I will resist!

The clouds in the adverse weather in the United Kingdom were only matched in their potency by those of alcohol which surrounded my nine-day sojourn in Wales - and it all started with an innocent pint of bitter.

I had been looking forward to my pint for a number of months and the interval in the Mozart concert seemed like an ideal time for me to partake of a beverage which used to be as mother’s milk to me.  Having purchased an ice-cold pint (over priced admittedly, but cold and to hand) I was not even allowed to enjoy that in peace before I saw a couple of people whom I knew and was being whisked away, pint in hand down a flight of steps to view one of Ceri’s paintings.

When I got home, Friday Night Club was in full flow in every sense of the word and I was swept along on the river of alcohol and I made the cardinal mistake of the sober while drowning and opened my mouth!

The next day after a night of pontificating with increasing authority (is that a device where I am needless repeating a word’s sense by using another one – and yes, I have forgotten the technical word for it, but I am sure it will all come to me in a flash when I am not expecting it) [Tautology (Ed.)] as the unnatural quantities of wine slipped down my throat was one of pain and increasing tiredness.

And The Party – the reason for my being in Wales in the first place was in the evening.  The evening seem to gallop towards us, casting aside the hours as if they were minutes which meant that the perceived amount of time available for recovery from the last excess was illusory.

And so into the party with more alcohol as glasses were constantly topped up for flitting waiters and then back to Louise’s sister’s house for more drinks.  And I had been in Cardiff for less than thirty hours!

The Light Supper with Hadyn was gratifyingly un-light and was accompanied by bottles of wine whose numbers were well into the teens – between four of us!

The meal with Ceri and Dianne was wonderful with a tasty start, a melt in the mouth main course and a bought-in splendour for dessert.  All of which was accompanied by wine which flowed like water – except for the fact that I do not think that I drank that quantity of water during my stay!

The final delight (or horror depending on your abstemious point of view) was an evening with friends and colleagues.  This was in Skellini’s (sp?) an Italian restaurant whose chef and I used to play at squash.  The two Pauls and I were early and so had virtually drunk a bottle of wine before our lady guests arrived.  They were much appreciative of their corsages but we went through the usual rigmarole of trying to fit them to some part of the female attire to show them off in all their restrained splendour!

It was only when the bill arrived that we realized just how much a bottle of wine had cost and which went some way to explaining the eye wateringly large amount that it had cost us to “eat” there.  It gives you some idea of how much we spent that the restaurant actually gave us a bottle while we were waiting for the non-arriving taxi – on a night when Wales were being thrashed by the All Blacks and patriotic Welshmen were drowning their sorrows

The boys did not really surface until the afternoon and by then I had had my much anticipated “Tutorial” with the Open University via the Elluminate site.  Our tutorial was, to put it mildly, a somewhat cumbersome affair with a lot of time spent getting on to the system and finding out just how to use it.

One person, of course, had major problems and was like a lorne, lorst soul bleating about his inability to be heard like some second hand Dickensian minor character in one of the more irritating minor novels.

On this system only one voice can be heard at a time and to speak you have to click on a “hand up” button and are then given a number which indicates the order in which you can contribute.  As we were also reading text messages, mostly from the lone-lorst, trying to keep the thread of what was happening was difficult.  Add to that the fact that I would rather have been in my bed, Paul Squared appearing like a zombie and the telephone going off while I was reading out a portion of Buddhist scripture in a low and thrilling voice and you have an event which was not the most intellectually satisfying I have ever had! But it was a start and gave me at least some idea of the calibre of the characters who I am going to have to deal with in the next element of the course.

I could look back on two aged relatives visited; friends partied with; friends eaten with; friends visited; friends shopped with; old friends looked up: one Lady of the Front Desk of Eastern Leisure seen; shop workers sweet talked; Indian food enjoyed; next seasons clothes bought; inexplicable purchases packed safely away; two umbrellas lost; one umbrella found; a British bank account considerably lightened, and a general feeling that I had “been somewhere”!

And then it was Sunday and the day of my return.

The experience at Bristol Airport was awful.  The flight was called in good time, but we were directed to the furthest gate where we formed a long, hot, sticky queue until we were passed into another holding pen where we were simply left to fume.  Well, I fumed.  As usual there was a delay and as is even more usual (and yes, I know that is not conventional English but it help me keep calm) no one told us anything until we finally moved over the cold, wet, windy tarmac to the plane.

In spite of the delay we made good time to Barcelona and arrived a little ahead of schedule and the baggage handling was reasonable as well.

Unpacking has been done in the usual resentful way that I use at both ends of the process, but this time I feel that I am justified because I am typing this at the end of a day when I have been called back to our local school to spend a mind-numbingly tedious day supervising exams.  At least I do not have to mark them!  And I am paid!

I positively ran out of school at the end of the day just in case I happened to pass the path of the lady who asked me to come in and found out that there were people who would be out of school the next day and they might be needing a hapless supply person!

This evening, after a “welcome back swim” in the pool next door, I will contemplate the final unpacking of the case with all the washing and putting away that it entails.

I think that we will go out for tapas.  And I will drink fizzy water!

Well, that didn’t happen!  Toni is not well and couldn’t go out and, more interestingly I found messages waiting for me from the School on the Hill asking me to return to replace a replacement who has now, most inconveniently developed pneumonia – just at the height of the examination season!

The story develops!

Old times!

The weather has now taken on a form of malevolent vindictiveness that I can only call personal in the way that it has assaulted me throughout my stay in Wales.  The freezing drizzle that greeted me in Bristol Airport has now developed into driving rain lashing against the house with all the gusto that near gale force winds can give it.  Flood warnings abound and Toni cackles with maniacal laughter as he regales me with descriptions of the balmy conditions in Castelldefels!

I have to console myself with the compulsive buying of anything I can get my hands on to compensate for the helio-debt that is being racked up as I continue my stay in this sodden country.

So far I have been relatively modest in my gadget acquisitions with only a pair of Wi-Fi headphones, four coat hooks, a mini umbrella, a pair of zoom binoculars and a pair of braces making up my haul!

I have discovered that in purely Tesco point’s terms I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.  Whenever I come to the UK and whenever I shop in the larger stores I always tender my points cards in spite of the fact that I rarely get to see any indication of what benefits might accrue to me.  Today the full extent of my spending in Tesco and my consequent gains in points was graphically exhibited by the astonishment of the salesperson as she gasped out the information that had a stored total of 4,300 points!

The bother of getting these five-year’s worth of points translated into something spendable was a little complicated by the realization of head office that my points “scheme” was woefully out of date and would have to be translated into something more contemporary for me to gain.  Two telephone calls (courtesy of the information desk in Tesco Pengam) later I was informed that my newly discovered gains would be sent to my British “address” in Rumney and therefore fall into the grasping hands of the Pauls who have been sworn to respect the sanctity of any riches-laden envelope from Tesco addressed to me at their house!

Yesterday we had a “light supper” with Haydn – whose concept of “light” certainly does not match my own – which was absolutely delicious.  We were given a masterly version of one of his mother’s recipes for a chicken dish which was distinctly Moroccan and he has promised to give me the recipe and I think that I will hold him to that!

As Paul had school the next day they left before midnight, but Haydn and I continued talking about the finer points of Anglican theology.  Ah, such things I miss!

This evening is a night in – and I must say that we need it!  If only to allow our kidneys to re-group and prepare themselves for the rigors of two more dinners on Friday and Saturday!

Toni’s umbrella is now safely bought and already packed so I can enjoy the rest of my time in the UK!

Paul Squared has prepared a spaghetti Bolognese which I am going to try and eat without red wine.  Fat chance!

Back to the rains!

There is nothing more chilling than the pilot of the plane that you are in telling you in a chatty conversational sort of way that the fog on the runway at Bristol was at the top end of the tolerances that the aircraft could manage and that there was a distinct possibility of being diverted to another airport.

The dull thudding noise that followed this announcement was the sound of my head hitting the seat in front as I contemplated with horror the possibility of all my plans going awry and slumped forward in despair.

In the event we landed safely (if a little bumpily) and we were soon out into the fog shrouded, drizzle soaked delights of Bristol Airport.

For once we did not have the epic walk to passport control as the plane thoughtfully parked itself directly outside the door down the stairs to what was usually a packed cattle pen of disgruntled travellers waiting for the stony faced official to let them in.  Not this time!  Straight through!

Even the car was upgraded as direct compensation for the atrocious weather conditions!

The drizzle became driving rain as I was indeed driving and thus my welcome back to the old country was complete.

On the positive side, tickets were available for the concert in Saint David’s Hall and so, after a reviving glass of wine with the Pauls I set off into the murky depths of town to join the throngs who were already there waiting to watch Wales being defeated at rugby by Samoa.

Oblivious to the impending sporting disaster the extra people in town meant that parking in John Lewis was a little more drawn out and I got to the Hall as the concert was starting and therefore could not be allowed in until the first item on the programme (Masonic Funeral Music by Mozart K477/K479A) I was allowed to stand at the back until the item ended and then I took my rather fine seat.

Looking around at the audience there were many faces that I recognized from previous visits, though I have to admit that the faces were more creased and the hair a little sparser!

Hans Werner Henze’s “Movements from the Requiem” followed with the selection being the Introitus, Agnus Dei and Sanctus.  I don’t know if I am getting older and more liberal in my approach to modern music, but I found the music delicate and lyrical with the two soloists Simon Phillippo (piano) and Dean Wright (trumpet) playing the part of voices in this wordless piece of music.  Splendid performances all round with the Orchestra of Welsh National Opera playing the taxing music with ease and style.

The main part of the concert was a performance of Mozart’s Requiem Mass in D Minor, K626 when the orchestra was joined by the Chorus of Welsh National Opera for a spirited rendition of the music.  The Rex Tremendae sent shivers down my spine and I remembered how much I enjoyed live orchestra musical performances.  I really must make more effort to go to more concerts in Barcelona, in spite of the difficulties of travel and the extra expense involved.

In the interval Mike and Lyn hove into view and a pleasingly esoteric conversation ensued.  I was tempted to reply in the affirmative when asked if I had come to Wales specifically for the night’s performance, as it had the right ring of pretention to it, but truth won out in the end and I admitted that it was for the celebration of a birthday that I was there.

The exhibition in the foyer contained some of Ceri’s paintings: one dramatic painting of an almost geometric cliff whose placing in the exhibition meant that it had impact even at a distance going up the stairs, and another smaller “Dutch” landscape.  I didn’t really have time to do justice to the paintings, but I will return – and this time remember to have lunch under St David’s Hall and not in the disappointing carvery restaurant of the Hall itself.

My return to Rumney allowed me to join the end of Friday Night Club and my eventual falling into bed reminded me that I no longer have my “British” capacity for taking drink!

Today, Saturday, is the day of the party and we still haven’t bought Louise her present.

Alas!  It is now Monday and I have lapsed, yet again, from the straight and narrow of typing every day.  Time to make up.

The party was a great success and the present worked too.

Louise needed Champagne (or as we say in Catalonia, Cava) glasses.  We therefore decided, in a spirit of mischievous jollity to buy some cheap glasses in the “What!” shop and purchase others of finer quality so that we could present her with the first as her ostensible present and then shock her with the quality of the second lot.

Finding cheap glasses of the sort I had in mind was not quite as easy as we had thought and finding decent ones in the time that we had available for the purchase was even more difficult.  Eventually, the cheap glasses bought, we searched for the better ones.  And didn’t find them.  The traffic by this point was so atrocious that the thought of going into town was a daunting one and I could feel desperation begin to scratch at my nerves.

We succeeded however in finding a modern, hand-made glass with a solid stumpy stem which turned out to absolutely perfect for Louise to hold.  They looked so good, in fact that I handed over the present to her with a certain degree of reluctance as I thought that they would look good in Castelldefels!

As we bought the last of the supply in the shop where we eventually found them, there is no possibility of my being able to take a supply home with me.  Greater selflessness has any glass aficionado than to see prime examples of the glassmakers’ art go to another!

In spite of alcoholic exhaustion from the excesses of Mozart and the Friday Night Club which meant that we three were not at our sparkling best at 5.30 pm on the Saturday, we did manage to be the Last To Go from the drinks party after the birthday party and we finally (well, I finally) fell into bed at about 2.30 am on Sunday morning.

My drink intake however was moderate in comparison with certain others and I was able to face the world after a few hours sleep with something other than fatalistic resignation.

Lunch was an excellent lamb dinner cooked by Paul Squared and my dish came with the gravy already added as Paul was determined not to allow me to forego the pleasure.  My attitude to gravy is one which Paul does not understand.  I like gravy, but decide not to have any with my meal.  If given gravy I eat it with gusto and relish but that does not mean that the next time that I am offered this delight that I am going to want it.  As I like gravy, Paul finds my attitude perplexing and downright stupid.  Even I find it a little contradictory, but it makes more sense to me that to others!

Now it is Monday and the skies have opened and it is pouring with rain with skies of that sort of infinite greyness that suggest that the sun has never and will never shine.

Ah well, this is the weather that everyone thinks is traditional in Wales.  And who am I to buck tradition.

Off to Uncle Eric!

A small thing but our own!

I know that, by now I should have grown out of such things but one just goes into overdrive when the cultural status of one’s country is called into question.

It all started with the Electric Submarine – not, as you might think some late sixties early seventies pop group but the actual thing itself.  It turns out, and I am compelled to accept it as some sort of truth, that it might be that the first fully electric submarine might possibly have some degree of Catalan involvement in its production.  I have had this thrown in my face for so long that I was finally goaded to look up a list of Great British Inventions and so began the long trading of one national invention against another.

In what was a remarkable piece of information for me I actually exacerbated the discussion by finding a web site which actually suggested that one of the most famous inventions of the Spanish was Coca-Cola!

You will have to look at the “right” web sites for confirmation, but the one that I looked at (About.com) also included the beret, table football, fish and chips, the mop, sherry, the acoustic guitar and chess!

After this onslaught I was forced to bring in the Big Guns of British inventions where the invention of the postage stamp was one of the more trivial brainwaves when taking radar, the jet engine and the locomotive into consideration – not counting what one site claimed at the greatest British invention, namely The United States of America!

Toni, thereupon changed tack and started to claim Catalan inventions and demanded to know what Wales had given the world.

It turns out that our greatest single invention was the equals sign.

Although I could (and did) point out to Toni that, without the invention of that particular mathematical point the computer on which he was typing would not exist – he seemed particularly unimpressed!

Greater research is needed!

No packing has been done, but Toni’s zest for organization has reached new heights in the reordering of what used to be the chaos of the Third Floor.

My loose CDs are now securely packed into more professional looking cases with even room for expansion!

A structure has been created for my laptop to act as a sort of screen for my studies and I have been forced (forced!) to buy a new wireless keyboard (with integrated touch pad) to make the new sophisticated set up work.  God alone knows what new excesses of reorganization will have been put into effect by the time I get back to Castelldefels after my time in the UK!

After the last few days it is just as well that I am ahead of the official schedule as the variety of trips that we have made to the various shops selling things like door handles, wood, drawers, CD holders and things of that sort have been almost without number.  And have certainly taken up time.

On the positive side the house is getting back into some sort of state of reasonable repair as all the niggling jobs are steadily getting done – though at what cost!  Not necessarily in terms of cash but certain when the amount of time spent on the most trivial of tasks is counted up.

I look on all of it as displacement activity to stop my packing.

Which must be done by Thursday evening because the flight to Bristol is at a reasonably early hour.

The grey suit will have to be packed yet again!  It is truly having something of an outing this year!