Bit lively

I've been doing a lot laughing, shouting and snorting at the radio and TV this last week or so.

After winning the General Election the Socialists had a bit more procedural bother than usual getting both the Speaker and the President in place. They seemed to ride it out with a few merry quips.

The Opposition leader has been having his problems as well. The President of the Madrid area, who looks well hard to me, keeps saying she won't be running against him for the leadership of the party at the next conference. He must be very relieved to hear that!

In the last couple of days we've had the new Government Ministers appointed. The chap from Pinoso stayed on as Finance Minister but there were a lot of women new to post including the Housing Minister - the first minister since the restoration of democracy not to have been born under Franco's dictatorship. The picture I liked best of all was the new, pregnant, Defence Minister, Carme Chacón, stepping out to review the troops for the first time, she was dressed in Mothercare.

Last week I was lost for about an hour looking for a furniture factory in the nearby town of Santomera. The day before yesterday a man there cut his mum's head off and strolled around town with it wrapped up in a bloody rag."Now she'll shut up" he said.

It's difficult to avoid football in Spain. Getafe, a Madrid team, were in the quarter finals of the UEFA cup playing Bayern Munich. Square after the first leg Getafe were beaten in the cruellest of ways in the dying moments of the second leg. A collective sigh of shared pain could be heard throughout the nation. A story in El Pais about Getafe fans turning up in droves to the teams training session next morning to applaud thir defeated heroes struck a note with me.

Today Getafe were back in action against Valencia in the Spanish equivalent of the F.A. Cup. On his way home from the State Opening of Parliament the King was asked who he reckoned for the game "Those who lost will win" he said. Another Getafe fan. They lost, 3-1.

Franco used to do the football pools you know. Somehow it's hard to imagine Hitler, Mussolini or Pinochet doing the same.

Contravening traffic law

I got into my car and drove the wrong way down a one way street in Pinoso this evening. Mind you, I didn't have a great deal of choice. When I'd parked there it had been a two way street but, with the new No Entry sign in place I was pointing the wrong way.

Lírica

The Excelentisimo Diputacion de Alicante has a programme to bring music and theatre to the unwashed masses. Tonight they sent their cultural ambassadors to bucolic Pinoso, the last outpost of empire before crossing the border into the badlands of Murcia.

Sir Les Patterson musn't have been available as they sent two dinner jacket wearing men and a woman in a long frock.

The woman, a soprano, was taken to striking poses as she sang (the rather dodgy photo is the front of the official programme) whilst one of the men played the pianoforte and the other sang. They did a few operatic songs from Puccini, Dvorzak and Tosti for the first half an hour and then after a short break, during which the woman changed her dress, they came back and did some Spanish opera and bits of zarzuelas from the likes of Leucona and Arrieta.

There were about 150 of us there to see them perform, so the theatre looked a bit empty, but to judge from the cries of "Bravo!" and the hearty applause I think everyone enjoyed themselves. I certainly did.

Salt and ornamental rocks

A young man is sitting at a hotel bar in Los Angeles having a beer. A young woman approaches him and says "Are you in the rock business?" "I am", he says. "Well, if you'd like to sleep with me I'll be back here at midnight". The young woman leaves. The young man drinks his beer pensively and, after a while, turns to the barman, who overheard the whole exchange, and says "Not the sort of offer we geologists get very often".

Thirty or so years ago I did a degree in geology. Tonight at the "House of Wine", a sort of local exhibition and conference centre in Pinoso, there was a presentation of a new book about the local mining industries, mainly salt and marble, based on the writings of some old time geologists. I thought it might be interesting. I even took money to buy the book.

The book had been sponsored by a local savings bank and the town council so first the bank manager and then the mayor said hello to the thirty or so people in the audience. The mayor passed us on to the local councillor who had persuaded a local academic to write the book. The councillor thanked everyone and then passed us on to the academic. The academic said thanks to the mayor and the bank manager, to the councillor and to us. He took about three minutes to describe the structure of the book then he passed us back to the local councillor who quoted a bit of Cervantes about knowledge being a good thing. Then it was time to get a drink and some nibbles.

There was no talk about the salt or marble industry. The PowerPoint display that was running on the screen behind the top table was never commented on. There were a few copies of the book around but they seemed to belong to the mayor, the bank manager, the councillor and the academic. There were no books for sale. There was no mention of how to get hold of one of the books.

Lots of people nodded at me but nobody actually spoke. I felt completely lost. I eventually summoned up the courage to ask someone if I could have a look at the book she had tucked under her arm. It was the worst Spanish I have spoken in two years. The book looked quite interesting in a sort of geological way. I didn't eat any crisps or drink any wine. I just came home.

Sandwich

I'm a bit of a fan of cheese and onion rolls myself. Nowadays I can get them in most bars if I ask, but for years they were denied me here in Spain because, to most Spaniards, cheese and onion sounds like a bizarre combination.

Sandwiches - bocadillos - in Spain aren't exactly exciting. Often tasty but not adventurous. Cheese, ham, tortilla, lomo, squid and maybe tuna are the staples. In certain areas bars will offer things like black pudding, bacon or anchovie but there certainly isn't the variety or combination that you would expect in any sandwich shop or petrol station in the UK.

Over the weekend I was in Valencia with my chums Pepa and Jaime. We went into the centre of town to a cafe bar, packed to the rafters with customers. The food on offer was mainly sandwiches. There was a choice of types of bread and the fillings were varied and mixed. I had one with pork, lettuce, beetroot and corn. My Spanish hosts thought I'd be pretty impressed by this daring new food concept.

Bread

Generally in Spain, at home, when I eat bread, I eat stuff that looks a lot like Mother's Pride with that "normal" English loaf shape.

When I go anywhere near a bread shop or a supermarket I usually pick up a breadstick. I've always thought of that as being as standard a shape for Spanish bread as Mother's Pride is to English. But, the other day I bought a crusty round loaf, the sort that I would call a cob in the UK. It set me thinking because that's what we usually get when we go in slightly better restaurants; slices cut from a loaf.

So I asked a Spaniard what was the traditional loaf for this area. He said it's the rounded one. Particularly one called Pan sobado, the sort of bread that doesn't have a lot of "bubbles". Apparently it keeps well and even improves after a couple of days.

Traitor

It all happened in a whirl. There was no time to say goodbye; no last, long, lingering look. The MG is sold to a chap called Manuel. I just hope he looks after it properly.

We met as arranged , I drove the car to his house, we collected the paperwork and went to an Asesor who made out an official contract of sale. There was a bit of a hiccough in that the road tax for this year isn't paid as I haven't had the bill yet but that aside it's a done deal. I'll take the paperwork to the office tomorrow.

It has been a sad process saying goodbye. I felt quite bereft as I emptied the detritus of the years from the car yesterday. But I can't pretend to be a fit steward if you compare the picture of the car that arrived in Spain with the one I sold today.

That must be one of the five

Vegetarians don't have it easy in Spain. Say you don't eat meat in a restaurant and they'll offer fish, say you don't eat fish either and they'll offer seafood and even when they've got the idea that you may not be too keen on eating any sort of beast they'll still mix ham in with your beans because, in a sort of technical, Spanish, way ham isn't classed along with other meats!

Laura, a Mexican friend, always asks for something that hasn't walked, flown or swum in an attempt to get something veggie.

Anyway we went, with John, who's vegetarian, to Elche yeterday and we asked at tourist information if they knew of any vegetarian places in Elche. There are three and the one we went to, called, Kimbombó, near the river was very good.

The food was well presented and tasty and the set menu was a reasonable price. There were quotes all over the wall from famous people, the walls were all painted in contrasting colours, the tables and chairs were trendy plastic and chrome jobs, the cutlery and glassware were unusually shaped. All in all a pleasant and different experience.

Nice but ....

The woman who sold me my new Mini looked like she should still be at school to me. So I wasn't that surprised when she looked nonplussed at my reply to her question about the colour I wanted for the car. "Coopers have to be red with a white roof." "You know, Monte Carlo Rally, 1964?". Blanker than something blank.

Anyway yesterday after overcoming a series of hurdles I finally took delivery. It seems like a nice competent motor car after our first 100kms together but it hasn't got the soul of the MG. Then again, back in 1964 I suppose those three red and white Minis, destined to become legend - 33 EJB driven by Paddy Hopkirk, Rauno Aaltonen's LBL 6D and Timo Makinen's AJB 44B - were just everyday cars too.

The photo shows the MG, the Mini, Maggie, Harold and Eduardo in Culebrón. And number 37 is the Hopkirk/Liddon car.

Welcome to the UK

I wasn't made to feel very welcome as I waited in the queue the UK Border at Stansted - a tad reminiscent of Willie Whitelaw's thin blue line in Moss Side or the Empire's thin red line. But generally I had a perfectly good time. It was great to see e to crossfamily and old pals. Not that keen on the weather though.

Bright carvers

If anyone had ever told me that I would be impressed with religious carvings I would have snorted in derision.

But today as I was hanging around I thought I may as well pop in to see the free exhibition of carvings by the 18th Century Murcian sculptor Francisco Salzillo.

The snorting has to stop. They were dead good. I particularly liked the bloated, saggy breasted devils trammelled beneath the feet of a Seraphim but even the really standard looking stuff was pretty damned good. It must be tricky getting bits of mahogany to look like folds of cloth!

I might go out and get a lump of wood and some Neutrogena and have a go.