetless living room warm), cold in bed even wearing socks and a sweatshirt, cold in the bathroom (and often wreatehed in steam) and certainly cold in my workplace. The one place it isn't quite as cold is outside particularly during the middle of the day. Even here, in Pinos...

This morning the water was nearly running. We have cold but not hot. It was an interesting experience shaving and washing in cold (freezing) water but I drew the line at showering.

The snow has now frozen and with it so have our pipes. Not that surprising really as it is possible to see our main inlet pipe on the surface of our garden. We are unable to wash, the toilet cisterns are empty and we will have to go out and buy bottled water so we can drink tea. After all, it's a crisis and, in a crisis, we British drink tea.

Culebron is about 60kms from the Costa Blanca coast. Famed as the region with the nicest summers (a bit cooler than scorching Andalucia) and the mildest winters. Well, this morning, as I opened the door to feed the cats I was greeted with snowflakes on my face and the sight of our palm tree covered in about 5cms of snow. The young cat, Eduardo, was scared at first but is now engrossed in sliding and rolling in the strange white stuff.

I run an old MGB GT (Built October 1977). It made the move with me to Spain and it became a registered national with a new number plate in March of last year. As a part of that process it had to pass the test that shows the car to be roadworthy. In the UK we call it an MOT and in Spain it's the ITV. Well today was the day for the car to take its second annual roadworthiness test and, despite, rust that is spreading like wildfire through the bodywork, it passed with flying colours. I was so pleased I bought an omlette sandwich and a cup of coffee.

The majority of Spaniards don't have access to piped gas. They use gas bottles. There are two main types, the silver ones and the orange ones. The orange ones have the huge advantage that they are usually delivered by someone who takes all the muscle injuries on your behalf as they lug them into your living room or wherever. The silver ones are lighter, are easier to contract for and are more available at petrol stations and other pickup points. I usually get our silver bottles from the local bodega for instance. Trouble is that when I went for a bottle yesterday the bodega had run out - come back tomorrow - they said, so I did. Unfortunately I went back at 7.50pm and the bodega apparently closes at 8.00pm, unusually early for any Spanish business. So no replacement bottles for two days. Fortunately I have an orange bottle that I shouldn't really have and one of the local petrol stations has just started selling them so I was able to replace at least one. We have four bottles...

That's me in the middle. Maggie, my partner is the one on the right. The woman in red is our pal Pepa 

According to the deeds of our house it was built in 1989. As it has walls about 35cms thick made from lumps of rock this seems unlikely. We moved in about a year ago and we had quite a lot of work done on the place. In order to update the electric supply the old suspended ceiling had to be removed but, when the work was done, new suspended ceilings were put in. When the ceiling was missing we quite liked the rustic beams that held up the roof (simple construction in old Spanish houses) but we agreed that it would be a costly job to clean them up sufficienly so that they looked charming rather than agricultural. We also noted that our living room seemed to be made up of a couple of very small rooms joined together. It was easy to tell this because there were two chimmneys. The chimmney breast had been taken away in one of the rooms and the remaining brickwork had been hidden behind the suspended ceiling. What we didn't spot at the time was that the brickwork had been left unsupporte...

And why do they hurt? Because I fell over after drinking far too much Magno (cheap Spanish brandy) whilst on a bit of a binge in Santa Pola. Never mind I'm sure I'll heal up soon, or, of course, I could just stop laughing!