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.
My cunning
Smarties Plan worked to a certain extent.
I pleaded with the chair of the meeting to be let off early mumbling in
my gibberish Spanish that people were waiting at home and I had work to do
before the fiesta started. Drifting from
Spanish to English I am not sure either of us fully understood the other but
what I took from the conversation was that I could leave after the two years in
which I was largely concerned had been “done”.
Having got this assurance (I think) I then put the Smarties Plan into
operation.
A fairly quick
call into the supermarket and home to a full house of Toni’s family sorting
things out. I was ordered to have a
shower and get dressed and, in honour of Wales’ outstanding performance in the
World Cup I donned my red jersey and settled down to enjoy a pica pica meal to
celebrate my birthday.
