Cut from the roof/attic space, the third
floor terrace is an ideal spot for a little unseasonal sunbathing.
There is a breeze, and if that touches your
skin you are aware that it is latish October, but in the tranquil sunshine (and
wearing a T-shirt and shorts of course) you can almost believe that summer is
still with you. And I really do want to
believe that.
I hang on to the idea of summer well beyond
what is considered reasonable to the good folk of Castelldefels, and the late
date wearing of shorts is little short of scandalous to my fellow citizens who
wear clothes strictly according to the seasons and the months. No matter if it is sunny: if it is November
it is wintry and clothing should (nay, must) reflect the established winter
dress code, even if the thermometer tells a different story.
In Castelldefels, you can tell that the
summer has officially ended, because they have locked up the street, car
parking ticketing machines. And, believe
you me; in a seaside town as commercially minded as Castelldefels, the only
reason to stop reaping the financial benefits from those rapacious machines is
money. Out of season, people need every
inducement to visit our beaches and our town and free parking is essential to
get the footfall to keep us going. But
over the last few days, yes, we have had torrential rain, but we have also had
temperatures in the mid twenties - and those are warm enough (even with the
‘touch of seasonal reality’ breezes) to make a walk along our extensive beaches
a true pleasure. Or, in my case,
cycle. Electrically.
We had lunch outside too, today. A new restaurant with a reasonably priced, at
least for the weekend, menu del dia (14.90 Euros) including as they always do,
a three-course meal (for me: Lacón - this is dried pork shoulder, cut into
slices and served hot with sliced potatoes garnished with pimentón picante; salmon
with battered vegetables; fruit) with bread and a drink. We also had some mini empanadas as an
aperitif.
Because of the positioning of the spaces
and the buildings around the restaurant, there was a fairly continuous breeze
that was just this side of acceptable to me, and coat-wearingly acceptable for
Toni. All in all a decent meal, with the
only exception being the fruit. Given
the medical strictures that surround our eating habits now, fruit is the only
reasonable choice. Toni chose the last
mandarins and I had to make do with an orange.
When these arrived they looked wizened and old, and tasted like they
looked. There is no excuse for serving a
poor orange in Spain, none at all - but, as Toni pointed out, finding decent
tasty fruit is becoming more and more difficult.
And that, always brings me back to the
dearth of Cox’s Orange Pippins. I cannot
remember the last date on which I had one of those apples, but I certainly do
remember the taste: sweetness in depth with a complexity of flavour that
matched a decent glass of wine. Why are
they not widely available? And why do
we, today, have to make do with a variety like Pink Lady? The relationship between a Pink Lady and a
Cox’s Orange Pippin is like that between fat-free milk and Devon clotted cream:
they are both from the same family, but galaxies apart!
It does sometimes seem churlish to moan
about some things, when I am typing this with the door to the terrace open, the
sun is shining and a garish kite-surfing canopy is floating, spectrally, above
the trees that block my view of the sea.
There! A perfect example of
unjustified dissatisfaction! I am so
near the sea that I can hear the waves and the clink of the tackle against the
masts of the boats dragged up on to the beach, but I cannot see the sea. At least not from my seat. Even when I leave my seat it takes a little
bit of contortion to get a glimpse of the big blue! But it is within a couple of minutes walk. And, quite frankly, that should be enough. Though it never is. Satisfaction is stultification. To progress is to be greedy. And other ‘thoughts for the day’ that go the way
of all flesh!
Talking of progress, I have to create a WhatsApp
group for the students in our Catalan class, as I am now one of the two student
representatives of our class. And, no, I
did not volunteer, but I will approach the first meeting of the representatives
with the clear thought in my head that it cannot possibly be worse than any of
the staff meetings in The School on the Hill.
And, fortified by that consoling thought, I
will set about making the new WhatsApp group a reality.
Never let it be said that my weekends were
anything other than creative!
