We know that you know that we know.

Terrible, what you don't know sometimes. 

I was chatting with a Spanish pal during a video language exchange. She was telling me about some event for Corpus Christi held near Toledo. Obviously, living here I know that Corpus exists, but heaven knows what Corpus actually is. The sum total of my knowledge is that it's some sort of Christian religious celebration. I also know it's the one where little girls, dressed up like miniature brides, and boys in their sailor suits parade through the streets after their First Communion. I haven't seen any of the other sexes yet, so I've no idea what they wear.

Anyway, Charo mentioned that the streets near Toledo were strewn with thyme. I'd seen something about that for some event around here. I couldn't remember what, where or why, but it sort of primed me.

I already knew it was Corpus time because the folk in Elche de la Sierra had started bombarding me with emails and WhatsApp messages about their own event. I've seen that a few times. Groups arrange to decorate the streets with sawdust carpets — alfombras de serrín. Coloured wood chippings and sawdust are used to prepare intricate designs, laid out on the tarmac just before the religious mass part of Corpus. As you can see from the photo, it now heaves with visitors.

When the priests and what-not have finished their praying and blessing, the little brides and sailor boys parade through the streets. They follow one of those star-shaped, handheld brass (or maybe gold or silver) contraptions held aloft by a priest, surrounded by little lads swinging incense salters. Then they walk, higgledy-piggledy, all over the sawdust carpets. The effect, a bit like mixing different colours of plasticine, leaves the streets a sort of mucky, greeny-purple monocolour.

So, the next day, when I read the email that the Alcoy tourist office sent through their weekly update, I noticed they were celebrating Corpus too. They had dancers called momas and momos (I know you thought it was going to be that 1960s Californian band, didn't you?). They dance on carpets of thyme spread across the streets. The whiff of pagan festival usurped by the Catholic Church reached my nostrils.

I went to see it. But I completely buggered up the time. I read the wrong webpage, and the thyme dancers weren't due to strut their stuff till nearly ten hours later. I left with absolutely nothing to show for my 140 km round trip but a coffee and half a toasted baguette.

I don't quite know how it happened, but later, while sifting through Instagram, a video popped up. It showed a bunch of people dressed in rags, walking through the streets of Valencia city while the neighbours gleefully threw buckets and pans full of water over them. This is called the Poalà. I'd never heard of it. I asked the internet, and it told me it was yet another Corpus-related tradition. It went on to say that, on the same day, the momos and momas dance through Valencian streets strewn with thyme. I didn't need to be Poirot to see a developing pattern.

I've put a firm note in my diary for next year to get ahead of the game and actually know what's happening when and where as Corpus comes around.

Now, did I mention the San Juan festivities in Bullas? Something to do with star-crossed lovers jumping off the local waterfall. I must check that out too. San Juan down in Alicante is always splendid, but something new is always good.