Life in Culebrón

When I do my online Spanish classes I talk about things that have happened to me in Pinoso. One of my teachers is obviously quite taken with this bucolic existence. He seems particularly tickled by some of the names - the Angustias, Hilarios, Artemios, Pompilias and Laureanos, - but he also likes the little stories about the more mundane names, the Virginias, Remes, Juancos, Elsas and Enriques. I think it's the idea that, even as a complete outsider, I still use names to describe people. The plumber isn't the plumber he's Lucrecio and the optician is Elsa and the bloke who sells me gas is Quique. I was reminded of this by a literary reference to an esquela. An esquela tells you that someone has died. I occasionally hear an esquela on the local radio to say that Don or Doña such and such has died aged whatever and that the service will be at 11am this morning in such and such a church and that his or her family are upset. More commonly though I see a piece of A4 paper pasted...

I'm up to three sessions a week now with the online Spanish learning - a bloke in Alicante, another in Manresa in Cataluña and a woman somewhere that's really Barcelona but isn't actually Barcelona - like Croydon isn't London. The hour long sessions are just conversation so none of us have to do any prep. The conversations go hither and thither; we've talked about squatters, the pluses and minuses of vanguard cooking, the differences between elections and political representation in the UK and Spain and other similar topics. I often trip over words and pronunciation but, generally, the conversation flows well enough and I often surprise myself with the obscure vocabulary that I seem to be able to dredge from the deep corners of my rapidly decaying brain. The tutors are uniformly complimentary but I've noticed that I keep my end of the conversations simple. I'm hoping that it will become more complicated with the amount of time that I'm now spending on...