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.

Red Letter Days

The wettest April since Noah took to boating according to some news reports. We had Easter tide guests. We were confined to barracks. The Easter parades were cancelled. Sight seeing was off. We presumed the shopping centres would be closed for the bank holidays.

We Brits here in Pinoso seem to call bank holidays, Red Letter Days. I presume that's because the holiday dates are printed in red on paper calendars. I'm going to call them bank holidays because that's what I've always called public holidays. National Holidays are the same all over Spain. Most people will not work on those days but that doesn't, necessarily, mean that they will work fewer days in the working year. The Spanish logic is that bank holidays are not actually holidays, they are days when you don't work. So only the extra non working days need to be included in the holiday calendar. If, for instance, a National Holiday falls on a Sunday, like Christmas Day 2016, it will not be shown as a bank holiday because it is already a non working day. On the other hand Saturday is a working day so if Christmas Day were on a Saturday, it would be shown on the calendar as a day off and you wouldn't have to work. If you have a job that doesn't require you to work Saturdays there would be no extra day to compensate. There are up to ten days of National Holiday each year but usually only eight or nine of them are used because the others fall on Sundays - it varies from year to year. Additionally there are two days chosen by each Region. As we live on the border between two Regions, Valencia and Murcia, that sometimes catches us out. Last, but not least, the local Town Hall sets a couple of days off. Traditionalists, with a paper calendar stuck on the fridge might find that the one produced in Pinoso, in Valencia, shows as many as four holidays different to one produced in Abanilla, Murcia only a few miles away.

Yesterday, coming out of the the flicks, I was surprised to find the shopping centre, where the cinema is, open. Open on Easter Sunday? This morning, Maggie had arranged to show some people a couple of houses. She's heard Britons talking about how it's illegal to work on holidays and she was worried that the local police would drag her away in chains as today is a regional Valencian holiday.

I've written about this before but here it is again. I'm going to talk about Valencia. So, in general, in the Valencian Community commercial hours from Monday to Saturday should be fewer than 90. Businesses have to display their opening hours. Businesses can open up to eleven Sundays and bank holidays according to the annual timetable published by the Generalitat, the Regional Government of the Valencia Community. On those eleven dates the timetable is completely flexible and the hours are not included in the usual 90 hours per week.

For 2019 the designated Sundays and bank holidays are/were 13 January (for the sales), Palm Sunday (for lots of tourists), Good Friday (for lots of tourists), Easter Sunday (for lots of tourists), 23 June (two holidays fall close together), 7 July (sales), 12 October (which is a Saturday when two holidays fall close together) and, in the run up to Christmas and Three Kings, the 6 (Black Friday I think), 15, 22 and 29 December.

Some businesses can open when and as they like provided they fall into at least one of the following classes. That the business occupies less than 300 square metres and is classed as a small to medium enterprise. That it's a bread shop or a paper shop or a petrol station type business - the list includes things you'd expect like cakes bread, flowers, plants, magazines, newspapers, fuel, flowers, plants and prepared meals. Convenience stores can open when they like (there's a definition). Shops in places where people are travelling by land, sea or air have free rein to open when they like as can shops that sell mainly cultural products. Businesses set up to provide services to tourists are also in the list. The big exception, the one that keeps whole swathes of shops open, at least during some parts of the year, is one that allows any shop to open provided it is in an area deemed to have a lot of tourists. The Generalitat says what the areas are.

So there's the reason the shopping centre was open on Easter Sunday. Last Friday, Good Friday, we could have taken our guests to the Aljub Shopping Centre down in Valencian Elche. On the other hand if we'd foolishly extrapolated our Valencian knowledge to the Murcian Nueva Condomina shopping centre we'd have found the doors bolted on both Friday and Sunday despite Murcia having 16 Sundays and bank holidays on its list of exclusions.

Got that then?

To facilitate proof of conformity

I've got a bit of a tax problem. It started just before the Easter break. The Spanish tax people seem to think that I lied in my 2014 tax return. I didn't. Well, so far as I know I didn't. The whole process is going to be one huge pain in the backside. Part of the ritual of bureaucratic torture that the Spanish state inflicts on its citizens with a monotonous regularity. In the years that we've been here we've bumped into it time after time. We immigrant Brits complain about Spanish bureaucracy and so do Spaniards. Britons complain about British bureaucracy too and I suppose that Ghanaians complain about Ghanaian bureaucracy. I think the difference with the Spanish system is that it is unassailable, unflinching, unmoving and unrepentant whereas the British one is just long winded. The British version is, was, much more open to question in the case of dissent.

The Spanish process starts in one of two ways. Either there is hardly any information. A bill or a fine or a notice that requires Holmeslike deduction to work out what it's about. Much more common though, and this is the case with the tax letter, is that the notification is written in pompous and overblown language using words that nobody uses, a language designed to highlight the difference between the erudite state apparatus and the lowly and colloquial citizen.

Over the years, and without giving it much thought, I can cite examples. I appealed the charge for mains drainage because we don't have mains drains. Appeal denied was the response. No explanation. They did say though that it was a firm ruling that could not be contested.

When I asked our Town Council about changes to the junction by our house they simply didn't reply. I can give you a list of other processes that have been thwarted with the same tactic.

A long, long wait is another common ploy. It took just over two years for the reply to our appeal against being overcharged for our local land tax. To get a building inspector to visit to rubber stamp the paperwork after some major building work took just over eighteen months. There is a four year "statute of limitations" on tax matters, which is why I've got the tax letter now, only two months left or they'd have to forget it. Honestly, 2014? Does it really take five years to get around to checking my piddling tax return? And I have ten working days to reply - or else. I suppose I can expect the same process next year for 2015.

Even if my tax declaration is as honest as I think it is I predict that there will be some administrative wrong that has to be righted. The whole rigmarole will be distressing and will cost me time and money. I will probably need official translations of my P60 and however it turns out I will have no redress. They will never say "Whoops, sorry about that".

It does all become quite wearing.

¡Costaleros! - ¡al cielo con el!

Easter in Spain is spectacular. Every town has its own Easter. The floats, religious carvings, rolled along, or, much more impressively, borne on the shoulders of men, and nowadays women, along time honoured routes. Some people are in it for the religion, some for the culture, the tradition, or maybe it's just an opportunity to collect bags and bags of sweets. Some of the processions are joyous, some are military, some verge on the bizarre whilst others are organised chaos. I've not seen many, maybe twenty different towns, a few famous ones on the telly and whilst each is similar none is the same. But I'm not out on the streets now. I'm not listening to a plaintiff saeta sung from a balcony or watching mantilla wearing women or bare footed Nazarenos. There will be, almost certainly be no silent and unlit streets and no black hoods as Thursday becomes Friday when death is the order of the day. All because it's raining.

There are associations that fund raise and work all year for Semana Santa, for Holy week. We were in Jumilla this morning and we saw two very ordinary garages where people were preparing religious statues for their outings. In the Museo Jesús Nazareno about a dozen people were working on the floats, arranging flowers, fitting candles, hoovering and generally smartening up whilst lots of well wishers and lookers on came and went.

It was drizzling when we went for lunch but when we came out the streets were awash. We checked Facebook and there was the message to say that the processions had been cancelled. All that work wasted. The opportunity to process gone. I suppose as well as the potential damage to the statues, their clothing and the float in general there is also a potential danger of runaway floats or of statues carried on shoulders crashing to the ground as the carriers lose their footing. It seems a terrible shame though and I really feel sorry for all the people involved.

We hoped that it might not be raining in Pinoso but a Twitter message said no for the 8pm outing. There is still the vaguest possibility that the Cristo de la Buena Muerte will be lofted skyward as he leaves the Parish Church in the darkened streets of Pinoso at midnight tonight followed by hundreds of people carrying candles but I'm not that hopeful.

The title is something like: Bearers - to heaven with him! It's a cry to the people carrying the "Christ of the Good Death."

I'm pleased to say I was wrong. I went out for midnight and the procession was on. Leaden skies but no rain. As it turns out it was a temporary truce. The rain came back with a vengeance and all of the Good Friday processions in the area were cancelled. On Saturday morning it is still pouring down

Another drive to work

First of all it was the journey to Cartagena, then to Fortuna and to Cieza. Places I have worked or lived. Easy blogs to write and also ones that were well read. Next Monday is the last day of my current work contract. I don't think there will be another. My Spanish retirement date is 30th April, my UK old age pension kicks in from May 7th. If I have my way I will never work again.

There are only two sessions left. I will only drive to work twice more. This is nearly my last opportunity to repeat the details of home to work journey so here is the story of that 6.3 kilometre route.

Dirt track to start. Not too chewed up at the moment. One good thunder storm and the ride can be very bumpety bump through the ruts. A right turn onto the tar to make a legal, rather than the more obvious, illegal turn across the cross hatching in the centre of the road. It's a bad junction. There have been a couple of crashes in the last year. People take no notice of the 60 km/h signs on the main road so taking the right, going into Culebrón village proper and swinging around near to Eduardo's Restaurant to make another legal turn in the direction of Pinoso makes good sense, even if it does add a bit of time and distance to the journey.

The fields to the immediate left are green with cereal shoots, to the right, and very quickly to the left too, the much more traditional landscape of vineyards. Do you know, I'm trying to visualise it now, and I'm not sure whether there are olive trees as well. I can say with some certainty that there are but that's only because they are everywhere around here but it's mostly vines. If the vine stocks are laid out in slanted rows to form rhombus shapes on the ground then it's almost certainly monastrell grapes planted for use in the D.O. wines, wine with a quality mark. Nowadays there are quite a lot of vines laid out on trellis wires to grow higher which can be harvested by machine rather than by hand as in the D.O stuff.

On the right the old tip now converted into one of those recycling areas with areas for everything from fluorescent tubes and used olive oil to garden waste and builders rubble. Just by the turn to the "Ecoparque" there are a bundle of solar panels. The last PP Government put the kibosh on solar electrical generation by withdrawing subsidies and raising taxes on the production. I'm not quite sure whether the short lived Socialist Government had time to reverse most of those decisions. They said they were going to but lots of their legislative plans ran out of time. Oh, there's a very old sign too to mark the new Industrial Park that never was. Spanish building bubble and all that.

To the left there are a couple of tracks. On one of them there is a very faded board which tells of an experiment to attempt to reduce bird deaths from collisions with power cables. I went to have a look once. I expected markers on the wires and suchlike but, as a non expert, all the wires just looked normal to me.

There are horse stables to the right, and actually some way over to the left on the other side of the valley, just by what I understand is a control station of some kind for the natural gas line that runs along the valley floor, there is another livery stable and riding school. One is too far away to see horses and the other very seldom has any beasts outside. 

Time to slow down now. There's a left turn to Encebras and, in the days when there was plenty of money, there often used to be a Guardia Civil speed check there. I understand that spending cuts mean fewer Guardia. It's a bit like that housing estate planned for the left side of the valley just a couple of hundred metres up which never got beyond drawings, and maybe models, before the building bubble burst. Just on that turn, there is a building. When I worked for Rustic Original back in 2005/2006 they owned that building. Nowadays it seems to have been transformed into an organised parking space with facilities for motorhomes. It's also been the site for a car boot sale and a couple of bar/restaurants in our time here. As we are gazing leftward we can see the back of our marble quarry, one of the largest open quarries in Europe. Whilst we're looking in that direction and talking about Pinoso's industries there is Monte Cabeço, our salt dome, our "emblematic" hill. The salty brine pumped out of there goes down to Torrevieja to be mixed with the sea salt in the lagoons before it ends up either on our tables or, as road grit.

Past the Iberdrola power station. Big diesel generators I think; always a blaze of light at night. Over the crest of the hill. The one time go-kart course and buffet type bar to our left as abandoned as the bar on the right. Down the hill towards the roundabout. On the right the power station built to burn almond shells that the town council closed down. The resultant court case eventually cost the town three million euros in compensation.

The roundabout boasts a big sort of statue type thing with the coat of arms of Pinoso on it. It took me years of driving past that roundabout to realise that the three trees growing on the traffic island are like the ones on the coat of arms.

We're beginning to get built up now. The nut processing factory to the right is a marker for the industrial estate with all those metal box buildings and lots of badly parked cars and manoeuvring lorries. Onwards, dodge to the left by the first obvious bar in town and then another kink to the right just past the Red Cross buildings. We're running along an avenue of tall pine trees now with a concrete channel in the centre designed as a storm drain. I have pictures of cars afloat in it when we get those storms that dig trenches into our track. Businesses and houses to the right and left. One of the restaurants regularly wins prizes for the best rice, paella to you and me, in Spain.

Another small roundabout at the end of the storm drain, the Badén, and left up Constitución one of the principal streets in Pinoso lined with bars and shops and businesses and with plenty of pretty lime trees too. That's Constitución at the top of this post, taken, I think, in the 1970s, when it was still compacted earth. I was told, years ago, by a Spaniard, that there wasn't a lot of tarmac in Pinoso to the 1980s but that seems a bit unlikely to me. To be honest I'm a bit dubious about the 70s tag for the photo. Not a single car?

To park for work I have to take the service road that runs parallel to Constitución the turn is just before our relatively new Cultural Centre that houses our town library amongst other things. Now I'm looking for a parking space and then the last few metres to work on foot.

In the Garden of Earthly Delights

El Jardin de la Seda. The Silk Garden, is an unremarkable public green space in Murcia. It has quite a lot of standard model ducks and some of those red faced Muscovy jobs. Joggers and walkers, some in track suits and others disguised in ordinary street clothes, do their stuff. Dog walkers with dogs large and small, some of them keen on battle. There's even the tall chimney left over from the silk factory that gives its name to the garden.

It had been raining. In fact half an hour before we got there it had been pelting down and we had been forced to seek shelter from the storm in a handy bar in the Plaza Circular. I'd even maintained a WhatsApp conversation with Victor, our potential guide, as to whether the walk would go ahead. It's been raining on and off for a couple of weeks now. Last week I posted a photo of a dismal beer festival spoiled by the rain. An old friend in Cambridge saw the photo and commented; "I have made friends with a Spanish woman who now lives in the UK and she says that sometimes in Spain, people don't take their children to school if its raining!" That's why I thought to check with Victor.

Simple idea. This bloke has a company and a doctorate in something botany related. He organises guided tours here and there to look at plants and trees and whatever else botanists are interested in. He's organised a series of walks around various of the green spaces in Murcia and we booked in for the one yesterday evening. It was very good; from ancient palm trees which lived alongside dinosaurs to how to spot sweet and bitter acorns from the shape of the small oak tree, called an encina, typical of large areas of Spain. Oh, and the next time we see a bougainvillea together you'll be amazed by my little known fact about their flowers. The price of the walk was novel too. The Reverse Ticket Office; pay what you think the walk is worth. A real shame that there were only three of us.

Nothing and nothing else

I haven't done anything very interesting for a while but that won't stop me.

I went to stand outside the Town Hall yesterday evening. Every first Friday of the month at 8pm - a reminder that violence against women needs to stop. I've done it a few times. Nobody notices but I should be there. Afterwards the group often puts on a film. I haven't been to that for ages but I did go last night. The film was called Frances Ha and it wasn't bad at all. The interesting thing was that it was introduced by a couple of young women who I think were still at school. They were speaking in Valenciano which means that I caught about as much as I would if I were in a Belshill pub late at night talking to an 80 year old local who was a boxing contender in his youth. The young women talked about similarities in style to Jim Jarmusch and Woody Allen, about the handheld camera movements and the framing of the scenes. I was impressed. I don't think the majority of the students I've encountered across the years would know who Jim Jarmusch is or be interested in finding out.

I spent a bit over six hours in Elda hospital the other day. The friend of a friend had a terrible stomach ache. The local health centre sent her by ambulance to the nearest big hospital and I met her and her partner there to do the Spanish. It's the fifth time I've been to Urgencias, A&E, in the time I've been here either as patient or companion. Everything followed the "normal" pattern, the one I've seen every time, stabilisation, admission, a first consultation with a doctor who decides a course of action in this case a bunch of tests. Then a bit of a wait. This time that became a longer wait. Then they needed the emergency bay and my couple had to wait with her wheeled bed parked in a corridor. The staff were grumbling and complaining about the situation but all that NHS, abandoned in the corridors, stuff came to mind. Not that there weren't a bundle of staff around all the time but it was a corridor.

I listen to a podcast called ¿Qué? done by a couple of people who work on the English edition of el País, a Spanish newspaper in the same class as The Guardian and the New York Times. The podcast is in English and they welcome feedback. I've tweeted them, I've emailed them. I've been mentioned in the podcast a couple of times. In fact I listen to a number of podcasts and several broadcast radio programmes. I sometimes comment on those too. Last week, when a Saturday morning programme was talking about punctuality I made some comment about the late running of Spanish TV. As they read the comment out the presenter said Chris has written again. It's the same with a few podcasts and radio shows, multiple responses, "Hi Chris, nice to know you're still listening". Twitter and Facebook and email and what not almost persuade you, one, that you, one, knows these people as real people rather than disembodied voices.

A touch of nuttiness

For Britons nuts is an easy concept. There is, almost certainly, a scientific description but I think of nuts as having hard shells and an edible bit inside - peanuts, almonds, cashews, hazelnuts, pistachios, brazils, pecans and others I can't remember right now. Spaniards don't share that concept. They use the term frutos secos, dried fruits, and that includes nuts but it also covers what we think of as dried fruit - prunes, dried apricots, raisins, sultanas, currants and the like. It's not all that different really. Just one subdivision more. It is, nonetheless, surprisingly difficult to explain to Spaniards learning English.

I like nuts. This is quite a good thing because I don't much care for water, nor for the sawdust flavoured whole grain cereals. Fruit is OK but you get sticky eating it and it's such a faff - all that peeling and de-seeding and slicing. Vegetables and pulses are generally fine but when I say veg. I mean the standard stuff, nothing too slimy. I'm not too keen on sleeping either, after six hours in bed I'm bored. So, I'd have to say, the World Health Organisation and I don't see eye to eye about my lifestyle. Except for nuts. Nuts I like.

The first time I bought loose, in shell, nuts in Pinoso was this Monday. Until then I had blithely passed them by unaware of their existence. I didn't buy many and I only bought hazelnuts just to check. Sometimes, at Christmas time, I buy kilos of chestnuts to find that half of them are rotten. The hazelnuts were fine so, today, I bought more and a few walnuts as well. Before then the last time I remember buying whole walnuts was a couple of Christmases ago. They came in a string bag along with a little tool to pry the two halves of the shell apart. If it hadn't been a diagram on the label I wouldn't have realised why there was a bit of metal attached to my bag of walnuts. I was amazed how well it worked. I couldn't find that tool today so I just used my penknife to split the shell and reveal the brain shaped nut inside. I pondered. For the first 63 years of my life I shelled walnuts by squeezing them in pliers like nutcrackers. They were always a pain because the splintered shell would mix with the nutty bit. The Spanish way is definitely superior.

On protecting my anonymity

I went to see the doctor this morning. Like all the doctors I've ever encountered, doctors in Spain make you wait. This is obviously because a doctor's time is much more valuable than mine or, indeed, yours. In truth, nowadays, nearly everyone's time is more valuable than mine in a financial sense but, as usual, I seem to be straying up a branch line.

I've been to the doctor a few times over the years in Pinoso but not to the point that it's second nature to me. I was quite decided to be decisive today. The last time I was there there was a little printed list stuck up with sellotape outside the doctors door. The appointments were arranged in 15 minute blocks. Inside the fifteen minute block there would be three names; three people had the same appointment time. I couldn't remember whether the system was first come first served or whether the list order gave the order. My decisiveness amounted to no more than asking rather than muddling through.

I was stymied on two counts. First of all there were three Britons, a couple and a single, outside my assigned door and they were people that I knew. Conversation was to be struck. The pair were in with "my" doctor before me so, until they moved, there was no hurry. They weren't sure where they were in the running order so I asked the people waiting on the plastic chairs. It was an easy conversation. I had the same time as a young woman but the system is first come first served. "It has to be that way now," said someone. "There used to be a list but the data protection act has stopped that". "Ah", said someone else. "That's why the nurse now calls people by numbers rather than names I suppose". "No matter", I said, "Spaniards like to talk". I was relieved that they sniggered rather than stringing me up by my thumbs.

I suppose that the data protection thing is to do with consent to use personal data now being clear and certain. Just because I want to see a doctor doesn't mean that I gave anyone permission to release the fact that I am there. Maybe I want to remain anonymous. Actually as I booked my appointment using an application on my phone I suppose that the list would have contravened that rule about data on a person not being used for another purpose. Maybe I should read the data protection stuff more carefully. When we visited Jumilla Castle a few weeks ago I was asked to send an email with certain details. Nothing too Edward Snowden but name, address, email and my ID number. The woman on the phone said it was for data protection. Odd though, now my data is protected they know all sorts about me whereas before they would just have known that Chris and Maggie were on their list for castle visiting.

Order, order

There seems to be a bit of a conspiracy to keep me on my toes as I reach the end of my working life. Most of it is positive enough. Pension paper mostly. Having found forgotten private pensions I've had to make phone call after phone call and fill in myriad forms. Because I live here and not where the pensions are I've had to talk with the tax people in the UK and fill in more forms to get myself exempted from UK tax. That Spanish tax process, for the calendar year 2018, starts in a few days time and has to be done before the end of June. I hope that having got the UK exemption means it will be easier, if more expensive, to sort out.

Then there's the state pension. I did a blog about that. I hoped, I was told, it would be paid through the Spanish Social Security people in Euros but, disappointingly, it now looks as though it's going to be paid in the UK in Pounds.

And what about Brexit. Now, to be honest what happens in the UK isn't very important to me. I certainly don't give a toss about the puerile posturings of a bunch of public school boys (and girls) in Parliament but their pompous hubris is making it reasonably difficult to work out what's going to happen to us.
In general the statements from the Spanish, and British, governments have been dead positive. All about our current situation being protected and so forth provided the other country plays along. But there's a lot of difference between a ministerial statement and what happens in some hot office awash with foreigners trying to get various bits of paper in a language we have problems with. Obviously, as soon as we Britons are out of the Union, we have to do things exactly as Malawians or Russians or Canadians. All of us are from "third countries" as far as Spain is concerned. There are at least 300,000 Brits in Spain, maybe more. The problem is that we've never quite understood why Johnny Foreigner wants us to jump through their stupid hoops. Why the hell should I change my UK driving licence for a Spanish one?, what's the point of registering with the local council?, why would I want to pay Spanish taxes instead of British ones?, come off the doctor's list in Barnstaple? - not on your nelly. So, there has been a bit of a scramble amongst we immigrants to get our paperwork sorted before we lose all those automatic rights that being a European Citizen gave us.

Of course if you want to be certain of staying in Spain it's easy enough to become Spanish. You do a test to prove you can speak Spanish and another to prove that you know something about the country you live in. So being able to answer simple questions, the sort of thing a Briton would know about the UK- for instance "Which Officer of State has precedence after the Royal Family?" The sort of thing every Briton knows, or here, the sort of thing that every Spaniard knows. Yeah, right. Most of us can't handle B1 Spanish and as for the Spanish constitution you can forget that. And maybe we want to stay British because, technically, we have to renounce our British Nationality if we become Spanish. Anyway, there's quite a long waiting list from lots of people who've run away from terror regimes or are looking for a newer, better life.

I thought we were pretty sorted, pretty Brexit proof. I'm very timid and tend to do as I'm told. After all we do live here, our house is here, our cats are here, we don't live anywhere else or have money and property overseas.  We pay Spanish taxes, we vote in Spain, our doctor and dentist is here, my driving licence and my road tax is Spanish, I listen to Spanish radio and I buy my clothes in Spain. I've probably spent less than a month in the UK in the past fourteen years. But it now looks as though, having checked the details pretty thoroughly beforehand, there has been a bit of history rewriting and we may be one piece of paper short of the full hand. It's odd because it's a piece of paper that I have helped other people to obtain. It's probably not going to be much of a problem. But, it could be. And for some people something similar will be a problem. They will find that they can't fulfil some requirement or other and so can't get residence here and they'll wonder what to do with the house they bought that they shouldn't live in all year or the car that they shouldn't drive.

Never mind. Oh the Archbishop of Canterbury and then Lord Chancellor but all we Britons knew that.

A grave situation in the dead centre of the town

I did a summer stint on parks, gardens and cemeteries when I was a boy. I still tell stories of those few months. The first time was, I think, in Hollywell Green. A Victorian mausoleum appropriate for the status of one of the mill owning families of the time. Before anyone thought to brick in the heavy, lead lined mahogany coffins, putrefaction and excellent craftsmanship produced a splendid time bomb designed to spew bone fragments left right and centre. One of my gofer jobs was to check for bones and sweep them up before the family and undertakers turned up with the latest of the family line.

Spanish graveyards are different to British ones. Well different and the same. Spaniards have mausoleums too for those old powerful families. I suppose it was wine or saffron or something instead of wool. Who knows. The idea is the same though, rich folk lording it over the people who made them rich even when they are all dead.

So there are mausoleums and there are graves, the sort where the coffins are lowered into a pit dug into the ground. Think of the scene in one of those old cowboys where the makeshift wooden cross marks the spot and one cowboy, hat in hand says "Someone should say some words". So far, then, Britain and Spain are much of a muchness.

But Spaniards are flat dwellers. Not so much where we live, in the country, surrounded by trilling birds and old blokes in straw hats working the earth, but in anywhere with any population Spaniards tend to live in flats, in apartments if you prefer. In the older blocks, the one without lifts, the top floor flats are cheaper. Nobody wants to haul their degradable plastic bags full of groceries up six flights of stairs to the third floor and older people don't want to buy a flat and then spend the rest of their days as semi prisoners, staring out of the window.

It's the same when they're dead. Nowadays cremation is growing in popularity but until recently it was always burial. Burial with a difference for we Brits. The Spaniards build a sort of thick wall, or a double faced chalet. In the outside walls they leave space for something akin to lengthened pigeon holes; pigeon holes long enough to take a coffin. When the time comes the coffin is hoisted up, horizontally and slid into a hole in the wall. The pigeon hole is sealed with something rough and ready and later, probably, with a commemorative stone. The rental on the nichos, niches, that's what the pigeon holes are called, is very low. And, just as with the flats, the higher niches, the ones you need a ladder to get to to put on flowers and to clean the stone are cheaper. If you're really poor, if nobody is willing to pay for your disposal then the town hall will bury you but you go into a common grave. Bones cleaned out of older niches, to make way for new occupants, also go into the same space. If I've mis-remembered that the correct version is in this article that I wrote for the old TIM magazine

Nowadays, with cremations, lots of the urns also go into niches, smaller niches, sometime with the urn on view but more often the urn is treated like a coffin and walled in and given a commemorative stone.

I like Spanish cemeteries. The architecture of the mausoleums is often incredible. The rows and rows of niches are nearly always well cared for and the system itself is neat. They are usually very colourful too because the niches that don't have fresh flowers nearly always have colourful plastic ones instead. Alcoy does tours around their cemetery so I thought it must be worth a look and I went over there yesterday. The snaps are here. Usually Spanish cemeteries are oases of tranquillity but, at the start of November, on All Saint's Day, most families turn out to spruce up the family plot. The graveyards become just as noisy as anywhere else with hundreds of people out and taking advantage of the opportunity to greet friends and neighbours alike.

One last, very positive, thing about Spanish cemeteries is that they always have toilets. Nowadays, knowing where the nearest toilet is is often important to me.

Big Brother has a file on me

I got a message from SUMA, a local government tax collection agency, telling me that I could check what they were going to take out of my bank account in April. In their email there was a link that took me to something called Carpeta Ciudadana - the Citizen File.

The Carpeta Ciudadana is basically a site that collects together lots of the information held on me by various Government agencies. There was a list of all the ministries - from defence and education to work and immigration - and any procedures that I had open with them. There was another section for notifications, another for information held on me and so on.

I was a bit worried that the page showed that Hacienda, the tax people, had two processes open on me but then I realised that it was to do with the time I sorted out some unpaid tax on a small UK pension during a tax amnesty. It's not as though I have anything to hide but the fewer dealings I have with authority the better I like it.

It was amazing checking through the pages though. There were details of  my work record, details of my car, my road tax, details of the points on my driving licence, details on the house, local taxes paid, proof that I didn't have a criminal record, my work history, any dole payments etc. All sorts of stuff.

If that's what they are telling me they hold on me I wonder just how much more they know?

By the book

"You use a lot of continuous tenses in your books. Is there any particular reason for that?". It's an interview on the BBC Radio 4 arts programme, Front Row, some twenty years ago. The author was from the USA, he was pleased. "Being interviewed in England is just so great - you want to talk about my use of grammar!".

When we first arrived in Spain I wanted to try reading in Spanish but bookshops used to scare me. They usually had counters and the books were on shelves behind the counter. If you wanted to buy a particular book it was fine. You just asked. In Spanish. Of course they never had the book but you were hooked now, you had to order it, wait two or three weeks and then be shocked by the price. Spanish books are expensive. If you wanted to browse then tough luck. Slowly that changed. Faced by online sellers lots of traditional bookshops went to the wall, despite price protection, and the survivors became more self service. In the newer shops you could judge a book by its cover, turn pages, read a few lines, check the price and whatnot before deciding to buy or not.

I also discovered libraries. Cheap and browser friendly but not quite the same as owning a book. I also realised that books written in Spanish and bought from Amazon UK were, even after delivery charges, cheaper than the same book bought in Spain.

Then Maggie bought me a Kindle and my reading habits changed. It was still cheaper to buy Spanish language books from the UK than from Spain but now they came instantly and with samples. No nice covers though, no paper and glue smell on fanning the pages and print size became a personal choice. After a while Amazon forced me to become Spanish, website wise, but I was, and I am happy with Kindle. One of the big advantages of electronic reading for foreign languages is that the dictionary is inbuilt so, if looking up a word is essential, it interrupts the reading flow a lot less.

Reading in another language has made me more aware of the differences in books. Jonathan Swift and Laurence Sterne are a harder read than Sally Rooney or Kate Atkinson simply because of when they were written. Some authors though are easier to read than others because of their style and vocabulary choice. I'm a bit out of touch with modern English language writers but, as an example, I remember Philip Roth as being a harder read than Joseph Heller. If I decide to buy a book by Kate Bernheimer or Terese Svoboda in English I may or may not like it but it's very unlikely that I won't understand it.

That's not always the case when I'm buying a book in Spanish. Sometimes Spanish language books are full of words that I don't know, they can have a complicated, difficult to follow, structure and they can have cultural references that I don't understand. Julio Cortázar for instance was Argentinian and famous for his book Rayuela; easy enough to read but so pointless that I've tried it and abandoned it twice. Or Bartleby & Co by Enrique Vila-Matas, a supposed classic, which my own personal review records as being awful: dry, boring and incomprehensible. Sometimes the books are beyond my language grasp. I've tried to read Diario de un Cazador by Miguel Delibes a couple of times. It actually seems like it might be good but there is so much slang, so much colloquial speech, that I've had to admit it's beyond me.

When I buy a book that I find I don't like or I can't understand I often go back to the tried and tested for the next book. Someone like Isabel Allende for instance, or maybe a police story by Lorenzo Silva. Mind you that doesn't always work. I'd just read a book by Marcos Giralt Torrente that I really didn't like so I thought I'd read a Pérez-Reverte. This bloke pumps out books like there's no tomorrow and they're fine, easy to read, often with a nice narrative. I'd seen one called Cabo de Trafalgar, about the Battle of Trafalgar and I thought it would be a hoot to have a book where Nelson and Collingwood were the baddies. Bad mistake, nautical terms on every line: topsails, boatswains, forecastles, rigging and monkeys left right and centre but also with French and English speech spelled to be pronounced in Spanish - guar is bisnes for war is business - I still enjoyed it but it wasn't easy. So, lets hope that Jesús Carrasco has a good one with Intemperie which is the book I've just bought.

Access denied

I picked up four pieces of post from our PO box in the Post Office today. This is quite unusual. Often there is nothing. Two of the envelopes were from departments of the Spanish Government. One was my European Health Card from the Social Security people. I applied for this, online, last week. I did it as I brushed my teeth getting ready for bed. It took moments, it was easy. The card's only valid for six months but, next time, as a pensioner, it'll be for longer. No problem anyway. I brush my teeth every night.

The other was from the Catastro, the Land Registry. It was an answer to my appeal of February 2017 when they said we owned half of next door and charged us much more IBI, the local housing tax, than we should have paid. A lightning 25 months to respond then. In that time I've sent several emails, been to their Alicante office (where I metaphorically banged on the table) and reported them to the Ombudsman. That's probably why they answered so quickly.

Instead of sending me the notification by post the letter inside the envelope told me how to get to that notification online. To get to the notification I had to "sign" a receipt but, being the 21st century, they wanted a virtual signature. No problem; I have a digital certificate, an electronic signature, on the computer. Up to now that has always been sufficient when dealing with Government Departments. But not today. It took me over three hours to eventually get to the notification. Their systems only worked with Microsoft Edge or Google Chrome after several modifications and not at all with Mozilla Firefox. There were links to pages and pages of supporting documentation about how to access the notification along with helpful hints on how to get around potential hiccoughs. I tried downloading the older versions of Microsoft Internet Explorer mentioned in that supporting documentation but Windows 10 didn't like them. There were three potential programs to "sign" the receipt. Neither Chrome nor Edge wanted to talk to Java and the Government software, AutoFirma, something like SelfSign stalled in downloading at 99% time after time and the dodgy downloads wouldn't delete. I had to disable pop up blockers (the on/off on Edge wasn't where all the answers in Google said they should be) and I had to dismantle all sorts of other safeguards like firewalls and non acceptance of cookies. I got there in the end, because what I lack in skill I make up for in doggedness, but it was a hell of a job.

To be honest it was so outrageous that I didn't get particularly cross. I was doing that cursing and laughing out loud thing. I remembered the strikes of workers within the justice system asking for computer systems that worked and the piles of paper that you can see behind the judges in the current Catalan trials. Obviously the roll out of technological solutions varies from one department to another. I wonder if Catastro still has ink wells on its desks?

The good news is that they seem to have put everything right in their records. They've even regularised a bit of land that we didn't know wasn't registered. Now all I have to do is to hope that they give us some money back!

Ambulance chasers

We were following an ambulance. It wasn't in a hurry and neither were we. On the back door was the symbol of the Generalitat, the Regional Government, and the name of a private firm. Along the side, in big letters, SAMU, obligingly decoded for us even in Valenciano (Servei d'Ajuda Mèdica Urgent), the English would be something like Emergency Medical Care Service. I think, though I'm not absolutely sure, that just as people in care homes wear name tags in their cardigans, writing SAMU on an ambulance says who they are and where they belong. Use SAMU or SAMUR (which is the service for the emergency ambulances in Madrid) and you mean ambulance: the sort of ambulance that comes for heart attacks and road traffic accidents and not the sort of ambulance that comes to take you for your appointment with the urologist.

Health Services in Spain are devolved to the seventeen Regional Governments. Ours, in Valencia, is called the Generalitat Valenciana. Hence the logo on the ambulance. But I wondered about that name of the private firm. Obviously there are private ambulances to move people to and from private clinics and to deal with patients who are paying through their insurance companies or health plans. Mutual societies, which work with the Social Security Department to cover work place health, might also use private ambulances. But that wouldn't be the case for an ambulance with the Generalitat logo. Google of course knew. It seems that, in the modern world, the Health Authorities usually outsource their ambulance services. So there's a tendering and contracting process for outsourced fleets of ambulances. Staff can also be outsourced though it seems that the doctors and nurses aboard the ambulances are, usually, Health Authority Staff whilst the drivers and paramedics come with the ambulance.

I know there are Red Cross, Civil Protection and yellow DYA ambulances. I'd also read a story recently, in the local press, about our Town Hall buying a new ambulance. So how did this all fit together?

I think the Red Cross ambulances are, much like the Red Cross or St John in the UK. I saw a Red Cross ambulance crew in action only a few weeks ago in Aspe. They were covering a fiesta and somebody was taken badly ill. I presume that event organisers have to cover emergency first aid and one of the potential options is the Red Cross. The DYA is another example of a charitable organisation that raises money in any number of ways, including selling its services. The DYA was originally set up to cover the shortage of ambulances to deal with road traffic accidents in Spain but, I think, it now generally operates through arrangements with Regional Health Authorities. Obviously when push comes to shove, in a train crash or terrorist attack, all the ambulances from everywhere become available. So then, what about our Town Hall ambulance? Checking back in the local press the ambulance was described as a TNA. Google said TNA is Ambulancia de Transporte no Asistido. The penny dropped.

There are two basic types of ambulances. Emergency Response Ambulances and Transfer Ambulances. Emergency Response Ambulances come in two types and with three crewing levels. Transfer ambulances come in two variations with two crewing levels. There are plenty of other sorts too, like rapid response vehicles, but I'll just stick to the principal types.

Generally, when someone calls 112 (there are other numbers too but 112 is foolproof), the ambulance that turns up will be an SVB - Basic Life Support ambulance. It will be crewed by two TES, técnicos en emergencias sanitarias, or emergency health specialists which are probably equivalent to UK paramedics. They will have spent a couple of years at college getting their qualification and they will probably have done lots of short ancillary courses. The SVB vehicles are kitted out with defibrillators, all those immobilising braces, oxygen, drips and a long etcétera.

The next step up is an SVA - Advanced Life Support ambulance. These SVA vehicles carry more medication on board than the SVBs and more sophisticated kit. The real difference though is not in the vehicles, it's that SVAs come with more qualified staff. The SVA Sanitarizada (the lowest level of SVA) comes with an Emergency Health Specialists (TES) and an Emergency Nurse. The course to become a nurse in Spain is a four year university degree course. Most SVA nurses also do a further two years masters in nursing.

The most sophisticated vehicles and crew is also an SVA but, this time, it's called Medicalizada. These ambulances are sometimes referred to as Mobile Intensive Care Units. The on board equipment doesn't usually vary much from the Sanitizada but this time the TES and the Nurse have a Doctor with them. A Spanish SVA Doctor will have done six years at university, a couple of years on a Masters in Emergency Medicine and another four years or so on a specialism like cardiology or intensive care medicine.

Away from the full blown, nobody dies on my watch, vehicles there are the two types of transport or transfer ambulance. The first of these is what my dad and his mum would have recognised as ambulances. The patient will probably be on a wheeled stretcher. Their lives are probably not in danger but they are not well. It's possible, though not likely, that the transfer could become an emergency so the vehicles are equipped with horns and lights. The patient will be accompanied by one TES paramedic and a driver. The driver may just have first aid type knowledge from a couple of months course or they might be a TES as well.

The last and simplest type, the TNA, the sort of ambulance that our Town Hall just leased, may have a first aider or a TES type driver but there is no expectation that the run will become an emergency. Often these vehicles are minibuses.

In re-reading various articles about transfer ambulances it looks as though there are often arrangements between local Town Halls to share access to the SVB ambulances. I was talking to one of my students about this and she said that before Pinoso sorted out its own local arrangements people could die whilst they waited for an ambulance to arrive from Elda, which is where our hospital is, some 28 kilometres away.

There is all sorts of legislation about how a vehicle qualifies to be an ambulance, from simple things like having the word ambulance painted back to front so that any driver looking in their rear view mirror will be able to read that they have an ambulance on their tail through to what it needs to carry, how it can operate and how long it can take to get such and such a distance.

Just one last thing. Spanish ambulances have traditionally had amber flashing lights, they've only just started to use blues and twos. Ambulances could have blue lights from August 2018 and all of them will have to carry blue lights by August 2020.

Peace and Love

Back in 1993, in a football game between La Coruña and Sevilla, there was an incident between Diego Maradona and Alberto Albístegui. The physiotherapist for Sevilla went out to help Maradona but by the time he got there Maradona was back on his feet and no worse for wear. The La Coruña player, Albístegui, was bleeding though, so the Seville physio gave him a hand. Back on the touchline the Sevilla coach, Carlos Salvador Bilardo, was incensed by the behaviour of his medic. He was shouting the equivalent of "For God sake Domingo (name of the physio), who gives a toss about the other side!, the ones in the coloured shirts are ours, Pisalo, pisalo!" Now pisalo means something like stamp on him, stamp on him. It was one of those football stories that became legend.

As a result, during the nineties, it was not unusual to hear chants from the Spanish terraces of “Pisalo, pisalo!” when the fans thought a certain type of play was called for.

1994/95 season Cup-winners Cup. Chelsea against Zaragoza. Chelsea aren't doing well. The terraces turn to fighting. The Spanish police wade in truncheons a go go and the uninvolved Zaragoza fans begin to chant "Pisalo, pisalo," in support of the police action.

The legend is that the Chelsea supporters heard the Spaniards chanting and thought they were saying "Peace and Love!, Peace and Love!". Suitably shame faced the Chelsea supporters settled down. It was in the British newspapers the next day so it must be true.

Thank you Alex for that little gem to add to my cultural knowledge of Spain from his language learning podcast of this week.

A piece of cake

Britons are often disappointed by Spanish cakes. You pass a cake shop and there are all sorts of incredibly appealing cakes and buns with reds and greens and cream and pastry and they look really tasty. But they aren't. The cream isn't real, it tastes of nothing much. The pastry is too flaky or there's too much of it and the coloured bits are just sugary.

Now it would be an untruth to say there aren't any nice cakes, pastries or buns in Spain. I really like lots of the traditional stuff. Bizcocho, for instance, is a sponge cake and there are lots of variations on bizcocho just as there are lots of variations on sweetened bread like toñas or the almondy flavours of things like Tarta de Santiago. Not far from us, in Petrer, we have the shop of one of the most famous cake makers in the whole of Spain; Paco Torreblanca. But, in general, fancy cakes in Spain are often disappointing.

Just bear with me whilst I add something else into the mix. Because I'm old I continue to watch broadcast telly. In the same way that the, Ted Rogers hosted, 3-2-1 show of the late 70s and 80s was based on a Spanish TV show, lots of current Spanish TV programmes are based on international templates: First Dates, Big Brother, The Voice, Come Dine With Me, Strictly Come Dancing, Got Talent, Kitchen Nightmares, Boom and lots more have Spanish versions. Last night the Spanish interpretation of the Great British Bake Off, cleverly titled Bake Off España, aired for the first time. Jesús Vázquez was the host and Dani Álvarez, Betina Montagne and Miquel Guarro were the judges.

I've never seen a full episode of the Great British Bake Off on either the BBC or Channel 4 but I have seen bits of it as Maggie is an avid viewer. Some of those cakes look truly incredible. I did watch the whole of the first of the Bake Off España programmes last night. I didn't think the standard was very high. In fact it looked to me as though lots of the bakers didn't have a firm grasp on the basics. The crema in the milhojas was a runny liquid, a couple of the participants had real problems making their ovens work and there were two kitchen fires. The judges even spat one of the cakes out!

"Well, what would you expect?," asked Maggie, "Spaniards aren't good with cakes."

Making one cross

It's election time in Spain. The local and European elections were on the cards, programmed in on the calendar for May from long ago, but then the Central Government, headed up by Pedro Sanchez, couldn't get its budget through parliament and so was left with little option but to call a General Election. On Monday of this week the President of our region in Valencia decided to bring forward the regional elections and to hold them on the same day as the General Election, April 28th.

As I listen to the news there seems to be a qualitative difference between the politics I'm used to and what's happening at the minute. It all seems very personal, very combative. It's more like squaring up for a shouting match or a brawl than a political debate. No actual fisticuffs to date though!

You may or may not remember that Spain had two General Elections very close together in late 2015 and mid 2016. In both cases the conservatives gained most seats but they couldn't manage a clear majority. Eventually, in October 2016, Mariano Rajoy, the then leader of the conservative Partido Popular or PP, pulled a minority government together. In June 2018 one of the highest courts in Spain handed out lots of sentences in a big corruption case. The court said the PP was implicated directly in that corruption. As a result Pedro Sanchez's socialists orchestrated a vote of no confidence. It was supported by a whole host of disparate political parties and that was the end of Rajoy. He jacked in his job and went back to being a property registrar. Sanchez became President.

For years and years the two big parties in Spain have been the Partido Popular, PP, the conservatives, and the Partido Socialista Obrero Español, PSOE, the socialists. There has always been a good smattering of nationalist parties particularly from Cataluña and the Basque Country and the vestiges of the old communist party always picked up a few seats too. That two party structure started to fall apart when a left wing group called Podemos did well in the 2014 European elections and shortly afterwards a right/centre group called Ciudadanos, which had been present in Cataluña for a while, gained ground on the national stage. In the last two general elections it has been four big players plus the nationalists.

On top of this splintering on the national stage there are the Catalans. Back in 2017 they organised a second referendum on independence. None of the safeguards were in place for a fair vote and the referendum had been banned by the courts beforehand  but, somehow they have managed to produce a situation where anyone outside of Spain sees them as the innocent victims of a brutish and almost totalitarian government. The politicians involved in that declaration of independence were locked up soon after the referendum and not given bail. Some of the Catalan politicians foresaw that possibility and fled the country. Holding those politicians in prison, on remand, for so long hasn't done Spain's democratic image much good. The jailed politicians are actually in court now.

It's difficult to be objective about Cataluña. My view is that the independence politicians are a bunch of petulant children who are quite unable to have any conversation that doesn't start from the premise that their birthright has been stolen from them and that Cataluña should be an independent nation now. So far as I can see they haven't actually done any politics for ages - economy, education, health and the like - because they spend all their time talking about being oppressed and bullied. Obviously there are other schools of thought.

The nationalist Catalans did support the socialist censure motion against Rajoy but, when it came to budget time, they refused to help the socialists a second time unless Sanchez talked to them about Independence. Sanchez said we can't have talks with a pre-set condition of talking about Independence and the Catalans said talk to us about Independence or you won't get your budgets. The Catalans knew that their reaction would mean the fall of the socialist government so I can only presume that they think they are going to get on better with the PP and Ciudadanos. Now there's a bit of clear thinking for you. Even by trying to talk to the Catalans the right of centre parties continually called the socialists out saying that they were negotiating with rebels and betraying the Spanish people. In fact Ciudadanos and the PP keep blathering on about imposing central government rule in Cataluña. Under much more pressing circumstances, when the Catalans actually declared unilateral independence, Rajoy used an article of the Spanish Constitution to impose direct rule but it only lasted as long as it took to organise local elections and get the next regional government in place.

Without the Catalans and other nationalist politicians in the Basque Country the socialists couldn't raise the support to get their budgets approved. Without a budget the government couldn't do the things it wanted to do. It was an impasse and the only real way out was to call a General Election which is exactly what happened.

The last time I saw opinion polls the Socialists were out in front. In their short time in office they've got stuck in to doing lots of things that have been on the cards for ages. The fact of doing something has cheered up their long time supporters and brought on board some of the ditherers. They're having a tough time at the moment because, with the election called, they have decided to use their dying days of office to enact some legislation by decree and the other parties are calling this an electoral strategy.

Second up were Ciudadanos. They have a good looking youngish bloke in charge. They're pretty right wing and they are all for taking over Cataluña but they too seem to put their money where their mouth is. They managed to leverage some things they wanted to see done out of the last government and their Catalan leader comes across as level headed and articulate woman. So they cheered up their natural sort of supporters and took lots off the PP.

The replacement for Rajoy as leader of the PP  is also a smart youngish bloke. However he seems to be ill informed and stupid. He's talking about rolling abortion laws back to a 1985 law (nobody quite knows why he's talking about abortion as nobody else is) and he seems to be quite happy to lie, not the usual sort of political manipulation of the facts, but the Donald Trump sort of direct untruth. When the PP had slumped to third in the polls he said that it was because the socialist government now had charge of the statistical office and so they'd made up the figures.

Finally there's Podemos, the left wingers who subsumed the old communist party into their ranks and then let it wither away. They've been involved in lots of infighting and they've failed to support pragmatic and popular changes which they have tried to explain ideologically. Complicated and subtle political messages don't make easy news and the right has been able to exploit the lack of agreement on the left.

So socialists popular and out in front, Ciudadanos popular and in a strong second, the PP trailing badly and hampered by poor leadership with Podemos entrenched in navel gazing and on the verge of extinction. The likelihood is that nobody will get a majority. The most obvious outcome is a rightist coalition but nothing is ever straightforward when it comes to Spaniards doing deals so no crystal ball gazing at the moment.

There's also another factor. Down in Andalucia at the end of 2018 the socialists, who had held the region since democracy was re-established, didn't win an outright majority for the first time. The PP and Ciudadanos did a deal to take over and govern the region but even then they didn't quite have enough votes to do it. The wild card was a bunch of right wingers called Vox. They want to suspend the Catalan Government, in fact they want to re-centralise all government (Spain is basically organised federally), to centralise education, to beef up support for "family values" (they don't much care for feminists), close frontiers and mosques and they want to increase the influence of Spain in Europe. Basically then usual sort of idiotic populist nonsense that we've heard from the USA, Brazil, Italy, Bulgaria, Poland and an increasingly long etcetera.

Vox doesn't have any parliamentary seats but it does have a Twitter and an Instagram account. And they are on a roll. They are doing what Trump does. They do not argue in the time honoured tradition of proposals and counter proposals. They publish something bad, nasty, homophobic, sexist, jingoistic or whatever in a short, easily digestible form and right thinking people rise up against them and denounce them on the social media. The debate actually helps abhorrent politicians to spread their poisonous messages. We see their misinformation and twisted analyses on Facebook or in WhatsApp groups because all of us have "friends" on Facebook who we would steer clear of in real life or at least we'd steer clear of the subjects that turn up on social media. Those people believe the slurs, repeat the false information and they simply attack anyone who is not with them. If we respond the nonsense gets more exposure and if we don't respond we are doing less than we should. It's a bit tricky.

And, down in Andalucia, the two, run of the mill, right wing parties, the Partido Popular and Ciudadanos, were perfectly happy to get into bed with the far right politicians of Vox. If I were to use that crystal ball my guess is that, after the vote on April 28th, that's what we will be looking at on a national scale.

Lord Carnal and Lady Lent

Today is Shrove Tuesday, the last day before Lent. Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday. Time for a bit of a knees up before the sackcloth and ashes of Lent. No booze for forty days, no chocolate. Pancake day.

As a young person I knew about Carnival in Rio. Lots of people in feathers, well women really. In fact some of them without many feathers at all: drumming and dancing, a wild bacchanalia. I had no idea why. It was something they did in Rio. Just like mushy peas and mint sauce in Yarmouth. Years later I realised that Mardi Gras in New Orleans was something akin though, to be honest, I still associate Mardi Gras with the backdrop to the druggy scene in Easy Rider.

I was taken a bit by surprise by Carnival by the Carnaval of here. I suppose it was when we lived in Cartagena. All of a sudden there was Rio passing in front of Zara and Druni the perfume shop. Some of the feathers the women dragged behind them were so wide that they touched both sides of the narrow street. There were groups of singers too. The costumes were all a bit too much falling down trousers and squirty flowers, too slapstick, for me and the songs were incomprehensible but Spanish people roared with laughter. The funny satirical songs are called chirigotas. If they are important in Cartagena then they are absolutely enormous in Cádiz. The chirigotas are so ingrained in Spanish culture that they get a brief slot on the national news on the telly.

When we'd lived in Santa Pola I don't think I'd ever realised there was a carnival procession there, nor in Pinoso. In Ciudad Rodrigo, where we lived for a while, Carnaval was a big event but there the scantily clad women and be-sequinned and top hatted men were supplanted by bulls running through the street.

But now I know about Carnaval, at least I know it is celebrated in Spain. I know it's big in Cádiz and monstrous in Tenerife. Round here Torrevieja and Aguilas and even Cabezo de Torres celebrate Carnaval flamboyantly with big processions and often with drag queens in impossibly high heels. Somebody told me that in Jumilla the other day part of the parade showed a disinterred Franco carried high on the shoulders of bare chested soldiers. Irreverence for two Spanish legends in one! Here in Pinoso, last Saturday, we had a nice little parade without sequins and without drag queens or satirical songs but with lots of people we knew.

Palmed off

I think someone has it in for our palm tree. If you are a long time reader you may remember a post about an invasion of palm eating beetles, the picudo rojo. It isn't so much the adult beetles that cause the problem but their larvae which feast on the soft tissue and buds of the palms. The trees, I know they're not trees but that's what we call them, die as a result.

Working out how to protect the tree against the beetle and overcoming a slight difficulty with power cables made me think we were going to have to cut the tree down a few years ago but, one by one, we solved the problems. In time I settled into a gentle, and relatively inexpensive regime of spraying insecticide every six weeks. As I understand it the insecticide I am using works like fly spray and interferes with the way the muscles of the beetles work so they die of asphyxiation. The big problem is that it does the same to other beasts, including bees and that's bad. In a more general way, living in Europe, pouring chemicals onto the land is no longer considered to be a good thing to do.

When I first started there were a couple of, freely available, types of chemicals to douse the tree. Then the legislation changed. If I were to continue to use the chemicals I would either have to hire someone in who had the appropriate handling qualifications or get that qualification myself. I was going to do the exam until I discovered that there was an exception designed to cover cases like ours. I was allowed to buy the chemicals in very small quantities at about 25 times the previous price. That's what I did and that's what I've been doing for about the last year.

I sprayed the tree today and with my usual 30 ml of pesticide in 45 litres of water then I went to the agricultural supplier to buy the next dose ready for the next spraying. Hardly any left said the man. The legislation has changed again. The chemicals that I have been using can now only be used inside greenhouses.

Now I've never cared for the idea that I'm slaughtering bees. I have looked for other treatments. I have talked to a palm tree expert in Elche and to the bloke who trims out tree about other ways to protect our palm. I was looking for the equivalent of ladybirds to control greenfly. The biological control. There's a sort of worm that eats the larvae and a fungus treatment too. Neither of them seem to be particularly effective and the regime suggested by both my experts was that I should use the biological treatments when the beetles weren't very active, in the cooler months, but stick with the chemicals in times of risk. I was also put off by the price. I seem to remember fungus treatment cost 80€ per application and that it needed applying several times a year.

So, after the bad news, I went to the environmental department at the town hall to ask for advice. The woman there agreed with me that it was a bit of a problem that the chemicals had been withdrawn. She agreed that the optional treatments were expensive and ineffective and she told me that the town hall had chopped down lots of palm trees which it hadn't been able to protect. She said that down in Elche, where the palm groves have World Heritage status they are losing trees at a prodigious rate. I didn't come away uplifted.

Not a good prognosis. But I've just had a look on the internet. There seem to be all sorts of products at all sorts of prices. I hope it's market forces at work and not just snake oil. Maybe there's still hope for our palm tree and for the bees.

Mainly the Archaeology Museum in Jumilla

Spanish museums used to be awful. Piles of stuff in random order often without any labelling or information. Most, though not all, are much better now and some of them even have levers to pull or computer screens to tap. There is still a tendency for the information to be a bit long winded (something I get accused of), and only very infrequently do you get the news story type labelling with a brief résumé in the first paragraph and more detailed information below. The most common style is a four or five hundred word description on each section. With all good intentions I read the first couple of information boards, scan the next two or three, read the first couple of lines of the next dozen or so boards and then start to wander aimlessly without reading anything unless it catches my attention. Usually the notices are in Castilian Spanish and quite often in English too. Occasionally around here, it's just in Valenciano which always annoys me.

It was sunny yesterday and neither Maggie nor I had work in the afternoon. We went for a bit of an explore and, more by happenstance than design we ended up heading towards Jumilla. I knew that there was an exhibition called Capturas individuales at the Archaeology museum there, the Museo Arqueológico Jerónimo Molina, but, I wasn't sure whether it was photos or paintings. If we were passing we may as well pop in to have a look.

Archaeology museums tend to be organised from old to new. Pre-history with cave paintings, arrowheads and the like close to the entrance moving on to the stone carvings of jewellery bedecked Iberian women and so on through Greek vases, Phoenician boats, Roman central heating. Then on to the Goths, the North African Moorish Invasion, onward to the Middle Ages and upwards through time stopping wherever the collections or the curators see fit.

We've done the Jumilla museum a bundle of times. We've listened to live music as we leaned against the display case that hold the two and a half thousand old year column featuring an armed rider. We've been on the roof on Museum Night to listen to poetry where the Republican prisoners took their exercise when the building was used as a prison and we've been to a talk about old Jumilla surrounded by Roman mosaics. So, when the bloke behind the desk asked us if we'd ever been before we said yes and that we'd only come to have a look at the temporary exhibition. The museum was not awash with people. Indeed we were the only customers. Moises, the man on the door, wasn't too busy. Our saying that we'd been before didn't stop him. He caught up with as we lingered over a bit of Iberian pottery on the first floor and started to give us a guided tour. His English was good and he knew his exhibits well. Altogether a very interesting tour. We didn't really get to see the temporary exhibition - they were paintings by the way. But, thank you, anyway Moises.

Tortilla and coffee

Culebrón has a breakfast club. Well sort of. A couple of years ago, it could be even longer, some British chums made me aware of the Wednesday morning group at Eduardo's, our local restaurant, and I started to go along. It was quite a big group, made up of around the same numbers of Britons and Spaniards. I used to go most weeks but I stopped when I started Wednesday morning classes and I never got back into the habit. There used to be a lot of laughing as language failed and gestures and pointing took over so it was good fun as well as an opportunity to catch up on local gossip.  I haven't been for months but, this morning, with nothing better to do I went for a late breakfast and to see who was there. As well as the home team there was Belgian representation. Just me representing the UK and only seven of us.

One of the Spaniards who regularly attends the group spent a lot of her life in the UK and she is hoping to return there in the near future. She's still trying to decide between living near to family or near friends she made here. That set a discussion going about why she wanted to return to a wetter and colder UK and why other ex Breakfast Clubbers had left Spain. I suggested that one of the reasons was that living in Spain, without good Spanish, is quite hard work and that's why lots of older Britons decide they will "go home". In the UK they can, at least, make themselves understood faced with those problems that come with age. I was really surprised with how little sympathy there was for that idea. The group was quite vehement that all that was needed was a little application to learn Spanish and that most Britons are unwilling to make that effort and choose, instead, to live in a British ghetto sidestepping interaction with the locals as much as possible.

Head them off at the pass!

I bought some books on Sunday. This is not, in itself, such an unusual thing. I usually have a book on the go. The difference was that I bought ten in one fell swoop.

Nowadays I can read almost any Spanish book without too much trouble. I've chosen to read more Spanish than English for two main reasons. The first is to improve my Spanish and the second is to bone up on the home culture. It does mean that I have no idea who is hip and cool amongst contemporary British writers but as I don't know the name of the Home Secretary, or the modern way to say hip and cool, you can take it that I've given up on keeping up to date with Britain. One biggish problem is that I often forget the names of the authors I've read. For some reason names like Eva García Sáenz de Urturi just don't stick in the same way as, say, Jessie Greengrass.

Anyway I am reading a book called Women of the Post War Period (Mujeres de la posguerra) by a woman called Inmaculada de la Fuente. I am finding it hard going. It's giving information about the post Civil War period in Spain by reference to the works of some famous women Spanish writers like Carmen Laforet, Ana María Matute, Carmen Martín Gaite and Josefina Aldecoa. I've actually read something by three of those four authors but the continuous references to characters in their books, as a way of highlighting life in post war Spain, is becoming just a little wearing.

So, back to the book buying. In 1826 Pinoso finally became large enough to be self governing and separated from the neighbouring town of Monóvar. The event which celebrates that is called Villazgo. It's a big event in Pinoso which centres on local food, local traditions and local culture. This year's event took place last Sunday. Amongst the delights there were stalls from local associations and groups, from the local villages and from some businesses.

One of the stalls was selling old books including piles of notebook sized and notebook thick cowboy stories. The covers featured garish cartoon drawings. Inside the cheap, newsprint type paper was yellowed with age. Two euros for ten "books" seemed like a bit of a bargain. I had this vague recollection, from a radio programme that I'd heard that, back in the 1950s, 60s and 70s there was an industry in producing huge numbers of cheap, accessible books with weekly editions. I also remembered that the censors kept an eye on them to ensure that they passed on the "appropriate" messages for instance about a woman's role in obeying and keeping her man happy. I think they were also an incidental tool in a vague campaign to confront the country's shocking illiteracy rate. A definite addition to my cultural education.

This morning I chose one at random to read. El buitre de Denver (The Denver Vulture) by Silver Kane, printed in 1969 and with an original price of 9 pesetas. Apparently Kane was the pen name for Francisco González Ledesma who wrote over 1,000 novels in his lifetime. Over my breakfast cup of tea, before the household chores dragged me away, I'd read just 40 pages. Even then Kenton was already dead, shot in the back by his erstwhile partner and the gunslinger Mallory had gone a calling on Kenton's beautiful and curvaceous widow, Alice.

Definitely a bit less taxing than those postwar women.