Episode 24: A rose by any other name

I thought I would take a little time out from the usual disassociated bile of bilge that I spout, to bring you some of the more interesting things that I notice day in and day out in this pallid, doom-laden countryside I now call my homeland (mi patria). Before I go on, I do need to let you know that this blog is rather heavy with pictures, so I'm only uploading the small images. You can click on each individual picture to make it larger and see it more clearly, then just click your browser BACK button to come back to this page. Of course, you may find something infinitely more interesting to do in which case just go off and do that instead. I did.........it's taken me 16 goes to start writing this damn thing!!

The first thing that strikes me about this place is their obsession with old fashioned ladies names. For instance, wherever you go, there seems to be no lack of Fanny. Joyería Fanny (or The Joy of Fanny as I like to call it), is based in the little town down the road that I am going to be living in, in a couple of weeks time. Yes, at the tender age of 48 and 49 respectively, we're flying the coop, but more of that in another blog. My mother-in-law's reaction alone could take me more time than I have tonight.

The second Fanny was a rather manky looking hairdressers with an equally manky looking sign, I do need to tell you that the black bits on the picture are from the sign and not the bad photography. I looked through the window. Let's just say that you wouldn't want this particular Spanish Fanny giving you a blow-dry and just leave it at that!

Then you have Mildred the cake and a rather fetching looking hair mousse. Who fancies a head full of Nelly?? I mean, who in their right mind would be asking "Esperanza, can you pop down the local supermercado and get me some more Nelly? I've just spumed me last bit!"

Even the designers have old-fashioned names. Witness the shop below, 'Decoraciones Gladys'. Hardly Sir Terence Conran now is it? Imagine the scene.............

"Ooh Cuchi, I love what you've done with the curtains; how they clash so with the carpet, rugs and three piece suite"

"Oh bless you Immaculada. And it's all thanks to Gladys"

"Who would have thought that a near blind nonagenarian could have done something so cutting edge as this" etc etc etc.

I really must stop with this imagining lark. You see, I have a new imaginary friend, but she's Spanish and I don't understand a word she says. She encourages me to talk rubbish........like I need encouragement!!

Moving on from old ladies' names, the Spanish have a rather unhealthy obsession with wind. No José, I don't mean you........but if the cap fits....! Anyway, judge for yourself. Would you fancy eating these sweet treats (right) that we found in the supermarket the other week? 

Fartones!! They come in a pack of 5, apparently. Then there is the street, which is named Mauricio Farto Parra. Even the Spanish laugh at this, although bless them, they have no idea why. Poor souls! There is something about farts in this country though. We were sitting having lunch yesterday with a friend of ours, when a large white van went past with the name FARTO emblazoned on the side. It's a shame! I mean, imagine the humiliation of learning English and realising what your name actually means and then having to go and drive a van with it written down the side in 4 foot high letters, knowing that 33% of the local population have been laughing at you for the past few years?!

............and while we're on the subject of names, apart from the fact that I know of someone whose surname is Bastardo, you really wouldn't want to be called this would you??

Before anyone tells me otherwise, I do know of the story of the late English conductor Sir Thomas Beecham, who, after WWII, heard about the singer Marta Fuchs and sent an agent to Germany to assess whether she really was that good.

Bearing in mind that telegrams were expensive to send and people used as few words as possible, the Telegram came back to Beecham:
"Fuchs wonderful."

Beecham's prompt reply:
"Undoubtedly, but can she sing?"

And then we come to this little wonder. It's a place that sells DIY stuff and also offers designers to help you plan your dream home. The term 'Indian Giver' is used to describe someone who gives a gift and then sometime later, wants it back. Presumably with Chav Givers, they decorate the house in Burberry colours and then some time later, come back round and rob it all from you?





I decided to split up the parts of the body in this blog, as you can have too many unsightly bits in one place, but we're back. On our way back from England in the New Year, we flew via Madrid. We decided against the snacks in this cafeteria, but would you want a hot brown drink & sausage roll from a Madrid ARS?


Then, on our recent trip to the south, we came across this particular shop..............

Now, you may think that it's only mildly funny and to be honest, it's not the best picture I have on here today. It made me smile so I took a picture, but only because it reminded me of this shop (below left) that we saw in Uruguay when we went for a day trip there a few years ago when on holiday in Buenos Aires and this bar (below right) in Santiago de Compostela

As I always say, it pays to advertise. Go on, get yer titters out missus!!

And so we come to the last bunch. Menus always make me laugh at how well things have been translated and this one was no exception. These people have literally translated their menu, presumably using the Google translator and it's come up with these efforts; broken eggs and poor potatoes anyone??

For those lovely people out there who came to Prague with us that year the 12 of us went, you will doubtless remember that menu with the delights of "Collops like a truckwheel" on it, which sounded more like something you would see in an A&E department......."Ooh doctor, me collops are the size of a truckwheel!!" Sadly, I didn't have a camera with me, but I do have witnesses, although not to the size of my collops you understand.

And then you have this calculator, designed by a man called Alex Bog. Why? It sounds like a name straight out of "Carry On At Your Convenience".

I hope you've enjoyed my little trawl through the wonderful world of names, knowing full well that there are loads more out there waiting to be discovered, but I couldn't leave you without a couple of corkers. 


The first one is the name of a little village within a short drive of the village we all stayed in for the week when José and I got married in 2006 (yes, it will be 6 years in October). Anyway, here's a picture of a rusty old Cuntis sign and just to show you I'm not making it up, here's the shot from Google Maps to show you where it is. There are lots of jokes I could make here, but in the interests of decency - that and the fact that my mother will be reading this - I won't. Except to say that it has a reasonably large immigrant Brazilian population!!! Apparently!

My final picture isn't from Spain at all, but I really couldn't miss this one out. You may think it's hard to beat the previous picture for names, but you would be wrong. This picture was taken when we went on a day trip to Lantau Island when in Hong Kong one time. We went over to Lantau on the ferry and waited for the bus to take us to the giant statue of Buddha they have there. Whilst at the little bus station in the little ferry port, we were reading the signs at the ends of the various bus lanes to make sure we chose the one we needed, but were VERY tempted to eschew our trip to the Buddha and go here instead.....

There's not a lot I can say to that. Sweet dreams! 
xxx


By the way, Jane, can you email me please as I have no way of contacting you now! Thanks x

Episode 23: ....but it's so much nicer to come home???

OK. Massive apologies for the huge length of time between these blogs, but I sort of left you on a cliffhanger and like all the best cliffhangers, they are best left for a length of time. So you see, there is method in my madness. That and the fact that these 60 hour weeks we're currently doing are not conducive to  actually finding the time to write this damn thing! So where were we........? Oh yes, we were leaving the Stalag we had stayed in overnight outside Madrid and heading towards the south coast of Spain - and I (mis)quote "....surely nothing could go wrong?"

The 1912 Titanic 'Fun Run' was a disaster, as the organisers
forgot to put numbers on the runners vests

Well in fact it didn't! We had a lovely week and came home the following Saturday, relatively unscathed. I know, I know, it's called dramatic licence and as the author of this gossip column, I can do and say what I like. If you want drama, go watch "Downton Abbey"......but ignore "Titanic". Sheesh! I was watching it and shouting at the TV "Sink already!"


Mind you, there is no such thing as an easy week in my life and there were a couple of little mishaps that are worth mentioning. The villa itself was gorgeous and as you can see from the pictures, high on the mountainside looking down on the common people of some little town or other. We didn't go as it was beneath us. Beneath us!!! Hey.......do you see what I did there?!?!? 

One finds the quality of the air is so much better at altitude,
when a poor person hasn't breathed it in first

Anyway, it was lovely. So, on the Saturday after the agent had shown us in and left us to it, we went grocery shopping. Not 10 minutes after coming back from the supermarket, I opened the fridge door and the handle broke off in my hands. I mean, I'm used to tugging hard, but I've never had one come away in my hands before. So there I stood, holding this broken handle and wondering what other delights the week had in store for me. Don't forget, this was only Saturday night and our deposit money was already half gone on this........until I saw resin on it from where someone had mended it before; or at least that's what we told the agent. We went and bought some resin, glued the handle on and hoped for the best. We never used the handle for several days, remembering to open the door further up, but one day I plain forgot and off it came again. We left it off and on our final Saturday, showed the agent where the "previous" resin was that obviously meant someone had mended it before and not said anything, the bastards! 

That reminds me, I must order the bouncy castle for
José's 50th birthday party next year

In terms of the deposit, the rest of the week passed uneventfully with not even one broken glass, until the very last night there. Sitting out on the patio by the pool, we used the two wooden chairs that were outside, but one of them was very rickety. Being the larger one of the two of us (AKA fat), I never used that one and always sat in the one on the right. Earlier on that Friday, José had moved his chair out of the wind and into the little bit of sun we had that day, which meant that HIS chair was now on the right. Going out after dinner for one final look at the lights in the little town, I forgot the chairs had been swapped round and plonked me fat arse into my 'normal' right hand chair and it just splintered under me. And I do mean splintered. In my defense m'lud, I'd not sat in it all week, but yes, my curvaceous body was too much for it and it gave way. As we looked at the pile of firewood where once there had been a chair, our immediate thought was to chuck it, get another one out of the cupboard and hope that no-one would notice, but being honest people, we decided to come clean to the agent the next morning. 


It's amazing what a good night's sleep can do. The next morning, I awoke really early with this chair on my mind. As did José. Shoving it into the boot of the car, I found myself driving down the mountain into the little town below and dumping said firewood into a bin in a back street where no-one would look. I then drove back, we put another chair in it's place and acted like nothing had happened. I'm sure people the length and breadth of Britain heard my sigh of relief when I got the full deposit back, along with a message from  the lady who owned the place saying how terrible it was that some people had mended the fridge door and hoped to pin the blame on others and not to worry about it. How kind of her, we thought!!!

José took so long setting this picture up that pieces of me were
actually dropping off in the cold water as he clicked the shutter on the camera

As you can see from the lovely pictures, we had our own pool and I do love a villa with a pool. It makes me feel just that little bit more special to think that this pool is mine and that no elderly woman will be in there in her whalebone all-in-one and, when in need of a pee, will be thinking "Oh sod it Muriel, it took half an hour to stuff this lot in this cossie, so I'll go where I stand." So, I know that we went there at the beginning of April and I knew the pool would be cool, but I don't mind cool water because once you move around a lot, you warm up. I decided to test that theory and jumped in. One very quick length of the pool later, hypothermia was already setting into my extremities and out I got, looking more shocked than if Lord Sugar had just popped by in full drag and asked me about felching (look it up - it's not pretty!). The trouble with having your own pool (or piscina) is that it just looks so inviting, so each day, like the goldfish that can't remember what day it is 5 seconds after he's read the calendar, I tried it again. After about the fourth day, I did actually stop and didn't go in again, proving that even morons can learn something if you tell them often enough


And then there was the small issue of our sleeping arrangements. When we got there, we found that the main bedroom had a waterbed in it. Not only a waterbed, but a heated waterbed. It was like sleeping on top of a moving bath. We thought that it could be fun but to give you some idea of exactly how it was, watch this.............

I spent many nights being tossed into the air each time José turned over and no, before you make any jokes about that, it wasn't fun. Tossing is best left to Pancake Day. There aren't many people who can wake up in a morning and acknowledge they feel seasick whilst remaining landlocked. Even now I think I'm going to have to have a lie down as I can still feel the sensation, although my nightmares about being on the Titanic have thankfully stopped.

Actually we did take some ECT electrodes, a
bargain for €5,99 from El Corte Chino,
although after a couple of shots, 
José now thinks I'm called Enid

Of course we were there to work and work we certainly did. We don't travel lightly and took one small wheely case and one briefcase full of electrical equipment - laptops, cables, iPads, iPods, ECT electrodes (just checking!) the film box we have with millions of films on, so that we had something to watch, oh it was fun. We looked like we worked for some sort of telecommunications company at one point. Initially we sat outside in the blazing sunlight of the weekend, but this gave way to stronger winds and a cool breeze, so we dacamped to the lounge for the rest of the week. It took us about three hours to connect all the electrical stuff, so once we'd moved back inside, that's where it stayed. We started out with massive enthusiasm and worked constantly for the first few days, but then we realised we needed a break (known as "can no longer be arsed") and so tailed off on the last few days and went out visiting other places instead. Not that it mattered as we completed one online course and made huge inroads into the other one, so things are moving on.

The 'Coruña Cliterati' at our 2010 Christmas Party.
Unsurprisingly, it was an all-you-can-eat buffet!

The following Saturday brought us back to reality and life with the in-laws again. Much as we love them - and we do, make no bones about that - we love our independence too and this holiday made us both realise how much we miss it. We need these online courses to work so that we can find our own place and if they don't, then it's back to prostitution for us both once again. Which reminds me, I must buy some more mayonnaise.

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In memory of Jackie Parkinson
RIP chuck xx