The End Day

Another delicious lie-in yesterday and then phoning to find out just how much the bonus-consuming incompetents have squandered of my hard gained savings.

I didn’t find out because phoning the unreachable sequestered fools was asking for far too much.  The telephone in the centre of the multi-billion pound empire built on my money was engaged.  All the time.

I was forced to go to the web site and forcing my memory to re-live many frustrating phone calls I eventually managed to find my way onto the site and saw that the savings had reduced since I last looked.

I will have to take a vow not to look at this disastrous investment until it has reached its laughable maturity or at least until I can take my money out of the grasping, avaricious hands of those who pay themselves out of the dwindling resources they are supposed to increase.  God rot them all!  They are wasting my future and making it more difficult for me to stay alive long enough to ensure that I get back every penny (with interest) that I have paid into my superannuation fund.

Today I went to the bank to find out what I was supposed to do with an investment which has actually made me money.  Not that I have seen any of it and I do not expect to.

Last year I invested some of my lump sum in the Generalitat as they were offering a competitive rate of interest because they were desperate for the cash.  I relied on the Generalitat trying to bribe me at the end of this year to leave my money where it was at an even higher rate.  This they have done and I went to the bank to keep the money out of my hot little hands for a further two years.

The only reason I was able to get to the bank was because this was a holiday.  Given my working day and the notorious humanity and consideration of banks, it is impossible for me to go to my bank except on some holidays.

As small branch banks now seem to be staffed by one suited teenager I was prepared for a long wait.  There were people in front of me and, as usual, the pair at the desk appeared to be doing the paperwork for the Greek National Debt and possible solutions thereof.  When the man left, the woman stayed as they had not been at the desk for the customary half and hour during which fifteen trees’ worth of paper was signed, stamped and photocopied.

The next person up was a young skater who, in a slapstick version of a person using a bank, produced coins from every pocket and orifice and piled all of the coins on the desk.  My high pitched scream of naked frustration was only mental but it must have reached the cerebral cortex of the suited child because he became officiously dismissive and demanded that the child count the coins himself and put them in containers which the slightly older child behind the desk provided.

Another member of the counter staff appeared as if my magic and rapidly disappeared with someone who had come into the bank after me.

When I finally got the head of the queue and explained why I was there I was told that I needed to see the man who now already engaged with the pusher-in.

The only light spot was provided by an importunate young man clutching a handful of five hundred euro notes who was given short shrift about whatever it was that he wanted to do and he reacted by walking about in all directions and radiating barely concealed fury.

When I finally got to the other worker there I simply had to sign my name a few times and I was done.  I then made the mistake of deciding to get my bankbook up to date.  These books can be fed into the hole in the wall and be updated while you wait.  With wait being the operative word.

The hole in the wall was being occupied by a young couple.  You know that things are gong to be long and involved when the gentleman of the pair starts rummaging around in his little handbag slung across his chest and taking out his mobile phone for guidance.

As the queue grew they inside the kiosk were lucky that they left just before we got the flaming torches and pitchforks!

A trip out to one of our local supermarkets was necessary to find the presents for the double name day on Friday when another trip up to Terrassa is called for.  But the presents are bought and wrapped with days to go so one element of panic has now been removed.

Lunch was in a little café outside the main shopping centre which seemed to be patronized by the workers rather than shoppers and was excellent value for money.  If rather lacking in the ponceness that I like in food.

Toni and I have invented a variation on an old theme for a new starter.  I am the only adult I know who likes arroz a la cubana which is basically rice, tomato sauce and a fried egg.  When Toni went to Cuba and asked the natives if they actually ate this combination he was told that they had no idea what he was talking about.  We decided to make the Cuban element more obvious and so a new recipe was born.

Real Cuban Rice: the quick way.

Ingredients (for two)

2 Microwave Rice Portions

1 packet of tomate frito (tomato sauce)

2 hard-boiled eggs

Flat leaf parsley

Chives

Rum

Salt and pepper to taste

Balsamic vinegar sauce

Method

Hard boil the eggs and let them cool.

When the eggs are cold, shell and mash them roughly with a fork and add chopped fresh parsley and reserve.

Heat the frito in a small saucepan gently, adding salt and pepper to taste and a dash of Tabasco if desired.  When simmering remove from the heat and allow to cool a little.  Stir in the rum to taste.

Cook the rice and empty onto a plate keeping its shape from the container.

Spoon the frito over the rice so that it runs down and surrounds the mound.

Place the egg over the sauce.

Decorate with artistic swirls of balsamic sauce, a sprig of parsley and two deftly placed stalks of chive.

Delicious.

It makes an excellent hot starter.

I am sure that there must be a wickedly appropriate follow up to that last line, but what the hell, I’m on holiday. 

For the next few hours anyway.