Life cannot be all bad when the evening meal that you rustle up consists of stuffed vine leaves; homemade stew; freshly baked bread; Greek yogurt topped by Greek honey with almonds; mature Cheddar; Chilean red. Thank god for Lidl!
On a sadder note I have to report that I felt something like genuine excitement at a discovery in an upmarket supermarket. Over the last few months I have been searching, in a desultory sort of way, for the latest form of toilet block.
I am sure that someone somewhere has written a thesis on the development of the toilet block from the pungent rings found in the loos of British pubs to the latest charming plastic cradles, one of which on sale in the supermarket is designed in the form of a yacht!
How many toilets that you have used recently have empty plastic frames lurking under the rims? Yellowing plastic bereft of its block looking like a safety cage for tiny cleaners: empty, but not discarded. Intention to purchase the block is usually frustrated by the inability to remember what make block actually fits. And let’s face it no one wants to be caught trying to squeeze a block of god knows what sort of chemicals into a plastic aperture that you have forgotten how to open. From personal experience I know that you end up with worryingly ‘fragrant’ fingers whose perfume stays with you for a distractingly long period of time. You keep checking on your hand as you half expect your fingers to start dissolving before your very eyes. So, empty the receptacle stays and the toilet bowl has to be content with the occasional squirt of whatever corrosive liquid lurks inside the bottle with the swan neck.
This being the case my latest purchase seems eminently sensible. This takes the form of a small plunger like applicator which leaves a round gel-like circle of material which adheres directly to the inside of the toilet itself! At a stroke the little plastic cage is redundant! So far the little cake of gel has lasted one day and for the bulk of that day I haven’t been here. I wait to be convinced that this is not yet another way of extracting a lot of money from my pocket for showy innovation. If nothing else it seems to follow the dictum that less is more!
I have now worn all the ties that I was given for United Nations Day (with the exception of the one that I thought at first glance was covered in cartoon ghosts but later realized was actually covered in depictions of condoms) and the kids are still bemused by the effortless succession of neckwear that I can produce. In Cardiff I utilized two large drawers in my grandparents’ commodious wardrobe so that each tie was taken from one, worn and then placed in the other. The system is a little more complicated in Castelldefels but the new system is almost in place to ensure that, with the exception of the Munch tie for the beginning of each term, there is no repetition during a school year.
I had a wholesale cull of ties before I moved and the more repulsive and dated examples of neck adornment were consigned to the bins. I am therefore not entirely sure that I have sufficient ties to last the year as I seem to remember that even with the full collection I was reduced to wearing my prefect’s tie (a tasteful black with small dragons) my house tie (a not so tasteful pink, black and silver creation) and my Caterpillar tie which was covered with small embroidered with small bulldozers! The latter did indeed draw incredulous comments from my colleagues so one can only speculate what it will provoke from the children in our school.
Tomorrow I shall wear a more conservative tie given to me by people who I will be with tomorrow evening for the name day of everyone called Carlos or Carles. I will be going straight from school and have taken advice about how to get to Terrassa from the different starting point of the school. As we are situated in northern Barcelona I should, in theory, be twenty minutes nearer to Terrassa than starting from Castelldefels. This logical assumption does not necessarily follow when my sense of direction and the layout of Spanish roads are taken into account. My attempts to take unauthorized short cuts have, in the past seen me motor my way in ever increasing circles until I hit something I know and then I am able to re-orientate myself and scurry along a known path, keeping to myself the peregrinations that I have made to get there. At least the presents are safely in the back of the car already so I cannot forget them.
This weekend I am going to start the Larsson books and my latest missive from Amazon has offered me a half price copy of the third volume that I am missing. The fates, it seems are conspiring to ensure that my reading pleasure is complete.
Roll on the weekend.
On a sadder note I have to report that I felt something like genuine excitement at a discovery in an upmarket supermarket. Over the last few months I have been searching, in a desultory sort of way, for the latest form of toilet block.
I am sure that someone somewhere has written a thesis on the development of the toilet block from the pungent rings found in the loos of British pubs to the latest charming plastic cradles, one of which on sale in the supermarket is designed in the form of a yacht!
How many toilets that you have used recently have empty plastic frames lurking under the rims? Yellowing plastic bereft of its block looking like a safety cage for tiny cleaners: empty, but not discarded. Intention to purchase the block is usually frustrated by the inability to remember what make block actually fits. And let’s face it no one wants to be caught trying to squeeze a block of god knows what sort of chemicals into a plastic aperture that you have forgotten how to open. From personal experience I know that you end up with worryingly ‘fragrant’ fingers whose perfume stays with you for a distractingly long period of time. You keep checking on your hand as you half expect your fingers to start dissolving before your very eyes. So, empty the receptacle stays and the toilet bowl has to be content with the occasional squirt of whatever corrosive liquid lurks inside the bottle with the swan neck.
This being the case my latest purchase seems eminently sensible. This takes the form of a small plunger like applicator which leaves a round gel-like circle of material which adheres directly to the inside of the toilet itself! At a stroke the little plastic cage is redundant! So far the little cake of gel has lasted one day and for the bulk of that day I haven’t been here. I wait to be convinced that this is not yet another way of extracting a lot of money from my pocket for showy innovation. If nothing else it seems to follow the dictum that less is more!
I have now worn all the ties that I was given for United Nations Day (with the exception of the one that I thought at first glance was covered in cartoon ghosts but later realized was actually covered in depictions of condoms) and the kids are still bemused by the effortless succession of neckwear that I can produce. In Cardiff I utilized two large drawers in my grandparents’ commodious wardrobe so that each tie was taken from one, worn and then placed in the other. The system is a little more complicated in Castelldefels but the new system is almost in place to ensure that, with the exception of the Munch tie for the beginning of each term, there is no repetition during a school year.
I had a wholesale cull of ties before I moved and the more repulsive and dated examples of neck adornment were consigned to the bins. I am therefore not entirely sure that I have sufficient ties to last the year as I seem to remember that even with the full collection I was reduced to wearing my prefect’s tie (a tasteful black with small dragons) my house tie (a not so tasteful pink, black and silver creation) and my Caterpillar tie which was covered with small embroidered with small bulldozers! The latter did indeed draw incredulous comments from my colleagues so one can only speculate what it will provoke from the children in our school.
Tomorrow I shall wear a more conservative tie given to me by people who I will be with tomorrow evening for the name day of everyone called Carlos or Carles. I will be going straight from school and have taken advice about how to get to Terrassa from the different starting point of the school. As we are situated in northern Barcelona I should, in theory, be twenty minutes nearer to Terrassa than starting from Castelldefels. This logical assumption does not necessarily follow when my sense of direction and the layout of Spanish roads are taken into account. My attempts to take unauthorized short cuts have, in the past seen me motor my way in ever increasing circles until I hit something I know and then I am able to re-orientate myself and scurry along a known path, keeping to myself the peregrinations that I have made to get there. At least the presents are safely in the back of the car already so I cannot forget them.
This weekend I am going to start the Larsson books and my latest missive from Amazon has offered me a half price copy of the third volume that I am missing. The fates, it seems are conspiring to ensure that my reading pleasure is complete.
Roll on the weekend.
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