The Closed Window - alas!

It is with deep sorrow that I announce the arrival of autumn.  It came into our lives with a characteristic coolness yesterday and its presence has been confirmed by a lack of direct sunlight and lower temperatures today.  To those who continue to wear short sleeved shirts, we salute your refusal to accept the evidence of the thermometer and hope the warmth of your hearts compensate for its lack in the general climate.

There are still touches of blue in an otherwise cloud-covered sky and I cling to my memories of dull days brightening into pleasantness in this country.

The Post Pulveriser’s dogs are barking their morning joy to the world.  Presumably this is because their owner has taken the crippled dog for a walk in its wheeled chariot with the back paws bound in red insulating tape to avoid friction with the ground as their trail uselessly behind the pathetic animal.  As The Woman obviously relates more to her four legged captives than to her human neighbours the sense of loss that her other mutts feel when she takes one of them out to defecate on the surrounding pavements shows in their bewailing her absence with the usual moronic chorus of barks.

I am encouraged to hope that as the Town Hall has been pretty active in taking steps to do something about the parking post destruction they will be equally active in trying to silence her obstreperous pets.  She, and her menagerie are cordially loathed by all her neighbours and I only hope that the others have made complaints as well as us.  Certainly her other neighbour expressed his hatred in an extraordinary exhibition of a combination of Spanish, mime and dog impressions in one conversation with me as we discussed the latest knocking down of the post.

The sun has emerged.  It may be brief, but it has happened!  God bless Catalonia.  I am tempted to fly to the Third Floor and make the most of the seconds that we have been gifted.  Too late the sun went before I could make it.  The weather has now settled down into one of its default modes: “brightly dull” – which is better than dully dull which is too often the default setting for the old country!

There is just so long that you can live in chaos.  It is made easier by the fact that the true chaos is hidden behind the doors of the bookcases, but I kid myself along that it is creative chaos and therefore OK.  The Third Floor however is a different kettle of fish or confusion of objects.

Now there are compelling reasons why the place is so untidy.  Two un-collapsible sun bed cushions and four chairs with their accompanying cushions so create clutter to put it mildly.  This clutter is not helped however by the bits and pieces which have no real home of their own.

The most irritating items which wind their way everywhere are the electrical leads which I am too frightened to throw away.  They are again reaching the sort of critical mass where I have expect them to fuse themselves together into some creature from a gadget-lover’s nightmare.

There are so many leads and so much extra stuff that there is no logical place to start clearing up and I have little desire to make a start “anywhere” as being better than doing nothing.  Nothing sounds good to me.

Lunch was in our usual place where we were surrounded by the massed ranks of the retired.  We are beginning to believe that our motto for a happy and prosperous future should be “Follow the grey” – though thinking about it in my case it should be “Follow the shine” which has a rather nice messianic ring to it. 

It is certainly true that in Castelldefels that the retired have sussed out all the places which give the best value.  If the place you are going to patronize does not have the requisite proportion of “grey-and-shine” it is probably not worth going in.  Or, at the very least, be prepared to pay over the top for what you are going to get!

After lunch we called in to the branch of El Corte Ingles which is on my way to school and, remarkably, came out without spending a thing!

As Toni was tired – his leg does not seem to be improving at the rate that he would like and walking is a real strain – I was sent off to get the nibbles for United Nations Day from the supermarket.

The branch of Carrefour in El Prat (an unfortunate name but it fits the store) is one to test the patience of a good sight more saintly than an easy-going slacker like the laid back St Francis for example.

The background music in the store is not some Muzak Corporation of America version of The Four Seasons (a piece of music made justly famous by its inclusion as the music of choice of so many organizations where “call waiting” is the default setting for customer enquiries) but rather the cries and screams of small children.  Cries and screams which parents seem to assume have the same calming effect on those listening as the gentle lapping of the sea. 

They are misinformed. 

Shopping on a Saturday evening is a very stressful experience and distressed and distressing children do not lessen the strain.  Indeed their harpy (sic) little voices add a veneer of murderous intent to the way you manipulate the trolley.

It is astonishing how little people realize that a crowded store means that progress is more constricted.  They look at items on shelves with their trollies at right angles to said shelf and look surprised when I hiss a request to pass their impregnable fortifications!

The traffic in the main spine-like thoroughfare was a nightmare, sometimes so comically constricted that one suspects one is part of the supermarket re-make of “The Truman Show”!

In one bottleneck because of rampant inconsideration, there was only room for one trolley to pass.  Being the perfect British gentleman I politely kept to one side as three women swept through not one of them having the basic consideration even to note my existence, let alone express passing thanks.

People walked into my path as if the metallic trolley was made of marshmallow.  From time to time I was sorely tempted to demonstrate that metal is slightly harder.

I suppose that I shouldn’t have been shocked at the idiocy of the people in the queue in front of me.  Two North Africans were trying to buy goods using something other than money and credit which necessitated conferences and discussion; a man kept skipping off to find other goods leaving pushchair, child and shopping as a marker for his place; no one appeared to realize that payment was necessary at the end of the beeping procedure and there was the usual frantic search for purse or wallet; packing was painful to watch – and the children screamed on.

When it came to my turn I packed at the same rate that she checked and my card was ready and waiting when the total was spoken: it is not bloody rocket science.

It was night by the time I got out and needed something to raise my spirits – apart from spirits which I usually do not drink.  And drink is something which I can now do as my course of antibiotics is now officially over and alcohol may be consumed.

Tomorrow is a “fun” run and this necessitates the closing of all sorts of roads in our area while the lame, the halt and the mad “enjoy” themselves through the medium of pain.  Each to his own.

 

Barça have drawn against Sevilla with the end of the game descending into violent farce with Kanoute (an excellent player for Sevilla) behaving disgracefully and being sent off, soon to be followed by another player.  And Messi missed a last minute penalty.  The bloody ball went everywhere around the Sevilla goal but in it.  And I can’t believe that I am actually concerned about a mere game of football!  As a passing comment I said that Barça must have had 80% possession.  The statistics at the end of the game pointed out that I was wrong, it was actually 79%.  What is happening to me!

I obviously need more rest.

Obviously.