Episode 26: Feathering the nest

"Freakie"

So, here we are in our little flat, or the Love Shack as I call it. I only call it that because it gets the neighbours talking.........as if they hadn't had enough to talk about with two overweight, middle-aged gay men moving in! Still, while they're talking about us they're leaving someone else alone and I now know the Spanish for weirdo (rather strangely, they call them "freakies"). Plus, we're in crisis in this country and they have to get their kicks where they can.

We've been here a month and a half now and time flies when.....well, time flies! Not being Spanish has advantages and disadvantages. For one, I don't have to wear a large sombrero and call everyone "Gringo". Yes, I know that's Mexican, but allow me some dramatic licence - I have to churn this drivel out on a regular basis and occasionally - only very occasionally mind you - I may have to liven this up with a little flight of fancy!

It's a little known fact that Girls Aloud had to turn to other means of
financial support during this recent quiet spell. 

The one certain advantage of not knowing the language is that I didn't have to tell my mother-in-law that we were moving house and flying the family coop. I just look at José with that look in my eye that tells him it's all down to him once again. Sometimes I think he hates me just a little bit :-)

Moyshe and Shlomo Weintraub, preparing for their recent
Trolley Dash outside Newcastle Lidl's in June 2012; won
after Shlomo correctly identified all 42 shades of
LovelyLegs stockings on a Radio Newcastle phone-in

Well the day came and José bottled up the nerve, then unbottled a couple of tequila beers. He necked those in the butchest way possible (but still with a hint of style of course), drew himself up to his full 5'6½" and told his mother. I think he would have had a more favourable reaction if he'd rustled up a pork and apricot cobbler in the local synagogue kitchen for the rabbi's lunch. Bless her, she was a little shell-shocked and for a couple of days, I could do nothing more than waft her occasionally with the "Hola" magazine (lovely piece on Julio Iglesias and his 9th or 10th wife...or 11th, I'm not sure). She would occasionally mutter something incomprehensible in Spanish, which I found out later translated to "how could you take my son away from me you fat English bastard", which I thought it was nice of the local priest to translate for her.

Because I can do the laugh, I
had to be Muttley, but that
suit itched like buggery!

Then the questions started............why can't you continue to live here?........why have you only just moved back to Spain and already you're moving out again?........what is your appendix for? Poor José hardly dare set foot outside our bedroom door, or he would be bombarded with more questions, most of which he had already answered on a number of occasions. It's not because María has Alzheimer's and forgets she's asked - oh no, she's still as sharp as a tack - she was hoping to catch him out and get a different answer or wear him down. In the end, we had to disguise ourselves when we came home in order to disorientate her. She may not have Alzheimer's but it was three weeks before she realised that the Dastardly & Muttley who were living in her house were not who they were cracked up to be.

Strangely enough
Deirdre still lives; still
inside her plastic box

Eventually María started to come round and even talked about having the flat back without us clomping through and moving all her prized possessions out because we didn't like them. The trouble with that was that as she went looking for them to fill in the spaces of the things we had originally put out and then taken down to bring to the new flat, she couldn't find them. Why, you may be asking yourself. Because we threw most of them away I answer!!! Poor woman, she's really starting to doubt her sanity and that was never our intention.

She also makes funny little comments about living with just Pepe now, such as "if he does that once more, I'll knife him and you two won't be around to stop me". She's such a wag, my mother-in-law! You could tell she was so looking forward to having the flat back. Not sure about my father-in-law though; the jury's still out on that one.......as indeed it may be in the future if her prediction comes true.

So, back to us: we've been here a month and a half now and María's getting there, but still finding it a little difficult to let go. She brings us food parcels and only the other day offered to do our ironing at very reasonable rates. We go round for lunch on a weekend to steal food from their cupboard and we also take them to the doctors when they need to go and on little shopping trips - "Ooh look at that lovely piece of marble María. It would make a lovely headstone". She's sharp though and doesn't miss a trick, so I'm going to have to up my game.

Dedicated to my lovely mother-in-law María, whom I love dearly. This picture was taken in
December 2011, shortly before she set the dog on me. How we laughed!