Skating on thin ice

I'm going to tell you some things that I think Spaniards think about the British. You may notice the teensy weensy little flaw here. Actually though, when I say what Spanish people think I should change that to what several Spaniards have said to me, over the years, about Britain and the British. So my Englishness is not, really, a handicap. When I say Britain and the British, I actually mean England and the English. Occasionally the Scots get a mention, because of the supposed similarity to the Catalans and because Mel Gibson, like all Scottish men, wore a skirt. No Spaniard I've met has ever voiced their opinion about the Welsh or the Northern Irish. 

Lots of Spaniards think that we are the only country in the world that drives on the other side of the road. This belief is usually mixed with an undertone that suggests we English are a bit full of ourselves. After all, don't we use different measures for length and weight too? I know, as do you, that there are about 70 or so countries that do the same, road-wise, from biggish places like South Africa and Malaysia to small places like Belize. Faced with this reality, those Spaniards who know, point out that this is a probably a remnant of our thirst for Empire. Again, I often get a whiff of Spanish mistrust of British cockiness. They really want to remind me about Blas de Lezo.

Lots of Spaniards think that British food is terrible. The only typical English dish that most Spaniards know is Fish and Chips. You and I may think that Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding is well known, but it isn't. My comeback to any Spaniard who started on this journey used to be a list of lots of other traditional British dishes from Shepherd's Pie and Bubble and Squeak to Bangers and Mash or Steak and Kidney Pie. Later I changed tack. I would argue that, whilst pizza may be Italian in origin, it is now a world food. The list of pizzas available from a Spanish pizzeria is quite different to the list of pizzas available in a Nepalese or Neapolitan pizzeria. Following the same logic, I would point out the breadth of dishes, and restaurants, that litter the British landscape. We Britons have plundered the world's cuisine. We feed our children Mexican or Japanese without blinking. We have taken dishes from across the world and made them our own. British Chilli con Carne, Spaghetti Bolognese, Red Thai Curry, Chicken Tikka Masala and so on have very little in common with the original source dish (if there is one) but those dishes are now as British as The Elizabeth Tower and Big Ben. Anyway, what are we comparing? Half the world eats chicken and chips or steamed mussels.

Spaniards think that the UK has a terrible climate. They're probably right. I was in the UK for the first time for ages a little while ago and the greyness of the light was a bit of a shock to me. Mind you the Spanish seem to forget that Asturias and the Basque Country, in fact much of Spain, is hardly sun baked in Autumn and Winter and until the Mediterranean builders learn about cavity wall insulation, insulation in general, doors that fit and effective heating systems, the winter in the Med, inside at least, is always going to be less pleasant than winter indoors in the UK. 

Spaniards think that most British tourists are drunken louts keen to jump off balconies and be sick in the streets of Magaluf. Unfortunately, there's more than a seed of truth in that. The cultured Brit in Toledo, there to see the Velázquez, and the placidly normal family holidaying in Torremolinos, aren't so noticeable whilst the dildo wielding fat bloke in San Antonio is. Even more so now that socks with sandals and Bri-Nylon shirts have disappeared from most wardrobes.

This last one I would have forgotten about if it hadn't been for my barber. I was complaining about the skyrocketing price of electric and fuel in general. His response was that electric prices would hardly worry such a rich bunch as we old, retired Britons with our high pensions and massive accumulated wealth. It reminded me of our early years here when there were lots of stories of Spanish families being amazed that they were able to unload their inherited, white elephant, big, old, country house, miles from anywhere and without services, to Britons who ne'er raised an eyebrow at the plucked from the air, mickey take, of a price. Fortunately for us, post Brexit, it's the Belgians and the Dutch who have inherited that branding.

Spanish for Siegfried, Triston and James

I read a book last week. In it a young woman has moved to the country, to a small village in the middle of nowhere Spain. She's thinking community and tranquillity. She rents a house and the first thing that she asks her landlord is if he knows someone who might have a dog for her. I was reminded of one of Maggie's stories. Maggie worked with a woman in Madrid who had a Spanish partner. The couple decided to move to the countryside and one of the requisites, one of the first things to do, according to Maggie's friend, was to get a "brute of a dog".

In the book the landlord palms the young woman off with one of his own dodgy dogs. Like all good country Spaniards the landlord thinks that it's cruel and unusual to sterilize a pet. The newcomer is from the city though and she takes the dog, for sterilization, to the nearest vet. The description of the vet's office is of a dusty and run down place where the vet is reading his phone and where there are no clients. It was much like that when we lived in Ciudad Rodrigo - except that it was before smartphones became our every time diversion. Eduardo the cat went with us. When it got to the time for his annual jabs I took him to the local veterinarian. The office was a scruffy and the vet was his own receptionist. I went more than once and I never had to wait.

It's not like that in Pinoso. We have a vet who trades under the name of Huellas; Pawprints. There's quite a team at Huellas including a receptionist, a bloke who seems to do a bit of everything, a couple of small animal vets - vets who deal with small animals not diminutive vets - and I think there's also a large animal vet (variation on the same explanation) but I haven't seen him for years so he may or may not still be there. There must be a dog groomer too because they offer doggie trims. Whatever, and whoever, the point is that it's a biggish team and it's a busy office. 

Turn up unannounced and you usually have to hang around for a while even when both vets are on duty. Plenty of Spaniards use the vet but, considering we Britons are outnumbered about 15 to 1 by Spaniards in Pinoso, we have a very strong presence in that office. It's amazing how often there is a Briton waiting with their (usually) dog or (sometimes) cat before I arrive. The vet's is fairly modern and the treatment rooms look properly medical with cupboards full of vials and tablets and sterile wrapped stuff. The vets are pleasant and well regarded.

Pinoso is very affected by we British. Brexit may be changing that a bit and there may be more Belgians and Dutch joining the Moroccans, Ecuadoreans and everyone else but there are still a lot of Britons and we are very noticeable. We're loud, we're old Empire confident and we don't blend in.

Whether we Brits are the reason that Cristina's is so busy or whether she was simply a vet with a well thought through business plan is something you'd have to ask her.