For the want of a nail

Spain has been hard hit by the present financial crisis. The motor for much of the economy was construction but most building work has ground to a halt. For every brickie not working there is a long chain of people affected from electricians and plumbers to lorry drivers, furniture sellers and restauranteers - unemployment is an epidemic. The main earner in the town of Pinoso is marble and with competition from the Chinese and the slump in the domestic market the town has seen its income halved. The Town Hall, with less money to spend, has cut its support for lots of cultural activities - the grant for the local brass band, for instance, dropped from 40,000€ to 19,500€.

This weekend Culebrón has its local fiesta in honour of San Jaime. Normally the Town Hall coughs up some cash to pay for fancy lights, to hire the local dance troupe etc. Not this year. So the programme is much less extensive and much less expensive.

We started last night, with a vermouth session. Vermut is a traditional drink in these here parts and our village bodega makes it. One of the other bodegas in town processes the local crops of olives, almonds, lupin seeds etc. A couple of phone calls to brothers, sisters, cousins or whatever and the village had the makings of a party - vermouth with nibbles. Only the soda water, pop for the children and ice had to be paid for.

We were due to start at 8pm; I turned up at around 8.20 and nothing much was happening. I helped to put out the tables and chairs but it wasn't till around 9.15 that Roberto turned up with the booze. The cohetero, the man who sets off the rockets to announce the start of the fiesta, set about his task. I loaned him my lighter. The party was under way.

Contrasts

Each year the Culebrón Neighbourhood Association arranges a meal. We eat under the pine trees in front of the village hall. That's where we were on Saturday evening. As usual people were keen to greet us and Maggie explained time and time again that her contract time in Salamanca was now over and she had a new contract in Cartagena. Our travel and living arrangements were discussed over and over. But with that conversation ended we all looked at our feet a while, shuffled and then remembered an impotrtant appointment with someone else three or four metres away.

When it was time to grab a seat at the table we were, as usual, carefully but courteously edged from the centre towards the ends of the long table. Left to our own devices. But, the President of the Association was waiting for her family to turn up which they finally did something like an hour after the arranged kick off. They took the spare place settings at the end of the table so that, suddenly, we were no longer the outcasts but surrounded by Spaniards. We munched and chatted the evening away through a mixture of prawns, dried fish, savoury eggs, squid stew, pork stew, chicken with garlic and a few bottles of wine, beer and water. A pleasant evening.

Our pals, John and Trisha Moore asked us if we fancied Sunday Lunch with them at the campsite on the Jumilla Road. We said yes. Rachel our houseguest had been with us for the village meal and now she was to see a little part of the way that we Brits in Alicante transport our homeland with us. I had fried Camembert, roast beef with appropriate trimmings and the cherry and apple crumble to finish. We munched and chatted the afternoon away. A pleasant afternoon.