We burn wood to keep warm in Spain. None of that new fangled central heating for us.
Last year we had a pile of tree trunks and wooden debris around the house, which my trusty axe and I turned that into chunks that would fit into our, rather small, wood burning stove.
This year we had to order some from a wood merchant. I rang several people to check prices and eventually ordered my mixed load of 2,000 kilos of almond, olive and oak from Juan who said he give me a ring to confirm the actual time but that it would be sometime this morning. He charges 11 centimos per kilo. When the wood turned up at 4.30 this afternoon it was Simón who brought it. I liked Simón, he complimented me on my Spanish.
There was a problem; his lorry would not quite fit under the trees in our drive so he had to drop the wood on the track just outside our house. I now know that 2,470 kilos is 50 wheelbarrows full. It's piled in our wood store, in our garage and alongside the wall outside the garage. It took just short of 4 hours to shift it all even with Maggie doing her fair share of the work from when she got home just after 6pm.
An old, temporarily skinnier but still flabby, red nosed, white haired Briton rambles on, at length, about things Spanish
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