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Sunday, May 10, 2009



After a lie-in of some 30 minutes I got up and blearily surveyed the deserted beach which looked bleak and colour drained in the washed out light filtered through cloud covered skies.

Defiantly I made myself a pot of tea in my thin glass Zara teapot and surveyed my domestic empire. Paper everywhere in neat piles, though most of it in odd sheets scattered around in the best traditions of the chaos which characterised my approach to education.

Gradually order and been restored and (eventually) information put into the computer. Excel is an excellent programme for demonstrating the idiocy of computers. It will do exactly what you type into it and it refuses to compensate for the illogicality of your commands when the odd letter is misplaced in a formula. I must admit that as soon as I get a result which is halfway reasonable I believe in all the other results implicitly!

I am almost at the stage where I have managed to produce two pages of official looking information with another two on the way. You will note that I said, ‘almost’ – the ink is running low in my printer. Anything may yet happen!

After a punitive raid on Carrefour for tea bags I made a fruit salad and retired to my bed and lapsed into the acceptable comatose condition which is my usual approach to the irritation of anything less than rude ill health. My only concession to medicine was to purchase some lemon honey to soothe my throat.

I am beginning to wonder if my ‘cold’ could be a reaction to the amount of pollen in the atmosphere. Plant parts looking like specs of flying foam are filling the air and catching what sunlight deigns to force its way through the cloud cover. But I don’t think so. I only hope that a good night’s sleep will see off the niggling remains of ill health.

Another reason for taking to my bed was the coven of screeching girls who shouted at each other for the greater part of the afternoon around the pool.

The summer brings out the most colourful aspects of my misanthropy as the people we refer to as ‘the rich bs’ turn up to indulge themselves in their otherwise unoccupied flats and obnoxious progeny of the people already here disport themselves round and about and do it noisily as well.

One flat seems to be occupied by beach bums with two dogs and unspeakable friends. They leave the detritus of their beach-bumerry in all the common areas of the flats – and I realise that I am beginning to sound like Disgusted of Tonbridge Wells, so I’d better stop!

The mozzies are also beginning to make themselves felt so I think I will have a cup of tea.

I’m typing this watching Barça play the game which, if they win will give them the Championship. I hope that I am not tempting fate when I say that the score is at present 3-1 to Barça with 20 minutes to go. Iniesta (who always has been one of my favourite players because of his sense of fair play and his phlegmatic approach to the game) is playing like a man possessed and producing some extraordinary football!

And who ever have thought that I would ever have written a sentence like that last one. Now say that living in foreign parts does not have an effect on one!

I might add that since I wrote that Barça look well set to win the game, Barça have had a man sent off and a penalty against them!

I suppose that I should stop typing while Barça are still ahead!


Too late! The score is now 3-3! Talk about kiss of death!
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