It’s now official; I am the last person in Catalonia still wearing shorts and a t-shirt.
This was confirmed in a short official ceremony when the mayor of Castelldefels complimented me on my contribution to the tourist effort by my determined efforts to persuade the rest of the world that Spain was still a hot sunny place to visit even in the depths of November by my staunchly continuing to wear the minimum number of clothes commensurate with common decency.
I am now conscious of the knowing looks that I am getting from native Catalans as they go about their lawful business. I feel like that hapless soldier in the TV sketch continuing to struggle in the jungle who didn’t understand the concept of the war being over! The summer isn’t over until my goose pimples say it is!
The personalising of the flat continues apace now that we have been given an incentive with the removal of the owner’s detritus. The computer room (or Music Room as I would have it) {or third bedroom as it might have to be} is now beginning to take shape.
The tidying up of the living room incidentally decanted some of the extraneous furnishings into the computer/music/bedroom thus transferring the chaos to another room. As we can shut the door on this room, it could also be out of mind, but Toni is not like that and his active mind worked out a way in which we would be able to utilize the chaos and make it appear intentional and productive.
A futile visit to IKEA on Sunday (when will we ever get the opening times right?) merely delayed the delights of a visit today to get the necessary item to transform the room.
As is usual with IKEA the obvious is not always on sale in the form in which you wish it to be. Having assumed the existence of the shelf that would make everything fine, it was a bit of a blow to find out that it didn’t actually exist in the catalogue. In extremis I even launched out into a spectacularly optimistic harangue in Spanish to try and get what I wanted. This resulted in my being directed to the ‘Returns’ section in the hope that I could get a bargain. This was explained in vigorous Spanish by the lady assistant who accompanied her discourse with gestures, culminating in a knowing smile, a raised eyebrow and an index finger knowingly pulling down the lower lid of her left eye. I felt full involved in some sort of complicity, though about what I wasn’t entirely sure. Anyway there was nothing in the cheap section (gosh!) and so full price again!
As usual in IKEA I was seduced by the seemingly excellent value of the food on offer. As it was lunch time (isn’t it always) I thought that I could try their rice with salmon and chicken (or paella as the Spanish know it) for a small amount of money.
Why, when you think about it, should you assume that a furnishing shop would have any expertise in catering? Well, take it from me; it doesn’t. The taste of the food was vaguely institutional and definitely not Catalan. The best that I can get to the subtle (yet insistent) undertones in the flavour is to suggest that you try and recall the smell of an IKEA cupboard when you have just unpacked it – and that’s what it tasted like. Almost as if they had been storing their food supplies with the rest of the merchandise, and they had just taken it off the rack in the warehouse.
The sweet was apple tart which was not frozen but retained enough frostiness to make the teeth tingle with that fear of brittleness that makes chewing a hazardous occupation.
The coffee was fine.
Now, what was originally on the floor in the computer/music/bedroom is now largely half way up the wall on a new freestanding shelf supported by elements of the rest of the stuff on the floor. If you see what I mean.
Well, it works for us.
This was confirmed in a short official ceremony when the mayor of Castelldefels complimented me on my contribution to the tourist effort by my determined efforts to persuade the rest of the world that Spain was still a hot sunny place to visit even in the depths of November by my staunchly continuing to wear the minimum number of clothes commensurate with common decency.
I am now conscious of the knowing looks that I am getting from native Catalans as they go about their lawful business. I feel like that hapless soldier in the TV sketch continuing to struggle in the jungle who didn’t understand the concept of the war being over! The summer isn’t over until my goose pimples say it is!
The personalising of the flat continues apace now that we have been given an incentive with the removal of the owner’s detritus. The computer room (or Music Room as I would have it) {or third bedroom as it might have to be} is now beginning to take shape.
The tidying up of the living room incidentally decanted some of the extraneous furnishings into the computer/music/bedroom thus transferring the chaos to another room. As we can shut the door on this room, it could also be out of mind, but Toni is not like that and his active mind worked out a way in which we would be able to utilize the chaos and make it appear intentional and productive.
A futile visit to IKEA on Sunday (when will we ever get the opening times right?) merely delayed the delights of a visit today to get the necessary item to transform the room.
As is usual with IKEA the obvious is not always on sale in the form in which you wish it to be. Having assumed the existence of the shelf that would make everything fine, it was a bit of a blow to find out that it didn’t actually exist in the catalogue. In extremis I even launched out into a spectacularly optimistic harangue in Spanish to try and get what I wanted. This resulted in my being directed to the ‘Returns’ section in the hope that I could get a bargain. This was explained in vigorous Spanish by the lady assistant who accompanied her discourse with gestures, culminating in a knowing smile, a raised eyebrow and an index finger knowingly pulling down the lower lid of her left eye. I felt full involved in some sort of complicity, though about what I wasn’t entirely sure. Anyway there was nothing in the cheap section (gosh!) and so full price again!
As usual in IKEA I was seduced by the seemingly excellent value of the food on offer. As it was lunch time (isn’t it always) I thought that I could try their rice with salmon and chicken (or paella as the Spanish know it) for a small amount of money.
Why, when you think about it, should you assume that a furnishing shop would have any expertise in catering? Well, take it from me; it doesn’t. The taste of the food was vaguely institutional and definitely not Catalan. The best that I can get to the subtle (yet insistent) undertones in the flavour is to suggest that you try and recall the smell of an IKEA cupboard when you have just unpacked it – and that’s what it tasted like. Almost as if they had been storing their food supplies with the rest of the merchandise, and they had just taken it off the rack in the warehouse.
The sweet was apple tart which was not frozen but retained enough frostiness to make the teeth tingle with that fear of brittleness that makes chewing a hazardous occupation.
The coffee was fine.
Now, what was originally on the floor in the computer/music/bedroom is now largely half way up the wall on a new freestanding shelf supported by elements of the rest of the stuff on the floor. If you see what I mean.
Well, it works for us.
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