Braceando en el barro

It's a nice day. The weather station says 34.6ºC. It's still, and the only sounds are things cracking with the heat and buzzing flies. In Pinoso, just four kilometres way, they will be finishing off the free giant paella and the free beer to go with it. I wondered about going in but I couldn't raise the energy. I did the ironing instead.

I'm off work of course. I don't work, nor do I get paid, July or August. It suits me though my joy is always somewhat tempered by the alarming outflow from my bank account. The perennial problem plenty of time but no cash.

I'm only putting off one job. I have to phone the electric supply company to ask them about moving a pole. I've mentioned it before. The power supply to the house is being menaced by our still very healthy and free of the nasty beetle like picudo rojo, palm tree. I sprayed the tree again a few days ago and I hurt myself less and did it more quickly than ever before. I'm putting off the phone call for all sorts of reasons but I do need to talk to the neighbour first and he's not around at the moment so I can claim lack of opportunity rather than sloth.

It's not that I've been particularly slothful since finishing work. I went to Madrid to collect Maggie and we spent a couple of days there together. We made a frankly disastrous foray to Cartagena to see a couple of bands in the Mar de Musicas. We did our Hispano Luso road trip on which I finally got to see inside el Escorial (Felipe II's enormous monastery palace) after 25 years of trying, we got back to Ciudad Rodrigo after five years away, we bagged another of the fourteen Spanish National Parks at Doñana. Overall we saw a myriad of interesting and exciting things in the 2,890 kilometres we did on a route that took in stops at Cercedilla, Ciudad Rodrigo, Tabuaço, Lisbon, Evora, el Rocio and Malaga. A couple of days after getting back to Culebrón Maggie set off for the UK to catch up with her family and my life slowed down a little.

That said I went to see a paid for concert, Pastora Soler, as part of the Pinoso Fiesta and I've done a few other things there from the opening ceremony to sitting in the market square drinking gin and listening to the free soul night with a couple of pals. Life you know, drifting past.

Good morning sir. May I see your documentation please?

I get pulled over fairly frequently by the police, usuallly the Guardia Civil. Normally it takes seconds - they see I'm wearing my seat belt, see that the car has been checked for roadworthiness or whatever and I'm soon on my way. Not always, they sometimes have big guns and give clear instructions about leaving the car s-l-o-w-l-y. I've been breathalysed either three or four times as well. Always 100% clear.

On the way to stay in a hotel in Cartagena last week I was being followed by a police car with speed cameras mounted on the roof. I signalled left and pulled into a parking bay. The policeman started gesticulating and shouting. Once out of the car in that flurry of tripping over things fluster he told me off for crossing an unbroken white liine in the centre of the road. I shouldn't have turned left.

Today we went to visit a bodega though here in Portugal they seem to be called quintas. When it got to the wine tasting I only took about half a mouthful of wine. I've got to drive I said.

Five minutes down the road and we were pulled over by police officers on a country lane - their uniforms had the letters GNR on them. "Documentation please," they said in Portuguese. I tried answering in English, no good, I tried Spanish - that worked. It turned out the poliiceman had been a lorry driver and knew our bit of Spain as well as Spanish. There were no problems with the paperwork. "You haven't been drinking have you?" he asked, almost as a throwaway line. I told the truth. I was lectured on the strength of Portuguese wine and sent on my way. Two police incidents in five days is a bit on the top side thouugh.

Interesting about the language too. I complain a lot about not being able to speak Spanish very well. Being here in Portugal where I have difficulty pronouncing the name of the town that I'm staying in has brought home to me how communicative I actually am in Spanish. It is horrible being so lost and having to be so British about speaking to foreigners - well modulated sounds, a slow delivery and simple words. Of course, just as everywhere else the foreigners put us to shame and usually manage English remarkably well.