Six cats eat a lot of food

My weekly pilgrimage into our local town this morning. My sixth or seventh so far I think. I asked Maggie if she wanted to do it because she's not been out of the house for 47 days now. She preferred not to.

The roads seemed just a tad busier than last week. There was a police control at the crossroads in to Pinoso but he was checking traffic coming from another direction. Plenty of parking space in the town centre car park because nothing much is open and very few people are visibly working. My first stop was the Post Office. It was the first outing, the premiere, for my free (thanks to the Regional Valencian Government) face mask. I'd got gloves too. To be honest I'm a fan of neither but I'm happy to be civic. There was no queue at the Post Office which was a bit of a surprise. There can only be two (or possibly three) people inside so there is usually a patient, spaced out (not in the Seventies way) line of people waiting outside. Not today. Straight in. I only wanted to check our mailbox so I ducked and waddled underneath the glass side counter to avoid having to squeeze past the customer at the perspex encased desk.

Supermarket next. We're a bit too rural for home delivery. There was a masked police officer outside. He waved. Small town life. Remarkably there was space in the tiny supermarket car park and no queue to get in either. The lad squirted alcohol wash onto my gloves and then fitted new plastic gloves over the latex ones. They make it nearly impossible to open those thin plastic bags you use to put fruit and veg in but, as I struggled, one of the supermarket staff offered to help. Her nitrile gloves were less slippery. Shopping was routine. I didn't even have to wait at the delicatessen cum butchery counter. There was nothing much in short supply, there had been no butter last week but there was this. People generally kept their distance. There were no children and nobody was doing that "I don't believe a word of this so I'm not going to play along with these stupid restrictions game". I didn't meet anyone who I knew which is the first time that that's happened so the shopping got done faster! I was two trolley loads back for the checkout and the woman in front of me was slow to unpack, had trouble with her bank card and didn't seem keen to move away from the end of the checkout. After a while she realised I was waiting. "No problem," I said, "I'm hardly in a hurry". "No, nobody is," she replied. Plastic gloves to the approved bin, trolley to the car for unpacking and the emptied trolley to the disinfecting queue. Me back in the car and off towards home.

Two police vehicles working the exit from town but again I was lucky and didn't have to wait in a queue of stopped cars or explain what I'd been up to. Back through the house gate and glad to be home.

Using your loaf

I thought I might write a blog. Then I realised that nothing has happened to me for days so I couldn't. Later, as I pottered at some unremarkable task or another, it came to me that I knew a story, dated from the year 1305, about a Scottish bloke watching a spider. If that was enough to pique people's interest maybe I could think of something. So, here it is.

Yesterday, as I sorted the recycling in the rain, someone papped their horn as they passed the gate. Now horn papping is currently a big event in Culebrón; worthy of investigation. I duly investigated. It was a white van and our next door neighbour was buying something from the driver. I kept my distance but I wondered what he was selling. Instead of asking in person I asked via WhatsApp. First I asked a British family who live on the other side of the main road, the one where they disinfected the streets today, if they knew anything about travelling shops. When the response hadn't come within an hour or so I sent another WhatsApp to the Spanish family next door. They told me it had been a bread van coming in from Pinoso.

My search for new challenges, for novel experiences, is almost boundless. Obviously ordering bread via WhatsApp just had to be tried. Tapping out my order I suddenly realised that I didn't know the names of a particular sort of loaf I wanted. This is not new. I had the same problem in the Waitrose in Huntingdon about 20 years ago when I (apparently) wanted a Farmhouse Bloomer. This time though I couldn't point. It was a very long WhatsApp message to get an ordinary sort of loaf and a couple of breadsticks. The comparison with the bloomer still holds. "Please can I have a brown farmhouse bloomer?" versus "Please can I have that large brown crusty loaf with rounded ends and parallel diagonal slashes across its top?"

The British family responded in time. They didn't tell me about Javier the baker though, they told me about Augustine and his travelling grocer cum greengrocer's van. Bread on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, groceries on Tuesday and Thursday.

Like a magician I revealed all of this to Maggie. Well a van from Carrefour (a huge French owned supermarket) passed the other day she said. There seems to be just so much that I don't know about shopping in Culebrón!

And something completely different to finish. I was talking yesterday to a bloke who lives in a nearby village called Cantón. The official figure for the population of el Cantón is 103 but I'd be amazed if that many people actually live there all year around. Nonetheless my pal says that in the village, as nearly everywhere in Spain, every evening at 8pm the neighbours get out on their balconies and back patios to applaud, shout and generally make noise to show their support for the people keeping us going at the moment and particularly the health workers. I'm sure it happens in Culebrón too but we're too far away to hear or be heard.

Surprisingly unsettling

I've just been into town.

There's a video doing the rounds on social media of a woman runner scuffling with a couple of police officers in Madrid. We don't see how it started but the woman is screaming blue murder and shouting for help. The comments on the sound track by the person taking the video and from the neighbours on the adjoining balconies are not supportive of the runner. A loose translation might be something along the lines of "Smart arse, you should have stayed at home - you twat".

We're fine in Culebrón. We have space, inside and out, there are only the two of us plus the clowder of cats. Since I went to the supermarket on either Monday or Tuesday I haven't been outside the front gate. The time has passed quickly though and I'm not finding time to do enough reading despite apparently having endless days in front of me.

I see on the telly, hear on the radio and read in social media that, in Spain, the place where I live, people are facing the hard times with determination and with humour. The examples of moral support, such as the applause for hard pressed medical staff or the concern for the lorry drivers who are keeping us all going but can't get a cup of coffee or anything to eat along their route, are legion. There are almost endless examples of good, decent action like shoe workers turning their machines to sewing medical masks. Not everything is positive though. There are plenty of selfish people too. Runners seem to be right up there and I've seen lots of Facebook posts from local police forces reminding people to be civically minded and to comply with spirit of the current rules. A simple example is that people are choosing to get their bread from a baker on the other side of town as the cover for a bit of a stroll. There are examples of lock ins in bars and I just saw a video (photo on this post) of the traffic jams out of Valencia city on Friday evening as people headed for their "holiday homes" content to risk taking the virus with them and happily flouting the one person per vehicle instruction. There are still some politicians crass enough to think that now is also a good time for point scoring.

I know which side I want to be on. But we had no eggs, bread, tomatoes, peppers or juice and our alcohol stocks were down to strangely coloured liqueurs and the wine in plastic bottles. The cats also seem to have remarkably healthy appetites.

Shopping aside there were a couple of other reasons for leaving the house. One of the things I've found time for over the last couple of days was to sort through my old English teaching materials looking for stuff to throw out. That had added about 20 kilos of paper to the usual recycling stash of cans, cartons and bottles sitting by the front door. Just to top it off Amazon were threatening to take my order back out of their delivery locker if I didn't pick it up by Sunday. The just about justifiable reasons for a quick trip out were building.

I chose to go out for the supermarket dead time just after 2 pm. It was a good decision. The rainswept roads were almost deserted and there was easy parking just outside the supermarket. I didn't have to queue to go in and I got my handwash and plastic gloves within seconds of entering. It was really quiet and nearly everything was in stock. I didn't like it though. It was all a little unsettling. When all this started I was one of the "well the flu kills 35,000 people every year and nobody notices" crowd  but I found myself hanging back whilst someone in front of me moved on from the area of the shelves where I wanted to be - no point in being foolhardy. It's impossible to go anywhere in Pinoso without bumping into someone you know. There were pals and acquaintances in the supermarket but the conversations were nothing more than polite or humorous exchanges of a few phrases. I have to say that I felt really uncomfortable; a mixture of concern that I was doing wrong by being there and that I was putting myself and Maggie at unnecessary risk.

I did all my jobs without any complications of any sort but I was really quite pleased when I closed the front gate and got to wash my hands.

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Talking to a couple of people on the phone back in the UK I've realised that people there are unaware of the restrictions here in Spain. This list is not exhaustive and it's not official but I think it gives the basic scope of the restrictions.

During the validity of the state of alarm, people may only circulate along the roads or spaces for public use to carry out the following activities. They must be carried out individually, unless accompanied by persons with disabilities, minors, the elderly, or for any other justified reason.

1. to buy food or other primary necessities, or to get prescription medicines from the pharmacy
2. to visit medical facilities in case of urgency
3. to go to your workplace or to carry out labour, professional or company duties
4. to return to your habitual home
5. to visit banking or insurance institution
6. to assist and care for the elderly, minors, dependants, people with disability or especially vulnerable people
7. for reasons of overwhelming force or situation of necessity
8. for any other activity of an analogous nature duly justified
9. to walk your pet (close to home and quickly)
10. to fill your vehicle up with fuel.

All retail businesses are closed the exception of those selling food, beverages, basic necessities, pharmacies, those offering medical, orthopaedic, optical or veterinary services, those selling newspapers, petrol or hygienic products, technological and telecommunications equipment, those offering telecom services, those selling animal feed products, dry cleaners, launderettes, hairdressers for health related home visits, E-commerce or commercial activities by phone or mail. Vehicle workshops may also open

All "food serving" businesses are closed: Tabernas y bodegas, Cafeterías, bares, café-bares. Chocolaterías, heladerías, salones de té, croissanteries. Restaurantes, autoservicios de restauración and similar. Bares-restaurante. Bares y restaurantes de hoteles, except when providing services for their guests. Salones de banquetes. Terrazas.

Museums, discotheques, auditoriums, sports facilities, attraction parks, leisure activity centres, processions, popular fiestas are all closed or cancelled.

Attendance at places of worship and at civil and religious ceremonies, including funerals are possible only if  there is no crowding and people can be kept at least a metre apart.

Out to play

I like to get out and about. Anything from a film to a fiesta, a gallery to a concert, the theatre and, occasionally, even sports events. Doing things suits me. On the other hand in the last seventeen years I have had a couple of short stays in hospital - one in the UK and one here. Much to the surprise of those around me I quite enjoyed those brief medical sojourns.

So far I'm finding the same with being confined to home. I'm not longing to go for a walk or ride the bike or sit in a bar or even go to the pictures. The situation has changed and I'm being told that the best thing for me, and more particularly for everyone else, is that is that I stay at home; so stay at home it is. That said I did go out today. We needed food.

Culebrón itself is festooned with police tape to seal off the public spaces which I noticed as I passed through the village to drop off the recycling. Pinoso, our town, was quiet. Not dead quiet but quiet. I parked without any difficulty outside the bank and by the supermarket. I did have to queue to get in the supermarket but only for five minutes or so. One of the staff was on hand to ensure we maintained a "safe" distance and when someone came out someone else could go in. The free gift on entry was a squirt of alcohol based handwash. The buying looked absolutely normal to me. People were comparing prices and ingredients, nobody was shovelling products into their basket/trolley and most of the shelves were full. I couldn't get mince for the chilli nor butter for my toast and I wondered if that was because of us Britons. Spaniards do use both products but nowhere near as much as we do. By the checkouts there was parcel tape on the floor to remind shoppers to maintain a distance. The only incident of any kind was that there was one chap buying fruit or veg who wasn't using plastic gloves. Someone from the store pointed this out to him and he was less than polite in his response.

Obviously my situation is very straightforward. I don't have the virus, so far as I know, and nobody I know has it either. So far all the dead are just statistics to me. More prosaically I'm not having trouble getting to work, my kids are not at home all the time, my mortgage is paid, I haven't had to close down my business, my income is relatively secure and so on. For some people this sudden stop must be throwing up all sorts of problems and heaven knows what the long term effects will be.

But for an old, fat, English bloke this week's idea of getting out and about was dropping off the recycling, going to the cash machine and the supermarket.

Olive, the Other Reindeer?

When you buy a beer at a bar in Spain they usually give you something to go with it - olives are favourite. In fact olives are everywhere in Spain. They come in salads, they grow in the fields beside the road, they get milled over the road in Culebrón village and we always cook with olive oil as well as using it for dressing on salad.

I needed olives and beef for the recipe. We only had black olives in the cupboard so I added green olives to my shopping list.

When I got to the shelf with the olives I found black olives, olives stuffed with anchovies, olives stuffed with jalapeño pepper, olives stuffed with red pepper and even a variety made to look like a monster sperm by shoving a small gherkin into the hole where the stone had been drilled out. There were also the manzanilla ones.

Now manzanilla is an interesting word. If you're in Sanlucar de Barrameda it's the local dry sherry. I prefer it to the similar fino sherry produced in nearby Jerez de la Frontera though both are rather splendid. Manzanilla is also camomile or camomile tea; once, in Vigo, in a bar, we asked if they had manzanilla. We were delighted when they said yes and mightily disappointed when the anticipated crisp cool dry white wine appeared and was some sort of nerve tonic tea.

Alongside the other olives were lots of Manzanilla olives. I'd always presumed they were sherry soused. I sniggered to myself as I searched the shelves. Imagine that, a country loaded with olives and no olive flavoured olives to be bought. I asked a passing shop worker and she pointed to the Manzanilla ones. "But aren't they flavoured with wine?," I asked. "No, manzanilla is a variety of olive," she replied.

I felt stupid. Something so simple and something that has taken me fifteen years to discover

Bread

There used to be an advert with a lad pushing his bike to the top of a steep hill to deliver his Hovis bread. The tagline was "as good today as it's always been". The clear suggestion was of pedigree, that Hovis was real bread, proper bread, the sort of bread that our grandparents ate and that was good for you. Hovis always stressed that their bread was, "made with wheatgerm". I remember being taken aback when I heard that the word wheatgerm was maybe a bit of sleight of hand. It's true, a loaf with added wheatgerm is better, health-wise, than a loaf made from processed white flour but, apparently, Hovis is basically a processed flour bread spiced up with a bit of wheatgerm. The stuff you really want, for all that colon cleansing fibre, is wholemeal where nothing has been removed from the wholewheat grain.

For years, in Spain, I thought that bread sticks - the sort of bread that onion toting, beret wearing, stripy T-shirt clad Frenchmen, add flavour to under their armpits - were the typical Spanish bread. Actually, in any period piece on the telly, where the olden days is the theme, then the chunks of bread are hewn from a mound shaped rounded loaf. I've been told the Spanish sticks were copied from the French.

Of course there is sliced bread too, pan de molde, it usually comes in the shape we Brits recognise as a loaf, like Mother's Pride. Pan de molde is usually horrid, over-sweet, over processed. I'm sure someone likes it but I don't. The generic description seems to be Pan Bimbo, Bimbo being a trade name not related to Pamela Anderson's Baywatch character. Pan Bimbo is white, Spanish bread is white - well it used to be. Nowadays all sorts of bread is sold sliced in packets and it comes in all sorts of variations.

I'm not sure of the chronology, and I'm not going to spend time researching it because that's not the point of the piece. As I said, in general, Spanish bread is white. I'm sure that other types of bread have been around for ages and have been available from craft bakeries, but they were not, generally, available. Then, a few years ago all sorts of different breads started to appear in supermarkets and in franchised bakeries. At first it was just things like Pan Gallego and Pan Rústico - Galician bread and Country bread - but the range started to extend - ciabatta, rye bread, multi cereal etc. Odd outlets, like petrol stations, began to sell bread and the big difference was that this wasn't the age old story of a baker leaving some sticks with the local butcher or bodega - this was bread, baked on site, from frozen dough. I think that there was also quite extensive use of those baking bread flavoured scents. None of this was like the stuff my boyhood pal Fluff made when he was serving his bakery apprenticeship and getting up at 4am. None of it tasted like the still warm fadges I got from Arnetts's bakery in Hull at around 2am on a Saturday morning in my student days.

When the Consum and HiperBer moved premises in Pinoso, when Día got its face-lift, the bread sections in those supermarkets got much bigger. There are breads with seeds on them, there are regional breads like the Andalusian molletes and even the everyday bread got a face lift. Take your choice of a variety of formats - normal stick, family stick, mini stick - there are breads that say integral (wholemeal), masa madre (sourdough bread), pan de salvo (bran), pan de espelta (a trendy wheat variety), pan de cristal (I have no idea; it's bread that has nearly as much water, by weight, as flour), pan de aceite, as aceite means oil I suppose it's bread using olive oil rather than whatever they usually use, oh, and the old favourites Pan Gallego (crusty outside and big air holes, sourdough fermentation), Pan Rústico, also called Pan de Pueblo (thick crunchy crust, soft inside, long lasting). You get the idea - a variety.

Basically the whole bread selling thing in Spain has become confusing. Even though consumption of bread in Spain has dropped from 57 kilos per person per year in 1988 to 32 kilos in 2018 bread is still an absolutely essential part of any Spanish meal. There is now some really good bread available in taste, in style, in nutritional properties. There is also lots of stuff that purports to be traditional wood baked bread which is, instead, made with chemical yeasts, preservatives, saturated fats, processed flour and baked from frozen dough. The stuff that says home made, wholemeal bread is actually dyed with caramel and produced in articulated lorry sized quantities by robot mixing machines and conveyor belt ovens. So, from July this year we'll have new laws about labelling bread which will take over from the last set of rules drafted in 1984.

I'm going to use a fair bit of Spanish in this next section on the basis that anyone living in Spain and reading this post might use the information when they go shopping. It's also a bit technical, formal and probably a little bit tedious. So non Spanish dwellers please skip to the last para. It's not my fault, writing about new regulations is hardly the stuff of bodice rippers or doctor and nurse literature.

Some of the big things in the new regs are:

• Ordinary bread, pan común, the bread made from mixed flours with water laced with yeast has to be fresh, made that day. If the bread has not been made today it has to be clearly labelled that it is not today's bread. 
• Casero, home made, will have to mean that it is made by people on a human scale with a qualified master baker on hand. 
• Masa madre, sourdough, can only be made with flour, water and salt with the yeasts being naturally occurring in that mix. No more adding yoghurt or vinegar to speed up the sourdough process
• Fermentación lenta, slow fermentation, has to mean that. At least eight hours at temperatures around 4ºC for the dough.
• Wood baked, pan de leña, will also mean what it sounds like. Burn wood to heat the oven and it's good. Blow the scent of wood smoke into the mix and it's not.
• Brown bread, pan integral, which is still not particularly popular amongst the majority of Spaniards, means that from July wholemeal bread has to be made from whole grain and the grain has to be named. There is still a bit of a labelling get out in that if they use a mixture of processed and wholegrain flour they can label the bread as elaborado con harina integral, made with wholegrain flour, and specify the percentage (would you like to place a bet on the different sizes of typeface?). Instead of calling this integral it can also be called de grano entero, whole grain.
• Breads made with cereals like rye (centeno) or oats (avena) and a whole lot more, can only be labelled as such if they have the percentages of the cereal required by the new law. The percentage depends on the cereal. Multi cereal bread, pan multicereal, has to have a least three different cereals and have at least 10% of each of those cereals. 

There are other labelling requirements, for instance it can't just say vegetable oil on the side of the bag, it must say palm oil or sunflower oil or whatever. The salt content will also be reducing but that's on a sliding scale over time so that bread doesn't become too bland for consumers overnight. Oh, and they're reducing the VAT rate to 4% which may mean a few cents off the price.

Lets's hope it all works out and we get more and more yummy bread.

Life in the slow lane

There aren't many self serve checkouts in Spain. They have them at Ikea, the scan your goods, push in your credit card type and they have some at Corte Inglés though I've never seen them in use. At Carrefour they used to have self serve but they changed to a single queue system - Checkout Number fourrr please.

Generally then supermarket queues are stand in line, stuff to the rubber belt, the person at the till scans your items, you put them into a bag and then you pay, maybe scanning your loyalty card in the process. You can still buy plastic bags at the checkout but most people don't.

Consum, probably the largest supermarket in Pinoso, works exactly like that. I'd gone for my usual 30-40€ worth of every second day shopping. There were four of the six tills on the go, the deputy manager was on one till, the women from the deli and fish counter were up too. All the tills in use were busy. The days of the ten items or fewer queue are long gone.

I stood in a queue. I was behind lots of baskets with a few items. Over on the next till there was one load already on the belt and a couple unloading a big trolley load onto the belt. I hesitated. The paying so often seems to take people by surprise. Scenario; I know I'm in a supermarket queue, I know I'm going to have to pay for this but when they ask I'm going to be surprised. Now where is my purse? Oh, no, I'll use plastic instead of cash. Loyalty card? Oh yes, now where is it. Oh deary me, I can't seem to find it, oh, I can use my ID number and so on. Even then they are not contrite, they don't load their bag as quickly as they can. Oh, no. They put the card away carefully, have a quick gander at the till receipt and then slowly begin the last of the packing so that you can't get to your things which are now piling up alongside theirs.

I decide to risk my luck with the trolley instead of the several baskets. A lad steps in behind me. He just has Coco Pops. I let him by. The woman with the trolley does all the stuff above, all the looking for her purse and failing to pack speedily. She also adds in tinkering on her mobile phone to open the application that holds a record of the discounts she can claim and her "monthly saver cheque." It takes her a while to find and open the app. She wants the stuff delivered and there's a bit of a conversation about a suitable time. There is also trouble at the next till. Something isn't scanning properly and the woman on my till seems keen to get involved. She abandons us a couple of times to help out in the next aisle. One of the other management staff joins in. We stand patiently in line.

It's good being a pensioner. Time to burn and with a sanguine view of life.

Who ate all the pies?

It's been a funny old day. I was expecting music in the streets and a bit of exploration near Caravaca de la Cruz in Murcia but the weather has been terrible and I've hardly strayed from the kitchen and living room.

My food intake has been a bit odd too. Maggie made an apple pie which I was very happy to help her eat but that was a while ago. I just decided to have a packet of Knorr soup - Thai soup. Whilst I was waiting for it to thicken up I had some peanut butter on bread. My total committent to a healthy, fat and sugar free, diet is almost complete.

Spanish people occasionally ask me whether I eat British or Spanish. I suppose I tend to eat British unless I go out but, then again, most of the stuff I eat is probably without nationality. I don't do a lot of rice with rabbit and snails or faseguras but neither do I do a lot of roast beef with Yorkshires or steak and kidney pie. Spaghetti with mushrooms, bacon and onions in a yoghurt and balsamic vinegar sauce is Italian, British, Spanish or just a quick and tasty lunch?

I made, and burned, lentejas on Friday. Lentejas, lentils, is pretty damned Spanish but I think I used an Oxo cube in the broth which I presume was from a British source. Actually it's quite hard to give a specific passport to lots of food. I just looked at the Tomato Ketchup and the Lea and Perrins to see if the labels were in Spanish or English. They are in English but both are dead common and I'm sure I've seen them both with Spanish labels. I've even seen Worcestershire sauce labelled as Salsa Inglesa. The Lucky Jim peanut butter says it is American Quality but it was made in Germany and the label is in Spanish. The peanut butter we have on hand is called Lucky Nuts and is Spanish made with a bilingual Spanish/English label. We have lots of things, in the cupboard, that came from a very ordinary Spanish source but are obviously aimed at we Brits or, maybe not. I mean, after all, Mercadona sells Tetley tea in all of their supermarkets whether there are Britons nearby or not. We have marmalade in the fridge - the Mercadona own brand named in Spanish is in front of the Baxter's one named in Scottish. Other stuff is as Spanish as something very Spanish but it works for us - until very recently Fontaneda Digestive biscuits had the word McVitie's baked into them - same biscuit, different name on the box. And, of course, there is the Spanish stuff that most of us never even think of buying like sobrasada (raw, cured, spicy sausage) or membrillo (quince jelly).

At Christmas, for the language exchange party, my "bring British" contribution was Branston, Walker's cheese and onion, pork pies and brown sauce. The crisps and Branston were bought from the food store in the British bar Refugio but the brown sauce and pork pies came from a local Spanish chain supermarket. The majority Spanish opinion was that Branston tasted of vinegar and sugar, brown sauce was too spicy, pork pies were fatty and tasteless. All in all not a big hit. The Spaniards generally thought the crisps were a bit chemically too but that didn't stop them polishing the lot off. Most of the stuff, crisps aside, came home with me.

And I ate all the pies.

Easily amused

I've talked about Spanish supermarkets before. Just as a quick recap. We have four decent sized supermarkets in Pinoso and I use them all. My choice is usually based on geography, wherever the car is parked. Sometimes on product - only two of the four for instance carry English Council House tea.

Whilst I'm not at work I've started to use Día more frequently than I used to. This is because it's on our side of town and the car parking is good. Now I'm going to fall into all sorts of problems with stereotyping here so please forgive me. Día is exactly the opposite of the UK's Waitrose or Spain's Corte Inglés supermarket operations in both its products and its customer profile. Día sells some quality products but it is typified by cheap and, sometimes, low quality in the sense of industrially processed food. Día does not, generally, attract well heeled clients in search of premium product. Now you can already see the stress lines in my argument because the one in Pinoso has plenty of British clients and, again generalising, we're not a hard up community. It's a touch of that Lidl/Aldi mentality - there are bargains to be had for the careful shopper and the other stuff can be bought elsewhere.

I'm beginning to really like Día. All of the supermarkets in Pinoso have their adherents and all of them will tell you how friendly the staff are. Personally I think the people in Consum and at Día are pleasant whilst the Más y Más and HiperBer people are neither pleasant nor unpleasant. But the women on the till in Día seem to go out of their way to say hello to people. The food varies in quality. With a bit of care you can save a fair amount of money and get perfectly reasonable product. It's not the easiest supermarket to shop in though. The aisles seem to block up easily, I still find the layout illogical and there seems to be a mentality amongst Día shoppers to take up the maximum space, to talk at maximum volume and to choose product at the minimum pace. Waiting for a family group to choose a flavour of yoghurt, a family group that is blocking access to the packet of butter that I can't quite get to, can be very frustrating. The shelf stacking staff can be nearly as bad - they seem quite oblivious to my attempts to slide between their palette cart loaded with pop to get to the diet Fanta as they chat about football. The till area is another weak spot. One of them seems to be used as the makeshift office. It is always piled high with paperwork and it is never open. There seems to be an unwillingness to open a second till until the queue has snaked well past the fresh fruit stand and is passing the pickled gherkins.

So far then not a glowing report. But the place is just bursting with life. There are always incidents. Often the incidents involve my compatriots. Confusions with language, confusions about the price, about the queuing structure, about the money off coupons. There are also the strange conversations I have with Spaniards - usually as they let me go before them because I only have a packet of peanuts and a bottle of brandy - conversations about my food habits.

Today, for instance, I did something very Spanish. I put my stuff on the cash desk belt and, whilst the man in front's stuff was going through the scanner, I rushed off to pick up the bread that I'd forgotten. When I came back the man in front of me still hadn't had all of his things go through the checkout but a couple of Britons were grumbling about bloody Spaniards leaving their stuff and then going off. They were standing over my things and they had already usurped the Spanish bloke behind me. After a little chat about who owned what they went to the other till. As they left I asked the Spanish bloke why he hadn't said anything - "It's what I expect," he said.

The other day a group of Britons had bought loads and loads of stuff. They'd brought lots of old carrier bags to load it into too and they hung each newly filled bag on the back of a pushchair that contained a toddler. There was a flurry of argument about who was going to pay. As everyone, including the pram pusher, proffered biggish banknotes and deluged the grinning checkout woman in a flood of English, the pram overbalanced and toddler and supermarket produce spilled everywhere. All the people, maybe six or seven of them, scrabbled for rolling oranges, cans of pop and bawling children as fifty euro notes drifted back and forth in the gentle breeze from the sliding door.

Another bottle of brandy and some onions. A Scottish pal let me queue jump. The woman in front of me was a Culebrón resident. Strange conversation in English to my left, in Spanish to my right and in Spanish again across the little perspex shield of the checkout.

I'm sure there's an advertising slogan in there somewhere for Día.

Thick cut marmalade

I met Maggie as she left work today and on the way home we went food shopping. Maggie told me we were saving money because she had some sort of customer loyalty voucher. I suspect we may have saved more by not going in the shop at all though following my plan to its logical conclusion we would starve to death.

Based on a mix of store layout, friendliness, price and choice the shop we went to, Consum, is probably my favourite of the four larger Pinoso supermarkets. Recently I've done more of the food shopping than Maggie so, as we moved around the shop, I was playing the tour guide on new lines and innovations. What I hadn't really noticed, until today, was how many "British" items the shop now carries.

It was around 3pm when we were shopping, a time when most Spanish people are getting their lunch. The only Spaniards in the store were the workers. All of the customers appeared to be Britons. Obviously whoever does the buying for our Consum had noticed this customer profile long before me and that's why Consum sells Cheddar cheese, thick cut marmalade, Sharwoods pastes, chillis, kidney beans, Heinz tomato soup and lots of other Brit familiar produts. I suppose it's why masymas has in store adverts in English too.

Here's a blog entry I thought.

Now as I said there are four biggish supermarkets in Pinoso as well as a couple of local food shops. I thought that if I were going to mention Consum I should do the same for Día, Hiperber and masymas. You might not think so but I try to be reasonably even handed when I write this blog. So I Googled the supermarkets for a bit of background info and I was quite surprised by what I found.

Hiperber is the simplest story. They set up about forty years ago in nearby Elche with a philosophy of larger retail units when other food shops were still pretty small. They tend to be no frills stores and they seem to be doing fine as a small, regional chain.

Día is another no frills business. It runs on a policy of limited product lines and lots of own brands to keep the stores firmly at the cheaper end of the market. I vaguely knew that Día had something to do with the Carrefour chain and that it ran as a franchise operation. It turns out that my Carrefour information is out of date. The businesses separated in 2011 and of the 4,781 Día shops in Spain only around 1,650 are franchises. Día seem to have done alright out of the problems of other food retailers. They bought the ailing Arbol supermarkets for just 1€ in 2014 and, in 2015, they took advantage of the financial problems of the third largest food retailer, Eroski, to buy lots more shops. Eroski had run into problems because of its huge investment in shopping centres at the height of the building boom.

Masymas was a surprise. Más y Más means more and more and I thought that was the name of the shop. Actually the name seems to be masymas - lowercase and just one word. It's not simply one compay either; it's four different companies that have very similar logos and, I think, share some bulk buying, Our local shop is one of fifty seven shops that can trace their roots back to a dried and cured food business that opened in Villajoyosa at the tail end of the 19th Century.

And Consum? Well it's a co-operative with nearly all the workers being partners in the business. Apparently it's the largest co-op in Valencia. They formed in 1975 and were later a founding part of the Eroski group until the two businesses parted ways back in 2004. They also have a franchise arm which trades as Charter supermarkets.

Food collection

One of those Christmassy things I do is to buy whatever it is that the "A toy, a dream" - Un juguete una ilusión campaign is selling. For years now it's been a biro but when we first got here I remember it was a spinning top. The idea is you pay over the odds for the thing and the extra money gets turned into toys. In the first place those toys were shipped to poor children in South America and Africa - you know the sort of countries, the ones with names you just about recognise but you'd be hard pressed to point at on a blank map. Places like Guinea Bissau, Malawi, Burkina Faso, the Dominican Republic or Guatemala. Last year, for the first time, toys were also handed out, via the Red Cross, to children in Spain.

The headline is that one of every five people living in Spain lives in the shadow of poverty - in poverty or at risk of poverty. Now I have no idea how somebody has decided what poverty is. Is it getting fewer than so many calories to eat or not having a Play Station? I'm even less convinced about the "at risk" label. I always wondered if people at risk of offending included me. After all it's almost certain that when I take my car out I'll break one or more traffic rules, I will offend, even if only briefly. I'm not, though, a harbinger of the ultimate breakdown of the established order.

Whatever the definition is, however sociologists and politicians argue it and whatever your average bigot says I do know that I see a lot of people digging about with sticks in the rubbish containers in the streets, I know I see people with cart loads of waste cardboard on trailers on the back of their bikes to weigh in and I do know that the stories of ordinary people losing their homes and going hungry are everywhere.

There was an article on the news about the food banks. They collect food from individuals, from producers, from retailers, from supporters of every shape, size and hue. The food is channeled through NGOs to people who need it through food parcels, community canteens and the like.

Maggie noticed the news item. To me it was old news. I gave a lot of rice, pasta, oil and canned stuff away last year - even my pal Carlos tried collecting food in the place he worked. So it was like buying the pen for the toys. Normal. I thought about it though. Maggie was away in Qatar last Christmas so to her it was a new phenomenon in Spain. This is not collecting food principally for homeless people or those living in shelters but for the ordinary working man and woman. Your everyday Joe fallen on hard times with no job, with an inflated mortgage from the building boom, whose dole payments have run out, where the family members who were providing informal support now find themselves hard pressed too after losing their own jobs or with the parental savings exhausted.

So we were in the Mercadona supermarket. There were people there wearing waistcoats to identify them as volunteers collecting food. They were sorting the food into big containers - oil in this one, canned goods here etc. The containers were on palettes. An industrial scale operation. They had plastic bags to hand out for shoppers to collect the stuff in. Our bag was ripped and as Maggie paid the bill I cradled it over to the collectors. Maggie was cross with me. She'd paid but I had handed the goods over.

It would be better if people weren't poor. It would be better if the state looked after its people but in the meantime volunteers in supermarkets it is.

Bean there, done that

As we waited in the queue to pay, there in the place normally reserved for those last minute temptations - the sweets that have children tugging on their parent's sleeves and the diet breaking choolate bars - was a big box full of habas, broad beans. Maggie, can we have some broad beans Maggie, can we? She said no of course but a touch of petulance and the beans were mine.

I always associate raw broad beans with one of the first times that we took the MG out for a run with the Orihuela Seat 600 club. It was a sunny but nippy Sunday morning and the MG was parked up in a school playground along with lots of other classic cars. It was referendum day for the European Constitution and the school was acting as a polling station so there were quite a lot of people about one way and another. The car folk were breathing smoke with the cold air as they chewed on the obligatory breakfast of silver paper wrapped baguettes and canned drinks. From the back of an old Merc I think, but it may have been a Renault, someone was doling out part of their crop of home harvested broad beans. We were offered some but Maggie has never been one to take her mother's advice about eating her greens and, without Maggie's support, I was too shy to take any.

At this time of year the beans are all over the place. The first time I actually dared to join in and eat a few pods worth was when we were in some quite trendy bar somewhere. On the bar, completely out of place, was a big glass bowl full of broad bean pods. People were helping themselves and I finally did the same. I often eat things like sprouts and cabbage raw but I think it was the first time ever for broad beans. They were good.

I know, I know. Eating raw beans is hardly noteworthy but, then again, if we were down the Dog and Duck or Spade and Beckett would there be raw broad beans for the delectation of the customers? I think not. Something Spanish then.

We eat lupin seeds too but I suppose you know that.