Episode 17: One out, one in

So, it's 4.35am and I'm sitting in the kitchen of Jose's cousin and contemplating the events of yesterday. We are currently back in 'The Village' and for regular readers of this blog, that means yes, we are back with The Village People. Don't worry though, I had the necessary jabs before I came here - typhoid, beri-beri, anti-boredom!

These people need no introduction to regular readers of this blog
If you do need to know more, see Episode 3:

Why am I sitting in the kitchen at 4.35am you may ask. Well it's a damn good question and one that only my heartburn can answer. We're here because Jose's cousin Placido and his wife Eva gave birth back in November last year (well she gave birth whilst he watched from a safe distance behind a plastic sheet) and it was little Alicia's christening yesterday. They appear to work a 'one out, one in' policy here in this part of Spain as the christening service was joined together with a mass to remember Placido's parents, both of whom are since deceased. The Catholic church like to give value for money and apparently it wasn't worth the priest just turning out for one thing on a Saturday afternoon when he could have been watching the football or pretending to be celibate whilst upending the verger's wife over the vestry table; so he wouldn't do it unless it was going to be worth his while. No-one died last week, so a memorial mass it was to be.

So, I tried!!! Who are you to judge?!?!

We arrived here at 5pm, to find Eva in the kitchen feeding Alicia 'from the pump', as it were. Now I am a nurse and I've done my general training too, so I'm used to seeing ladies feeding children from their lady lumps, which is one of the most natural things in the whole wide world, but here in Spain, you might know that things are done slightly differently. Don't get me wrong; I don't mean Alicia was one side of the kitchen and Eva was taking aim from the other - although that would have been a damn good trick if they could have perfected it. I mean that Eva was sat there with her rather large bosom out and had not a care in the world. In the UK, we're used to ladies being a little more discreet when they breast feed, but Eva had hold of hers like she was plunging the outside drain and baby Alicia was happily gulping down her late lunch/early tea. One side finished, said bosom was displayed for all to see whilst Alicia was swapped over. I wasn't embarrassed by this, just a little gobsmacked at the brazenness of it. This was made all the more gobsmacking when, after the christening and back at the house again, Alicia was fed once more with about 15 people crowded round Eva as she fought to free a mammary. Apparently it's the done thing here and no-one bats an eyelid. Apparently!

Anyway, first feed over, we made our way to the little village church. Everyone was waiting outside as the priest hadn't arrived, which meant there was more time to smoke. EVERYONE smokes here, including the livestock. Eventually a rather flustered looking short, bald man in tatty jeans rushed into the church carrying a Gadis (supermarket) carrier bag. Some minutes later he emerged from the vestry in his vestements and the service began. It was a service by numbers, with him reading from his order of service book in a rather bored and rushed fashion. Whilst by the font at the back of the church, José was told off by some very distant family member for taking too many photo's, so while he wasn't looking I kicked his flat cap (that had fallen on the floor), behind the very long curtains at the back of the font. He was still looking for it when we left the church! 

Can I supersize your Hail Mary's
for you Sir?

The christening was over in about 5 minutes and then we moved to the front of the church for the memorial service. Yes, it really was that fast, the Catholic equivalent of drive thru' Chicken McNugget ("Would you like canticles with your liturgy sir?"). The service by numbers continued with this priest reading fast enough to make sure he would be back in front of the TV in time to check his pools coupon. I'm not a religious man and when I was made to go to church on a Sunday as a child, we were boring old Methodists,  so this fancy-schmancy Catholic church stuff passed me by. As the priest wittered on in Spanish, we were in and out of our seats; up and down like a whore's drawers. All we needed was to do the hokey cokey and turn around and we'd have had the making of a good party.

I became fascinated with the whole ceremony and the surroundings, as I understood nothing of what the guy was saying. Above his head at the back was a large virgin. No, not the choir mistress, but a statue, and above her head she had a halo that was all lit up. I noticed it flash at one point but thought I must have been mistaken.....but I wasn't. It went again and throughout the service, this thing flashed on and off like a neon light in Times Square. All it needed was a big sign saying 'Two Performances Every Sunday' and it would have been perfect. I could see the ridiculousness of it and I started to giggle once again. The poor Blessed Virgin's halo, reliant on a switch and the supply cable from the local electricity company. Goodness knows how they cope in a power cut?

Then I noticed this young guy on the other side of the church whom I had met earlier for the first time and was the brother of the madrina (or Godmother - I really should get paid for these Spanish lessons!). He was standing next to two older men who were on their knees praying the whole time. It was only when the service ended that I realised they had in fact been standing at all and were only about four foot each. They don't breed them very tall out here. One of them came to the bunfight after the christening, but the table came right up to his chin and he couldn't reach the far end of it. Naturally I just sat there and watched as it was too funny, seeing him trying to reach across for a macaroon without dipping his sleeve in the guacamole.

There's nothing here that a little
butter & some nice slices of freshly carved ham couldn't improve

Anyway, back to the service. The priest was still wittering on and he started to do the whole communion thing with the Jesus crisp, although I think he was a little mean. The faithful went to take communion, but he only gave them the crisp. No drink! He himself had a right good swig from the chalice on the altar before he started and once they'd all had their crisps, he finished the vino off. Then he did the washing up and kept curtseying to the sink for some reason. I mean, those crisps are dry old things at the best of time and most of the people who took communion were about 80 if they were a day. They need something to wash it down or it just sticks to the plate of their false teeth and they could choke. I spent the rest of the service on medical 'standby', just in case.

Service over and photo's done, we went back to the house for the bunfight. Eva put on a magnificent spread, but as everything here is either deep fat fried or cooked in loads of oil, you get some idea of why it's now 5.15am and I'm sitting in the kitchen dealing with my heartburn. I could belch for England and Spain!!!

During the evening party, there was the sweetest looking old lady, who turned out to be Placido's aunt and the sister of the lady for whom we'd had the memorial service. I'd never met her before and as she tottered on her walking stick towards me and Jose, I was told that she was 93 years old. She kissed Jose and he introduced me. Her first words in my presence were directed at Jose and she said "Your boss is very fat isn't he?" If I have my way, she won't make 94!

Well, the drink flowed as did the conversation, although as I've said before, in this part of Spain they speak in the local language, Gallego. I don't understand a lot of Spanish when it is spoken at breakneck speed, but Gallego passes me by completely, so I drank a little more. The thing is, when I've had a few, I can chat in Spanish and don't give a tupenny toss. By the end of the night, I was talking away to anyone and everyone and while it may not have been perfectly correct, they all seemed to understand me. Thing is, I have exams on Monday and Tuesday and so I thought it might be a good idea to sneak the gin in with me and have a couple of bevvies before I start, as it appears to help me loosen up.

I didn't like the alternative to
getting up every hour. The rustling
would have kept me awake

Once again I digress...........We went to bed around midnight and I'm not partial to sleeping in other people's beds. The thing is, me and Jose have a bed which is the size of Rutland County. If I need to talk to him at night, I have to use the mobile phone or send a carrier pigeon, although I prefer the former as we're forever picking shite off the duvet! The bed here in the village is the size of a postage stamp and while it's actually very comfortable, it takes a little getting used to. The other thing is there's a brook that runs outside our window which has a rather unfortunate effect on me. It sounds like it's perpetually raining with the water rushing down the hill and each time I'm about to drop off to sleep, I have to get up and pee, on the hour, every hour.

Well, that's about it for now. I'm off back to bed to try and get a couple more hours in before we have to set off home for Coruna, but before I do, there's a cockerel outside who doesn't appear to know that it's still dark and early and whose bloody neck I'm going to wring.