Life in Culebrón

We have a very sophisticated pool. Really it's an old irrigation tank painted white and blue. We fill it with water using a garden hose and hope that the water doesn't become too noxious with dead insects, rotting vegetation and the secretions from sweaty bodies over the summer. Personally I'm not too keen on water: fine for car washing and making tea but every time I see people swigging the insipid stuff in the streets I'm reminded of my mother's admonitions about drinking from bottles. I even wonder about all those lorries full of all those plastic bottles travelling all that distance when the stuff comes gushing out of taps all over the place. The idea of immersing myself in it falls quite a long way behind plucking the small hairs from my ears and nostrils as a form of fun. Maggie though seems keen to be able to get cold and wet from head to foot every now and again. We've poured 15.2m³ of water into the tank over the last couple of days or 3,343 gallons...

55 women died in Spain in 2009 at the hands of their husbands, lovers or ex lovers. 2009 was better than 2008 when 76 died. By the end of April this year 23 more women were dead through the same cause. It was easy to find those figures because the number of deaths is a repetitive theme of Spanish news reports as are programmes about stopping the violence, support for victims etc. I tried to find the equivalent UK numbers but the emphasis in the UK is on the whole range of violence against women rather than the number of murders. I saw a couple of reports that suggest the recent figures have between 104 and 120 deaths per year. I read on a local website that there was going to be a demonstration outside the Town Hall in Pinoso to highlight the violence against women so I thought I'd go and take part. The people who were organising it seemed a little surprised that I was there and didn't quite know what to do with me. There were only about 20 of us all told. When the time cam...

The normal way to do something official, like change the address on your driving licence or pay your water bill here in Spain is to go and stand in a long queue, usually the wrong queue, and wait to be turned down because you lack an essential bit of paper such as your mother's birth certificate. Things change though and Spaniards increasingly use the Internet to get official jobs done. Most government type websites require that users have some sort of digital certificate. Now, to be honest I don't really know what a digital certificate/signature is and I can't raise the enthusiasm to find out from Wikipedia. I think that it's a bit of code that websites swop with individual computers, a bit like a blind date, if the two click then splendid but, if not, no more conversations. For lots of Spaniards this digital identity business is dead easy because their ID cards now carry a chip - bung the card in a card reader and you're in business. For we foreigners it...

There are a lot more insects. Flying insects, crawling insects, insects that aren't insects, just beasties. Beasties that sing and jump and fly and bite. They particularly enjoy biting Maggie so that she comes out in lumps. We're back in Culebrón; we packed most of the flat into the back of Maggie's Mitsubishi yesterday afternoon but, thanks to the generosity of our landlords, we were able to leave the larger items like the telly, tables and chairs in the flat ready for when we go back in September. Maggie was badly affected by it all. She started singing "Tie a Yellow Ribbon" apparently inspired by the line from the song - "I'm coming home, I've done my time." She seemed very glad that term was finally over. As always it's cooler here than on the coast because we're some 600 metres above sea level or just a bit short of 2,000 feet in old money. Nothing noticeable, temperature wise, during the day - we left 33ºC behind and arrived t...

Summer will arrive in Spain at 1.28 this afternoon. I always find the precision of the reports amusing in a country where things don't often run to time. The prediction is for a hot, dry summer. I saw the sun go down on Sunday evening, it dipped below the hills at about 9.50pm. This morning, unfortunately, I was there to see it rise again and that was at 6.10am so, about, seven hours and twenty minutes of darkness at the time of the year when the days are as long as they get.

Petrer, situated beside Mount Cid and alongside the Puça rivulet had been, until well into the 20th Century, a town with a distinctly rural character dedicated, principally, to agriculture. The streets were of compacted earth and the houses still had cat flaps and stables. The success of the wine harvest , or not, was at the grace of "The Virgin of the Remedy." I n the squares and plazas were public fountains where the women filled their water jugs. The markets were held in Dalt Square and in the Altico district were the workshops of the families who earned their living from ceramics and where the shoe makers worked on their porches. Everything had it's season in that town and here, in this museum, we have the tools, instruments, objects and images to stir memories of those times. Yesterday I got a text message on my phone, in the local Valenciano language from Petrer Town Hall to publicise a theatrical walk through the history of Petrer, at least that's what I thi...

Have you ever tried to talk someone through a computer problem down the phone? Always, without fail, there is some difference between your machine and theirs. You're on Explorer 8 they're on 6, you're on Vista, they're on XP; not huge differences but just enough to cause the novice computer user some extra difficulty. The language is difficult too, phrases like click on, push the orangey coloured button, go to the little icon in the top left hand corner just above the navigation bar etc. make perfect sense as they leave your mouth but totally confuse the recipient. I've just had one of those conversations; forty minutes of one of those conversations, with a Sapnish friend who is trying to use a blog I set up for her. On top of the differences in machines and the description of things there was the rather larger language void between English and Spanish. I was hunting for word after word  - to push a button isn't the same as to push a door and in the confusio...

There were hats and hooters and little flags all with the St. George cross. A big screen telly, lots of appropriate decoration and even a temporary bar in the TV room. El Cortijo, one of the local British run places, made a really good job of turning the England v USA game into an event. Pity the team couldn't do the same. There's an interesting discussion on one of the expat computer forums about who people will be rooting for. The majority seem to be for England first with Spain as a backup position.

Every so often in Culebrón a robot voice phones us offering better and cheaper telephone services. Yesterday evening, in a fit of something, I pressed the button for more information and found myself talking to a woman with a very thick South American accent. The sales spiel was all about faster Internet, free National calls, a couple of other useful/useless services and lower prices for the whole lot. As we pay too much and only have a 3Mgb connection I was interested but also cautious. We had a hell of a job getting connected last year because the only company willing or able to put in the line was the old state monopoly company. I think that, by law, they have to pick up on providing the lines that don't make commercial sense. A bit like the Post Office delivering to some remote Highland cottage for the same price as it does to central London. In order to make it worth their while we'd agreed to stay with them for at least 18 months. When it looked like I was going to bu...

Someone described the Spanish Education system as being different to the English one in that the Spanish is inflexible in curriculum but flexible in terms of behaviour. In England it's the opposite. Maggie likes to eat out. I'm more interested in getting fed. Dining against eating. We haven't eaten out for a while so today we were in a nice restaurant; nice that is till the bill came when we found we'd paid 30€ for seven prawns! We were watching the food being delivered to the communion party upstairs and the birthday party downstairs - pelotas, gazpacho manchego, ham and cheese, plates of sliced sausage, rabbit paella, prawns, deep fried cheese - all the local staples and all very nice. It reminded me of a conversation I've had with several of my Spanish students learning English about food in the UK. It's an almost unshakeable Spanish belief that Brit food is poor food. I tell them about the popularity of eating and cooking food in the UK and about the ava...

We've been painting. That's maybe a bit posh. More accurately we've been slarting paint, cheap white paint, onto the exterior walls that we have around the house. It always starts well intentioned enough, we clean the surfaces down a bit but, in the end, it's loading up the brush and slapping the stuff on. It feels quite Spanish splashing the paint onto the walls even though I did the same with distemper and whitewash as a youth in the UK. It made me think about those adverts on the telly. That one for a yogurt that reduces bloating and keeps your bowel movements regular. Or the ones for white goods like dishwashers and washing machines. The houses those people live in don't have exterior walls where the emulsion needs replacing every year. Those houses don't have the kitchen work surfaces heaving under the paraphernalia of everyday life. Pah!, I say, to those adverts where two young people transform their home with a pot of paint and loads of smiles. Don...