Life in Culebrón

Last night, well this morning I suppose, the windows started to rattle and the wind howled and the thunder thundered and the lightning lit the bedroom from time to time. When I got up a couple of hours later the sun was shining on the puddles on the patio and the cats were tiptoeing from dry spot to dry spot. It's a sign of the time of year. Like my feet hurting. Neither is new. I've complained about this, the feet that is, a lot. It stems from walking miles in flat bottomed sandals at Benicassim pop festival but the foot pain was always bad each summer long before the Benicassim debacle. Really the trouble starts as I move from proper shoes with proper socks to sandals and lighter shoes worn with those funny short socks. In Spanish the socks are called pinkies. Isn't that a great name? So Summer, early Summer when it's still Spring, is big storms and uncomfortable feet. And flies, hundreds of flies, thousands of flies. No, not just flies really; all sorts of small flyi...

Maggie and I have a slight difference of opinion about aircon in cars. It's fine, I don't really mind it but I always find it a bit odd. The jet of cold air supercools wherever it is directed whilst the sun, streaming in through the glass, cooks other body parts. I prefer the windows open. It's not as cool, granted, and it's not always the best option but, generally, I prefer the feeling of space and being able to breathe. Usually, of course, when we travel together we have the aircon on. I must have been feeling uppity because, a few days ago, the windows were open. As we went along at maybe 80k the sound of the cicadas in the countryside was as plain as the hotel neighbours groaning through the wall. Cicadas are pretty loud and insistent for small beasts. I didn't understand the idea behind a few. My father, exasperated by my questioning and my inability to grasp the abstract concept, told me that a few was 13. I still sometimes think of a few as being 13. ...