A short visit from old friends gives living meaning to the term oxymoron. You slip back easily into the old routines of ritually shared responses and memories and the comfortable intimacy of lazy allusion – and then it is all snatched away as the plane takes off. Bitter sweet, indeed! And the telephone is no compensation!
Still, August will see them back and a longer stay will soften the blow of departure!
The sun has come out again to emphasise what Brits are missing and even the blustery wind of the past few days has died. As indeed, as each quiet morning reminds us, has the dog next door.
The trauma of seeing the little body in the pool has not lessened, though the unreality of it all has tempered the emotion. We should feel some guilt as we have been praying for the death of the yapping monstrosity on a daily basis. If you had been irritated for as long as we had by its moronic baying then even its crippled state would have failed to move you when gazing at its watery tranquillity. And it is that tranquillity, that precious silence that we now savour. This morning it was the alarm that woke us up not the serial irritation of a doggy dawn chorus! And that is something for which we have been longing for years! Obviously we regret the manner of the dog’s death – but the fact of it is something that continues to delight us. Silence is indeed golden!
Toni has done some cleaning and it is as if the Pauls have never been here – which makes the opening sentiments feel all the more poignant. There is a tasty reminder in the fridge however: the remains of the Spanish Chicken. This was a success (though not, according to Paul 1 as much of a success as when it was made in Britain) and packed a hefty spicy punch to go with meat falling from the bone. That’s our lunch taken care of! Well, as it turned out, my lunch taken care of
Tomorrow lunch is in Terrassa, then a pre-school day and a mid-week start. And then it is all downhill to June. Which seems in the far distance. And indeed is!
Lunch today, Monday, was excellent with home made meatballs and disgraceful cakes of unlimited calories. The Cava seemed positively frugal compared with the displays of ostentatious confection with which we were surrounded.
The kids had demanded and got their custom made Easter monas by their long suffering aunt painstakingly making cartoon figures of each of the kids holding a football trophy – and all edible.
They had other chocolate constructions of which the most flamboyant was dedicated to FC Barça and, given that a pathetic piece of chocolate with an unconvincing mini image of Messi was €20 in Carrefour, the one the kids were given must have cost three figures! It looked impressive with conventional cup, football ground, Barça badge etc, but it was just as well that I wasn’t told the price because I want to go to sleep this evening and not spend the night brooding about how deprived a childhood I had!
There is something soul numbingly horrific about a family getting out photo albums when that family is not really yours, with photos relating to a time when you didn’t know a single member of it. Even with the safety net of a smart phone with readable books on it, it's a fragile sort of patience that one holds on to.
The wedding video was an added extra about which I want to say little, except that it was interesting seeing people who are no longer part of the family playing an integral part in the festivities.
The camera work was individualistic held by one who had apparently recently been informed of the invention of a process which could take likenesses of things. The main intent of the camera person seemed to take out of focus images of people who were not the main participants. By that criteria it was a resounding success!
The journey home was strangely quiet as I suppose that the bulk of people had already arrived home as most people are back in work on Tuesday. We have an extra day (which I was informed was illegal by Toni’s brother in law – sour grapes!) that will be used to get clothes ready and tell the agents about the dead dog.
And where are my glasses? I hate the ones that I am wearing at the moment, they feel like lead after the lightness of the optical example of “less is more” – much, much more that my old glasses represent in their wispy costliness!
And, further and, I have not had my last OU TMA sent back and it was promised for the weekend.
Just one damn thing after another!