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JANUARY
ON THE MOVE
With the economic crisis becoming ever more gloomy, H decided it was time we cut our coat according to our cloth. Out with the apartment in the city (retaining a bijou residence in an up and coming area) and in with a house in the campo.
‘Casa Est’ is a challenge that once bitten may turn out to be more than we can chew. Hector (remember he of the chicken saga – see January 2010 column) and his team of builders have been working on it all winter – and, no, I don’t want to go there, just the thought of the various calamities, refusals to do what I want and fits of machismo makes me tense and tearful – and now what was once a small house within an acre of (late) orange grove, is now a bigger house. On a good day the garden looks like an unkempt park, with twelve false pepper trees dotted about - and on a bad day like a field. The whole plot is a mass of weeds that are so daunting I can scarcely bear to look at them. On the other hand, we have a new swimming pool, sun terraces and a courtyard garden with a Carob tree. We are now the proud owners of a country house in the foothills of the mountains with great views and good access – if you don’t count the riverbed that serves for our lane – and the dogs that never stop barking – and the neighbours who stare at us suspiciously – and the telephone/internet connection that hangs precariously from the ceiling in the studio off the sun terrace (no access to the main house – don’t ask), where Hector directed Telefonica to put it because – he did. I could go on but it’s too depressing. And don’t mention the sanitary arrangements. Still, H loves it and that’s the main thing.
ISN’T LANGUAGE ENDLESSLY FASCINATING?
Whilst teaching phonemes the other day one of my students asked me to give the meaning of ‘treasure’. I said we could use it in different ways: a ‘treasure’ can be someone we cherish, or it can refer to money – as in a hoard, or it can be goods or money plundered – as in piracy – booty. In Spanish it’s ‘botin’ pronounced ‘booteen’.
WHAT?
When my very good friend Amelie proposed lunch last week, she asked me if I would mind picking up the third in our girlie outing as I was passing close by her house. As Erica got into my car and I signalled to pull back out onto the main road, I realized that the indicator would not return to standby. I jiggled it about to no avail and then realized the cause of the problem.
‘Look at that’, I said, ‘the ruched, rubbery bit at the base of the indicator stick has got wedged in. It must have been when I was cleaning it with a toothbrush this morning’. At Erica’s silence, I glanced sideways to find her staring at me with a look akin to uncertainty tinged with horror. Now I know I have a reputation as a cleaning obsessive and, it has been said, that it’s possible to perform surgical operations in my kitchen, but surely everyone cleans their car interior with a toothbrush? Don’t they?
STUDENT CHRONICLES?
Quote of the week:
Maria José is coming to the end of her English course. We went over the most important grammar points and I said: ‘I hope that all makes sense but if there’s anything you want to ask me, now’s the time.’
‘Yes’, she said, ’there is one thing. Where did you buy your sweater?’
JULY
WHY IS THE SKY BLUE?
Nephews who come to stay should be told by their mothers not to ask questions. After a vague answer I snuck away to look it up on the internet. After two minutes of reading an introduction to gases, percentages and electromagnetic waves that travel through space at 299,792 km/sec I fell off my computer chair and slept for 10 hours straight. I was then woken by H who said kindly: ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, poppet, everyone knows it’s caused by the myriad reflections of Spanish swimming pools. That is why English skies are always so grey.’ One more thing not to have to worry about.
DRAGON OVERLOAD?
With summer well under way and the insistent call of the beach ringing in my ears it’s time to search around for some light reading. Is there anyone out there who hasn’t read Stieg Larsson’s Dragon trilogy? If not then I urge you to do so. They make riveting reading and Lisbeth Salander is quite the most fascinating anti-heroine every created. The trouble is I got so involved with the books I quite forgot I was reserving them for the beach and will now have to start the search all over again.
DID I BUY?
A former life in marketing and advertising and I’m still a sucker for packaging – and I love to read labels, partly, it has to be said, as a distraction from the dreariness of actually shopping. So, imagine my delight on spotting a brand new product in my local supermarket. I gave it the once over. ‘This product’ it read ‘contains over 40% of animal fat’. It also had so many E numbers and additives, including colourants, that I stood transfixed with horror. Why, in this age of healthier eating, would anyone in their right mind buy this product? Would you buy something of which almost half was pure animal fat? What mad person invented this product but, more importantly, what on earth were they thinking?
HAVE YOU EVER NOTICEDD?
Richard Gere’s front teeth? The other night, while watching one of his old movies, I became distinctly aware that they have, well, to put it politely, certain leporidic qualities. Why have I never noticed this before, I wondered aloud? H felt it was the only interesting thing about him.
STUDENT CHRONICLES?
Quote of the week:
During a conversation with one of my students (Jorge) we got onto the subject of Paella. Had I, he wanted to know, ever made one? Indeed, I replied. Why, only the previous Sunday I’d made one for some guests. The Spanish have the peculiar notion that the English eat only potatoes and I often feel it incumbent upon me to correct this mistaken assumption. What, he wanted to know was my recipe? This is where it got a bit tricky as I don’t actually have one. Traditionally, Paella is made by the man of the house but, as H barely knows where the kitchen is, there’s little point in asking. So, I began stoutly, with the ingredients ready to go, it’s time for a glass of wine as guests arrive. As with driving, I should never talk and cook at the same time. Or drink. And so it was, as I tried to recall the sequence of each ingredient, that I became aware of a strange look of disbelief passing across Jorge’s face; this is Paella, it seemed to say, but not as we know it. When I got to the part where you cover the pan with a newspaper to produce the socarrat (the brown, crunchy crust on the bottom) his bemusement was complete. ‘Well, he said straight-faced, ‘if the Paella’s no good I suppose you can always read the newspaper’.
JUNE
CAN ANTS READ?
This morning, keen to get down to some work on my new novel, I noticed my keyboard appeared to be moving. Assailed by the fear that this was the onset of some fatal disease, on closer inspection I discovered a battalion of ants soldiering through the keys and, it seemed, not in a random way. I can be a little fanciful so I dismissed this as nonsense, swept them onto the floor and continued. It was then that I saw two ants on my screen calmly walking back and forth through each sentence. I am now worried they are stealing my ideas for a novel of their own. The question is, if this is case, where would they have filed it and is it better than mine – but, more importantly, have they managed to crack the question of adverbs?
MUJERES DESESPERADAS
Lunch with the Nadal’s (that’s Manolo and Rosa, not Rafa and his mother) at The Real Club Náutico de Valencia is always something special and last Sunday was no exception. It is a curious fact that when Spanish men and women get together, it’s not long before ‘the great separation’ takes place; men at one end of the table, women at the other. At English yacht clubs the main topic of conversation at lunches and dinners is, well, sailing. And if you haven’t been out racing that day it’s quite usual for the person sitting next to you to cease all contact abruptly and turn to the person on their other side who, hopefully, has. Sad but true. I have no idea what the men were talking about but we women were into serious stuff. Now we all know my Spanish isn’t perfect and speaking a foreign language for several hours can be very tiring. One loses one’s concentration and sometimes one reaches the wrong conclusion. I’m a past master at this. I can join conversations and launch myself into zones no-one has ever been before. H is always muttering things like: ‘What are you on about? We’re having a conversation about the Minister for Health. Why are you talking about dog training?’ So, when Mari-Carmen asked me if I had a tattoo somewhere daring and avante-garde, followed by whether I had considered having my pubic hair made into an interesting design, I hesitated. Eight pairs of eyes looked at me expectantly and I felt I had somehow been transported to an episode of ‘Desperate Housewives’. I said ‘Did you ask what I think you just asked?’ The shrieks of laughter confirmed it. ‘In England’, I said po-faced, ‘we never talk about sex or any intimate matter, it’s considered bad form. Unless, of course, we’ve had too much to drink and we become incautious.’ At which point Pilar picked up the vodka bottle and poured a large measure into my lemon sorbet. Enough said.
WHAT I MEANT WAS ….
Did you know that ‘enjoy yourself’ in Spanish means something entirely different?
STUDENT CHRONICLES: quote of the week
Role plays are always interesting. Consider this scenario:
Student 1: You invite your friend to go on a blind date.
Student 2: You try to wriggle out of it.
Student 1: A friend of my boyfriend thinks you’re very pretty. Would you like to come to the cinema with us?
Student 2: What film is on?
Eh?
What does he look like? Have you got a photograph? How old is he? Does he have his own hair? Is he weird? Why can’t he get his own girlfriend? What’s wrong with him? ALL of these questions are relevant but ‘What FILM is on?’ I despair.
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BARBARA'S BOOK
If you are a regular reader of thisisvalencia.com you will probably look forward to reading Barbara O'Neill's excellent column about life as an ex-pat in (and out) of this fair city of ours. What you probably don't know, and I am about to tell you, is that Barbara has written a book, and jolly good it is too - it's called THE GIANT KILLERS and is currently on the Harper and Collins website Authonomy.com for all to read. The purpose of the site is to get your book read and voted on. The more votes, the higher the book is ranked and when it is ranked high enough it will be read by an Editor at Harper Collins with a view to publication.If, of course it is not snapped up by an eagle eyed agent or publisher in the meantime.
'When Elizabeth and Jack open the package they believe they are looking into a toy box. It is Jack who notices they are breathing.'
Barbara would love you to visit her page and have a read of this excellent novel, which she describes as a fantasy thriller. If you like it sign up to the site and put her book on your shelf and send her your comments....
To whet your appetite here are the cover notes:
It is the year 2150. Elizabeth Waldren, married to a man she has come to despise, is living in an old cottage on the isolated shores of Chichester harbour. Her husband, Stephen, is a geologist with a colonisation project on the planet GT4. Absent now for ten months, he has left her with his psychologically disturbed eight year-old son, Jack. On a routine survey Stephen risks entering the prohibited area and stumbles across an indigenous race, The Lhaitiri. Only twelve centimetres tall, he succeeds in capturing nine of them and, by a clever deception, transports them to Earth, keeping their existence from the project leader, Jonathan Tupperman. Angered when Elizabeth refuses to let him play with them, Jack resolves to punish her; but as he begins to understand the strength of her friendship with Ybron, their chief, he decides The Lhaitiri must die. As Elizabeth discovers that she is dealing with a life form far removed from that of Earth, she is determined to communicate. But when conversation is finally possible, so comes understanding and The Lhaitiri are faced with the true nature of the human race; with all its complexities and the society it has created for itself.
Go on go over to Authonomy.com by clicking the cover, above and read (VOTE TOO) Barbara Richmond O'Neill's THE GIANT KILLERS, I guaantee you'll be hooked from chapter one.
Gooru
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