Toni is busily using a program that he has downloaded from the internet to design his perfect house. He has to get his skates on because it will need to be ready for the 17th of August.
On this date my ticket will be drawn and I will win 20,000,000€. We will then waste no time in setting about our new lives.
10,000,000€ each is a sizable chunk of money. I have, in spite of Toni’s vehement protestations to the contrary, decided to give 10% to Oxfam and thus, with my conscience provided for I can indulge myself thoroughly.
Of course, with my taste in Art (with a capital ‘A’) 9,000,000€ does not even get me into the auction room with any real chance of success. Think about it: ‘The Marriage of Don Arnolfini’ is firmly in the National Gallery and even a fairly ordinary portrait by Van Eyck (should there be any left in private hands) would be a bit of a snip at the money that I could afford. I would probably have to settle for some sort of lesser pupil of a Master who once had a cup of tea with a nephew of Van Eyck or something.
Strange isn’t it that having vast wealth will only take you into the next level of deprivation when you realise that though the next Ferrari is not a problem buying even a fairly small Van Gogh is.
I am sure that there are some among you who will say, “But how many tickets for the summer draw in Spain do you have?” I would answer you do not need quantity when you have the winning ticket! By such self deception do I lead my life!
All things, as they say, are relative.
And talking of relatives we have to go to Terrassa for the Third Birthday of The Chosen One.
Now in many ways (or more probably all ways) I am dreading this event. It is very difficult to see any positive aspects to the occasion. It is going to be full of small, hyperactive, selfish, screaming, developing human beings; the predominant language is not going to be English; too many of the drinks are going to be fizzy sugar based rather than fizzy grape based; The Chosen One is going to have more presents and at far greater cost than I had when I was three.
I will never forget a Christmas in Gilfach when one grandchild simply got bored with opening the mountain of Christmas presents she had! Every Puritan nerve in my body twanged as I observed a level of being spoiled which made my fairly generous upbringing look like the equivalent of being incarcerated in the Château d'If on bread and water with thin gruel as a treat for Christmas!
In The Chosen One’s house there is a small corner by a window which is an ideal hiding place. Obviously the flat is too small to hide in reality, but this corner is perfect for apparently making you part of the festivities, yet, at the same time putting you on the periphery. The window also allows a stream of fresh air to oxygenate the brain cells so that my characteristic form of Fractured Spanish can be called into action and facilitate what passes for conversation with my language skills!
Nicola, Nigel and the girls are off back to Britain today. They have taken the usual ghoulish delight in phoning home to listen to the fall of rain and they have been fortunate in the amount of sunshine they have been able to focus onto Pale Parts. I am sure that Nicola’s legs will turn a very fetching shade of brown as soon as the flaming red has been quenched!
Nigel bewailed the lack of a balcony in the hotel in which they are staying and it is a major minus. There is something slightly sordid sitting on the edge of the bed in a room sipping ice cold laager from a can, whereas there is something altogether civilized and suave in doing exactly the same thing on a balcony watching the setting sun fizzle its way into the sea. I think that they have already selected an hotel which can fulfil this function for their next visit.
Meanwhile Emma, the two Pauls and my cousin Judith have all confirmed their flights and their arrival dates have been added to the calendar. I don’t have much time to polish my language skills before the arrival of Emma, but by the time the others arrive I should have started my lessons in Castelldefels.
I am hoping, with no real evidence, that this time round I will ‘take’ to the lessons and all the new parts of the language that the lessons outline will magically be hard wired into my spoken conversation in Spanish. I also promise to take ‘501 Spanish Verbs’ out of the bookcase and begin to use it properly.
Verbs are pretty important in all languages, but they are the key to Spanish. This is unfortunate as my chosen form of foreign communication is via nouns linked with slurred verb memories. This makes me sound like some form of articulate drunk where listeners have to take the nouns which are pronounced as well as I can make them and guess the context and tense from the mumbled connectives. At least it is a start and when linked to my professional use of the word ‘si’ almost passes for conversation!
Almost.
On this date my ticket will be drawn and I will win 20,000,000€. We will then waste no time in setting about our new lives.
10,000,000€ each is a sizable chunk of money. I have, in spite of Toni’s vehement protestations to the contrary, decided to give 10% to Oxfam and thus, with my conscience provided for I can indulge myself thoroughly.
Of course, with my taste in Art (with a capital ‘A’) 9,000,000€ does not even get me into the auction room with any real chance of success. Think about it: ‘The Marriage of Don Arnolfini’ is firmly in the National Gallery and even a fairly ordinary portrait by Van Eyck (should there be any left in private hands) would be a bit of a snip at the money that I could afford. I would probably have to settle for some sort of lesser pupil of a Master who once had a cup of tea with a nephew of Van Eyck or something.
Strange isn’t it that having vast wealth will only take you into the next level of deprivation when you realise that though the next Ferrari is not a problem buying even a fairly small Van Gogh is.
I am sure that there are some among you who will say, “But how many tickets for the summer draw in Spain do you have?” I would answer you do not need quantity when you have the winning ticket! By such self deception do I lead my life!
All things, as they say, are relative.
And talking of relatives we have to go to Terrassa for the Third Birthday of The Chosen One.
Now in many ways (or more probably all ways) I am dreading this event. It is very difficult to see any positive aspects to the occasion. It is going to be full of small, hyperactive, selfish, screaming, developing human beings; the predominant language is not going to be English; too many of the drinks are going to be fizzy sugar based rather than fizzy grape based; The Chosen One is going to have more presents and at far greater cost than I had when I was three.I will never forget a Christmas in Gilfach when one grandchild simply got bored with opening the mountain of Christmas presents she had! Every Puritan nerve in my body twanged as I observed a level of being spoiled which made my fairly generous upbringing look like the equivalent of being incarcerated in the Château d'If on bread and water with thin gruel as a treat for Christmas!
In The Chosen One’s house there is a small corner by a window which is an ideal hiding place. Obviously the flat is too small to hide in reality, but this corner is perfect for apparently making you part of the festivities, yet, at the same time putting you on the periphery. The window also allows a stream of fresh air to oxygenate the brain cells so that my characteristic form of Fractured Spanish can be called into action and facilitate what passes for conversation with my language skills!
Nicola, Nigel and the girls are off back to Britain today. They have taken the usual ghoulish delight in phoning home to listen to the fall of rain and they have been fortunate in the amount of sunshine they have been able to focus onto Pale Parts. I am sure that Nicola’s legs will turn a very fetching shade of brown as soon as the flaming red has been quenched!
Nigel bewailed the lack of a balcony in the hotel in which they are staying and it is a major minus. There is something slightly sordid sitting on the edge of the bed in a room sipping ice cold laager from a can, whereas there is something altogether civilized and suave in doing exactly the same thing on a balcony watching the setting sun fizzle its way into the sea. I think that they have already selected an hotel which can fulfil this function for their next visit.
Meanwhile Emma, the two Pauls and my cousin Judith have all confirmed their flights and their arrival dates have been added to the calendar. I don’t have much time to polish my language skills before the arrival of Emma, but by the time the others arrive I should have started my lessons in Castelldefels.
I am hoping, with no real evidence, that this time round I will ‘take’ to the lessons and all the new parts of the language that the lessons outline will magically be hard wired into my spoken conversation in Spanish. I also promise to take ‘501 Spanish Verbs’ out of the bookcase and begin to use it properly.
Verbs are pretty important in all languages, but they are the key to Spanish. This is unfortunate as my chosen form of foreign communication is via nouns linked with slurred verb memories. This makes me sound like some form of articulate drunk where listeners have to take the nouns which are pronounced as well as I can make them and guess the context and tense from the mumbled connectives. At least it is a start and when linked to my professional use of the word ‘si’ almost passes for conversation!
Almost.
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