The site is almost empty but that might change at the week end as the Spanish begin arriving for the Easter period which begins April 17th, Palm Sunday, and goes on for two weeks. There are lots of festivals planned locally and some big ones in the city of Almeria, We may get the bus and take some of them in. I say “may” because at the moment, it's 10am, and Tricia is still in bed and suffering from a bout of myalgic encephalomyelitis (ME), which started yesterday and is usually a result of strenuous walking, like what we did in Granada. This has happened before when we've done hard or long walks/cycle rides for two of three consecutive days and she's ended up in bed for a couple of days to get over it. So we may not be going anywhere for a while, mind it doesn't effect her appetite (what does?) so I will be relentlessly sent to the shops for provisions I guess.
Went for a short walk to the beach with the video camera to shoot some scenes of the kite surfers as the wind is really getting up, camera nearly blown out of my hand! Went straight back.
Saying that, although it is very warm, the wind has picked up considerably, as forecast said, so cycling would be right out anyway. I may get to creep off later this evening to the Spinnaker as Man City are playing Man United., in the semi finals of the FA cup, should be a good game.
OK game and City won 1 – 0.
I had taken some “snap” along as the prices there are pretty steep so I just nipped out at half time, back to the car and saved some €'s, only had one drink for the whole of the match though.
Got back and she had had roast chicken with all the trimmings, ill eh?
Doms and beaten 3 – 2 and then the DVD “Crash”, well some of it as SWMBO fell a sleep again.
Sunderland got beat 2 – 0 by Birmingham City, not looking good.
Sunday 17th April 2011, still very windy.
Looks like Tricia's ME is going to be around for a while and I was told, when I got up at 8am, “Don't wake me up, ever!”
Popped round to see David and Elaine to let them know that our boules match was going to be called off this Sunday, they were concerned for Tricia, but OK and threatened to thrash us at a later date.
Of course the ME does not diminish her appetite so when she finally arose, probably because she could overhear me Skyping Adam and talking about the problems he was having with our/his Porsche. “So where's me breakfast, then, eh?”
Chucky eggs, soldiers, fresh squeezed OJ, tea and a half toasted baguette covered with thick cold butter and marmalade, sometimes she has to rough it you know. I had cut the half baguette in half again lengthways and one half was bigger than the other and as I placed it on the table her eyes became glued to the bigger half on my side of the plate. It was like watching a small child picking the largest piece of cake at a party. She looked at the plate, then at my back as I was getting the tea and was just reaching for the big bit and I turned round and she hesitated and took the bit closer to her.
By the look of disappointment accompanied with hatred, if such expressions can coexist, and thinking I wanted to be still attached to the two roundish objects I cherish so much, I gave her the big piece. Tensions eased and the morning progressed without further event.
Because of the dearth of Ericks there is no used copies of Die Welt to read and unfortunately I read the Telegraph on line. Hell's teeth! Libya, the national debt, the £ to the €, the price of fuel, the UK is going to hell in a hand cart.
The rest of the day was just hanging around the MS and reading.
Played Doms in the evening and because I beat her so badly she wanted to play last double in the box to get even. We were down to the last two with double six to come, my turn. She put her hands over her eyes and cried “I can't look!” Of course while she did this I did, and then I picked the winning domino. “Did you look?” “Er........”. You bloody did didn't you?” “Er........”. All physically debilitating problems connected with her ME disappeared instantly as I was pelted with dominos all round the MS, a four one nearly broke the kitchen window, bad loser.
Started to watch Murphy's Law, an English crime series made around 2000'ish, OK I guess.
Monday 18th April 2011, RDM.
Tried a three mile walk to Mercadona and back, she was kinda OK but suffered a bit later that night. Funny thing is, I'm physically OK now, toes OK and can walk and cycle and was getting back to losing some of the tummy I have developed and now we're doing nothing again because she can't. I have to cut back on the BAW again.
We have discovered tortilla wraps and I made a batch with chicken, red peppers, onion, salad etc. They were delicious! The operative word being “were” as we've eaten ten in two days, the “we” being mostly SWMBO, did I mention her appetite is unaffected?
A few more motorhomes are leaving but are being replace by Spanish, mainly in tents, why do they all have dogs/ Which they immediately let loose, although there are notices saying that dogs are to be kept on a lease, and of course they pee and crap all over the place, the dogs, not the Spanish that is.
Wind finally dropping but the forecast is for cooler and varied weather for the next couple of weeks, ho hum.
This evening, last of the tortillas and cribbage, (me), ML and bed at 11 o'clock.
Tuesday 19th April 201,1 RDM, did not sleep well at all.
You know I go on about dominos, results and sometimes violent aftermath of some dubious games, and I have come to realise how central the “game” is to our lives. I mean it's not exactly life and death, it's more important than that. It's hardly surprising when you think about the history and tactics of, what must surely become an Olympic sport in the near future.
We play 12's, that is, there are 28 “bones” or “tiles” in a set and we draw 12 each leaving 4 back in the pack. This means you are never sure what your opponent actually has although using statistics and the tactics you employ, you can make good guesses. With “all out” games, where all bones are used, every domino is out there so tactics are your main weapon.
I was basically taught by my Mum who took the game rather seriously and used to thrash me repetitively with her slipper whenever I played the wrong domino, and forced salted tripe down my throat if I played a double too early, I learnt quickly!
She also instilled into me the basic laws and unwritten rules of the noble sport, that have not only allowed me to play dominoes to an adequate level but also provide me with the basic fundamentals for living life itself. Some are self evident but please indulge me here.
“Never play a six three early in the game if there is a “r” in the month”.
“When mixing the pack prior to playing, endeavour to keep your thumb on the double blank”.
“Never play 5 & 3's with friends or relatives, it will only end in tears”, I know this as a fact as I played once, and only once, with the wife, the blood stains never came out of the carpet to this day. “If you are going to “bugger” someone's double, make sure a sharp object and a clear escape is at hand”.
“Anyone who can't hold a least 6 doms in one hand is a puff, 7 is impressive, 8 is just showing off”.
Are just some but not all.
The history of doms is interesting as well, did you know they found a set in Tutankhamen's tomb, bet he didn't play for matches! The modern game “apparently” came from Italy in the 18th century but I know, 'cos my Mum told me that they were playing the game long before that, down the pits in the North East of England.
The history from that part of the world is full of larger than life characters who would travel from pit to pit with their demountable board and doms set.
The brilliant Tommy Pearson who at one time took on 24 simultaneous games at Murton Colliery working man's club for a pint of “Fed” per game. He drunk himself into oblivion on the proceeds and was found naked, lying in a stream full of nettles clutching a five two and a double three. He was buried three days later in his native Sunderland. Unfortunately his liver had to be cremated on humanitarian grounds two days after that and the resulting conflagration caused half of Vaux brewery, being next door, to burn down and therefore deprive the hardened drinkers of that town to a very thirsty two weeks prohibition.
Three men, George Bentley, George Pears and George Armstrong, after not having a bottle of Vaux Double Maxim for nearly a week, drove the infamous 12 miles north to “Newcastle” and partook of a very poor and inferior copy of Double Maxim called Newcastle Brown Ale, which incidentally has never been heard of since. Anyway, after they were later tarred and feathered, they were forever referred to as the “George boys” or Geordies, or “Traitorous Geordie Bastids, all of them” as all people from Newcastle are quite rightly known today.
Peter Herrington declared a false knock in the Blue Bell in Cleadon and was stoned to death round the back of the pub while Brian Ferris (no relation), who placed a five three the wrong way round at Silksworth Colliery's annual play off was found staked out at the pit head with “Cheating Bastid”, in what looked like hobnailed boots, etched on his naked torso.
John Thompson was seen “tampering” with the back of a double six, in a mixed pairs doubles match in Whitburn village hall and had two empty domino boxes forced up his “back passage”, he has never been able to fart audibly ever since.
Probably the worst case involved Arthur Gladstone, who smuggled in an identical extra five blank into a crucial pub play off semi final in the snug of the Fish and Eagle in Hebburn. Not only was he struck off the Dole office Christmas card list but suffered the ultimate indignity, he was packed off without a penny in his pocket, to live down “Sarf” and is presently suffering a turgid existence as a traffic warden in Middlesbrough.
Of course men and women can play the game so it is very egalitarian in it's essence. My Mum took it up late in life, just after she'd buried my Dad, who was still alive at the time but a few stern clouts with a four pound mell hammer put paid to that. She won many prizes “working the tables” in north east pubs and clubs and became pretty good at darts, or “arras” as she called them. I can still see her coffin littered with all her trophies as it drew past the curtains and into the flames of the “Crem”, and thinking, “I wish I'd kept a few of those, they must be worth a few bob”.
BTW do not ever, and I mean ever, make the mistake I did a while back and tried to introduce SWMBO to the fine art of darts. When I first placed a set of soft tipped snub nosed Red Dragon darts in her hand, her eyes glazed at first and then became all “flinty” with the same sort of look she has when her .22 air pistol in her possession. We started off by seeing who was nearest the bull, I said “Barrrr” and she said “Moooo” and as she was closest, she went first.
Now playing darts, or chucking the arras, with an unrestrained woman in the confines of the MS is an experience I do not want to live through (and I barely did) again. There were and still are, holes everywhere. When someone visits and enquires after the cause of them I explain, “woodworm”. One guy pointed out the other day that it was a funny kind of woodworm as I seem to have it in the plastic TV speakers as well.
Back to today which is mainly cloudy with the hint of rain up there, don't know if SWMBO is planning some kind of walk as she doesn’t think she is 100% yet, was she ever?
Three mile walk to the village and back again is all she can muster and the rest of the day watching the odd shower of brown rain and reading.
Had to replace 14.5 Kg Repsol gas bottle, only lasted six weeks and it's gone up to €15, bloody hell, that means gas is costing us 36 cents a day for all our cooking and the fridge freezer, daylight robbery, that is! (Calor would cost about 3-4 times as much, go figure)
Home made beefburgers, real chips, not micro or pan fried, peas, egg, fried onions and tomato, el fresco, brilliant.
Doms, me 3S, ML which is basically a half hour program stretched out to one and a half hours and last nights episode was totally crap, if it does not improve we will have to go back to Battlestar Galactica. All the American series have been very good, I'm afraid the Brits just can't do it to the same standard. Bed at 12'ish to be woken up minutes later by some Spaniard arriving and setting up his Caravan at half past bloody midnight!
Wednesday 20th April 2011, weather better and other than the usual 3 mile walk into the village did nothing but lie in the Sun and read all day. Not washing the car again as although we only get the odd shower, about 0.1 mm, now and again in the night, it's still brown rail and most things are left speckled brownish.
Orange man turned up after a 3 month layoff, bought 10 Kg for €5 (bargain!) and have made up 2 litres of OJ which is now cooling in the fridge.
Tricia says she is getting better but still has the odd relapse and is at present, it's 6:15 pm, having a lie down in a darkened bedroom. The smell of my cooking the dinner in about half an hour, will no doubt revive her.
Thursday 21st April 2011, RDM.
Stop press!
Something happened last night that ranks up there with the appearance of Halley's comet, the second coming and me buying the beers down the club, in other words, as rare as rocking horse shit. Tricia didn't want any dinner last night! Of course I thought I had misheard or she was just joking but then again I've never, and I mean never, known her to actually “joke” about food.
She had been lying in the sun most of the day, obviously having a rough time of it and managed our walk and some lunch and then some OJ. Then about 6'ish she is complaining of a headache and I'm sent to the pharmacist to get some more paracetamol tablets. Went to the first one and he told me that although he was a pharmacist he didn't actually sell any kind of drugs? How the hell can someone make a living selling, as I looked around me, sun tan and wrinkle creams? Hang on where about's in the world am I, er....Spain, oh yes, well. So I go the the next one and get a box of 650 mg tablets, get back and stuff a few down her throat and naturally start getting the chips on.
“Don't feel well, am going to bed, can't eat, don't want any dinner”. Well I very nearly dropped my potato peeler, those were words I thought I would never hear. Still, I put the chips on and with the frying aroma winning over the maximum strain of the “fantastic vent”, she rallied with “Oh well, put a few chips on a plate with a buttered baguette”. But it was not to be! “No, no don't, I just can't eat, going to bed”.
Well you could have knocked me down with a tin of Frey Bentos corned beef, and if I think about that one, it's probably true of anyone.
So I had my chilli, with extra chips, watched “Crash” on the PC, read Ken Follet's, “Fall of Giants” and then about 1 am, went to bed to the accompanied sounds of fireworks and car horns coming from El Parador, two miles away, don't ask.
Woke up this morning about 6'ish and immediately felt for a pulse, she thought I was getting fresh so I got a slap, well she's still with us at least, let's see what the day brings.
Our moving date is going to be 3rd May so that's just under two weeks away, worked it out and it's going to be about €1,200 for 5 months inc. electric, not bad I think, just under €8/day.
Not much to do really as there's nothing else we want to visit in the region and with SWMBO a bit laid up it's going to be reading a lot I guess.
There are quite a few Spanish on the site, mainly caravans and tents, as we build up to Easter, also means a lot more kids running about, ho hum.
We decided to walk to the Thursday market in Roquetas which is on, remarkably, every Thursday and she finally bought the kind of hat she has been looking for. Problem is she now calls everybody “partner” and keeps on saying “Manos arriba! Manos arriba!” and “We'll head them off at the pass!” God help us for small mercies.
 |
| The Spanish are coming |
 |
| "Head them off at the pass!" |
No comments:
Post a Comment