Too rough for peas.

Earlier this week a four legged caterpillar tracked mobile platform trundled onto the beach along with it's operators, route clearers, wood support layers, arm wavers, cigarette smokers, gatherers, scrapers, sweepers and collectors, phone operators, lorry drivers and fillers, crew bus occupants and driver.

After an hour or two the process of manicuring the palms began. A man in much Health & Safety wear accompanied by a pair of chainsaws attached to the platform rails ascended and began to remove most of the palm fronds and all of the date clusters. From a once homogeneous mess of interlocking noisy palm fronds we were left, eventually with palm trees exuding about half a dozen palm fronds pointing vertically upwards. And silence. Once the interaction betwixt adjacent palm fronds was removed silence reigned.

This morning the small clusters of fronds were each leaning north at right angles to the palms of their birth.

This was a clue. Further clues lay in the surf, for surf it was and the spray being whipped from the breaking crests and hurtled sideways along the wavefront as it clattered ashore.

The biggest clue of all was the boats. They were still moored up.

Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions but I wouldn't have said that the sea state was exactly poor as the late and sadly missed Geoff Ingram once remarked when asked what the weather was like he said it was "too rough for peas" which as far as understatements go was up there with the most understated example of the genre.

So I guess a few whitecaps and a steady 4-5 occ.6 (?) S-ly constitutes a poor day.

Not for us, though.

It was still over 20C all day and if I'd had peas they'd have stayed on my plate, no problem.





Besides, three boats went out so we had some landings to watch  .......

At last! 100%

We've been here a while now and we have had to struggle a tad more than we should have been allowed to.

Most days we've been at 50%, some, thankfully few at 25%. Yesterday the doctors were in and the path screened off so hopes were high.

This morning we were at 75% so the effort of catching the tram was lessened somewhat but tonight, joy and bliss, the journey through the park was completed entirely on a full compliment of functioning escalators.

All four are now restored to full health and we are at 100%

To celebrate  this momentous highlight we paused with breath to spare at the top and entered the Valor shop. Always a desperate thing to do, memories of last years tasting still fresh in the mind (and stomach) and not to be repeated but a few bars, Puro Almendras at least, a Negro Almendras? OK, then but only if carefully dispensed at infrequent intervals.

Valor chocolate is good. Seriously good and it's made here and they have their own shop and there are always people making themselves ill inside, just like we did.

This alone was insufficient to adequately express our joy and something a little more celebratory was thought appropriate, but what?

On to Consum to replenish the €1/litre San Miguel when our guest, quite overwhelmed by events suggested that we forgo the €1.49 Reservas Red and go for a Cava. Thus we now wait for the bottle to chill, which for nearly as much as the combined value of the rucksack full of San Miguel I'd have expected it to be chilled and delivered on a bed of ice in it's own box, not slung in a rucksack like common Spanish cerveza.

No matter, patience is much in evidence here (unlike the patience, or absence thereof as evidenced by my sister) so we wait for Cava to chill, Carbonara to cook whilst wallowing in the knowledge that tomorrow's efforts are likely to benefit from 100% a free ride up through the park.

Effortless is how we like it.
After three weeks of substandard standards we deserve it, too!

Here's a look at the Valor counter in the entrance, far nicer than an escalator moving in the dark, eh?

Art become indulgence .......

Love is ....

... letting her watch the midwives on one when James May, the small chap and the northern fella are on two and there's only one telly.

Love is not, however, likely to be sufficient to stop this fact being brought to her notice at any and every opportunity ........

With apologies to Kim Casali.

Sunday service.

Town was closed today.
Streets, shops everything was closed.

Down here on the seafront it was business as usual, though.

First to arrive was our surfer lady, same one as last week and the week before and it definitely is a lady. Is that a surfer dudette or dudess? I've no idea but I wouldn't like to give any offence to any of my readers because of any perceived unfairness to the ladies.

 Anyway, the surfer dude lady arrived. Surveyed the scene and took the decision that there was sufficient surf to make sitting on a board in a wetsuit a sensible proposition.

This she did. For what seemed ages she sat on her board moving not even slightly. Eventually, and I'll hazard a guess here, heat exhaustion over came her patience and once again she missed out on the wave of her dreams for another week. I do hope that she doesn't give up but not as much as I hope that when she does meet with a decent wave the fright of seeing it doesn't render her rigid with fear.

Next we had a ballerina on the beach. A full on ballerina, an actual live one. I don't think I've ever seen one before. Definitely a lady.

In fact, she was on the breakwater initially, along with a photographer, his assistant and a cluster of Quadra Ranger (?) lights, batteries, umbrellas, stands, beauty dishes, radio triggers and mutltitudinous other toys as well as a box of flashguns. Canon gear.

It all looked very, very expensive but worth it? Absolutely. The  lady was leaping about all over the place but her poses were held utterly to perfection and at one point she stood one leg on the ground, the other pointed vertically upwards and her body leaning at right angles to her left with her arms making a point. Pretty good and very dramatic but ..... the assistant was holding a small bit of cloth and when the wind filled it he shouted and with no obvious effort she's at least three feet (probably more) in the air, perfectly held poise with wind filling the peachy dress thing. I've never seen anything like it. Then she did it again and again and every time I watched to see if she crouched or squatted to get some upward thrust going but it was just like it was all done with one foot and no warning she just launched herself vertically upwards and seemed to hang there for ages with the wind billowing gently around her.

I know nothing about ballet but what she did was amazing. If I had a long lens I'd have got closer but they were a bit fussy about letting Joe Public come anywhere near. Then she changed into proper ballet dress frilly frock thing and started running, leaping, spinning and generally bouncing all over the beach. To ascend unaided to the height she was attaining off sand left me, frankly, incredulous.
 

Out of respect I kept away till they were leaving whence I was there as this shot shows. Once I got this one I applauded. The assistant turned, looked and put himself betwixt me and them and the ballerina made more haste. I hope I didn't annoy but I've never seen anyone do what she did.

Still not interested in ballet, though.

However, I do have a photo of a real live ballerina on the beach and I've not seen many of them before. That could become my standard refrain from now on when shown someone's amazing photo of a dragonfly, kingfisher or whatever. You know who you are, just wait .... "Yup, it's good but have you got a ballerina on the beach?"

Within a few moment the reason for town being closed became apparent. Bikers. Not the noisy HOG's, that was yesterday and they were noisy. And shiny. And chopped. And blinged up to extremes as was the tattooed live band whose attempt at rendering Hotel California was laughable but not like their rendition of Smoke on the water, which I was not alone in recognising as being just plain wrong. The second restart was no better so we left and they tried Born to be Wild. I don't think Steppenwolf need worry. Maybe these riffs are hard to translate into Spanish, too.

No, today's bikers were these. Thousands of them. Really, thousands. Bit of a surprise seeing as they're going the wrong way down this one way street.

Families, teams, serious soloists, everyone. Just so many it was chocobloc for the duration which was not an inconsiderable time, made longer by frequent tear drying stops, assisted rightings, collision impact recovery and plain smartphone induced failures of concentration.

It must have taken well over half an hour for just the main bulk of cyclismos to pass below us.  The rolling roadblock was perfectly executed, initially a car "0" with tannoy announced the imminent arrival of what we didn't know. Shortly thereafter police scooters on road and pavement forewarning us again, then more and more warnings all in Spanish and then the appearance of the riders made pennies drop.

Droves of them on every sort of bike imaginable. Some very serious ladies and gentlemen, some obviously out for a laugh, some barely big enough to sit astride their trainer bikes with stabilisers fitted and some (many) old enough to have been great-great grandparents (they may well have been), some dressed sensibly and some not but all just oozing fun.

It was a lovely sight and rounded off with a couple of flatbed trucks, a couple of repair vans and a pair of ambulances. I do hope that it only began with a pair of them.


After all the excitement we wandered with the crowds and so enjoyed the ambient that we may just do it again if the opportunity arises.

I'd even do the cycling if I had a bike here but I'd certainly do the loitering like everyone else seems to enjoy for such long periods of time.

Even the lone accordionist playing The Godfather theme (extreme left in photo) was not out of place and certainly more amenable to the occasion than the faux metal band of yesterday.

For those who just wanted time alone to ponder and give thanks in the cool of the lengthening shadows there is always that facility, too.






Great day, great place, great privilege to have been able to enjoy it.


Love it.

Bloggers block.

I haven't written anything for days now but the ancient MSi CR720 laptop seems to have fallen out with the local electricity and the iPad's not always available.

However, to blog about something you must first have something to blog about and you can't really write a blog that says only that it's been getting hotter and less windy each day and that today is very hot and there's no wind making it too hot for all but brief forays on the balcony, can you?

Previous days have been spent on the balcony, taking food and drink as appropriate and punctuating the inertia with sandy watery walks or promenading ourselves. Shopping has been light and intermittent but tomorrow will see a large replenishment take place as a delightfully busy, though emphatically not an arduous, week is eagerly anticipated.

The local forecast is not at all bad with generally slowly rising temperatures, slight to no wind and no precipitation in sight.

All in all, exactly why we came!

Shame the laptop's exhausted, though. I do empathise.

Whatever next ...

Now this lot are outside and on our beach .......

http://www.topsport-vlaanderen.be/team/renners

At least their photographer knew what he was doing which is more than can be said about Caja Rural's last year.

It is an occupiers price to pay,  here on the balcony I would expect to have my photo taken every few minutes at weekends and every hour or so during the week. If you come across any I'm the one looking to see what camera they're using with my binoculars, unless they're using a phone in which case it's all over before you notice and I'm not interested in phones, anyway.

El tiempo normale .... with snow

After the recent weather catastrophe we ventured further afield today and noted that there was snow on them there hills. Not seen that before but then, we've not spent much time here although it did feel a bit odd being hot and sunny with snow in the distance. It wasn't there the day before yesterday.

Subsequent investigation would suggest that the white ridge is nigh on 10 miles inland so about 8 or 9  from the tram.

It was a wholly successful day, in fact. My sister got me some rather fine reading glasses a while ago and very stylish they were, too. Alas, they broke yesterday and were binned this morning so having an excuse to trawl around in every cheapskate shop we could find was an entertainment in itself.

In the end we bought a toaster (long story) saw a chair (trying to find out shipping costs) and eventually found what I was looking for in a shop we'd passed at least four times and only went into because we were 20 mins. early for the tram and the shop's aircon was mighty. Style with added plastic case far superior to a black draw string bag and the €4 price included a cleaning cloth, not bad, eh?

The ones she bought were not the £1.99 ones either, they were the £2.00 dull matt rubbery plastic sort, unfortunately once unwrapped the new ones were made of a shiny brittle plastic so no doubt next time we visit Alicante we'll be looking for a Primark.

Shouldn't have binned the broken ones I guess, they may have been still under warranty.

Catastrophe, indeed.

Well, Monica the Spanish weather lady was right. We had a catastrophe today.

It started raining last night, was still raining when jogging would have been undertaken. However, as we sat drinking naranja, then coffee, the pavement dried before our eyes.

Cautious, as always, waterproofs were donned and shopping done. More coffee and buns followed by a light lunch and before you knew it the fleet was returning. The joys of AIS. I suggested a walk which was eagerly acted upon although once it became apparent that boats doing what boats do once they get alongside was the focus of my perambulations I was deserted by the sailing club and allowed to continue alone.

There is something fascinating and ever so alluring about watching boats do what boats are meant to be doing, isn't there?

This was as bright as it got today but we avoided being rained on and another lovely, but not quite so warm day has passed and we survived the forecast catastrophe with fortitude, resilience and precautionary raincoats.




Tomorrow's forecast is more "normale" which I think means sun and high teens.

Up before the sun.

Domingo, and being non-conformist anglicans we elected to attend the "English Church" a few miles up the tramline. In fact we attended the "English Church" a few miles up the tramline last Domingo but it was the nearest one to the tram station which lies in the bowels of the backstreets and it started at 1900. This meant it was dark. It was warm and dry so with the iPad's GPS we found the place well lit and underneath a block of flats. Attendance was poor but there were mitigating circumstances so we didn't quite double the numbers but we pretty much halved the average age.

A minister ministered and a lady played a piano and all was very pleasant. As we left a singularly tall, erect and elderly lady with marvellous diction expressed her views regarding the cessation of winter fuel payments to expats. I was sorely grieved for her as I stood, slowly perspiring and wishing I could interrogate the iPad to find out the way to the tram. Had she complained because her summer aircon allowance had been denied I would (probably) have sympathised. As it was my attempted empathetic response was headed off by the minister saying nice things, as ministers do. Usually.

Thus we decided to attend (the other) "English Church" which lies at the northern extremity of this infamous beach resort. This began at 0945, which even for a non conformist anglican is early. This meant getting a tram at very early o'clock and getting up at even sillier o'clock when it was still dark and being faced with a two or three mile walk upon arrival.
 

Hence the photo of the sunrise as I struggled up one of the three not working escalators in the park.

I have to say arriving in, let's carry on calling it Voldemort (see last year's diatribes), before the holidaying residents had woken was not unpleasant. Even with backpack carrying a macinapak (taking heed of catastrophe weather warnings), iPad, camera and donned in a fleece for the first time in ages the place was not unpleasant.

A route march through the deserted park and along Avenida del Mediterraneo was an eye opener. No people, no traffic, no noise apart form the rattle of shopkeepers wheeling out their wares over the tiled pavements. There was the detritus of the night before, a pair of shoes left in a doorway, some clothing left on a concrete parking space next to a Carrefour, plastic pint pots and wine plastics with broken glass in attendance but over all no worse than you'd find anywhere, I suppose.

Our arrival was met with warm greetings, a familiar song book and a request that we sit wherever we wished and have a good time. We began by acquiescing to the former and ended up being recipients of the latter. We felt a couple amongst many and decidedly young. We sang familiar songs, albeit for a little longer than the songwriters may have intended and the minister ministered.

All in all a worthwhile trip.

The stroll back was hot, hot, hot and with no sign of the catastrophe promised. Indeed, the glare from the tiles in the park was so great that I asked to walk up the main street and this was agreed.

The problem with this place by late(ish) morning is that the occupants have by now arisen and the act of charting a course is somewhat fraught. The initial shock of last year has given way to resignation and even the desire to laugh has waned, let alone commit the sights to 0s and 1s. I was tempted to photograph the wearer of tee shirt with "Lancashire Rugby League" prominently displayed taking advantage of a pavement cafe offering "Full English Breakfast XXL XXXL XXXXL with beer" but declined the opportunity.

There is still an awkwardness, though. The Sunday Spanish are nothing if not smart, quite dapper and tending toward stylish and as such they really do stand out in the crowd. As do the visitors for quite different reasons.

Anyway, we were leaving and a tram awaited. Once various layers had been put in the backpack it was just your normal hot day, again. 19 on the tram and bacon bocadillos, magdalenas (nothing in them, nothing on them buns) and coffee awaited as did the balcony.

Alas, the bacon bocadillos, magdalenas and coffee were fine but the balcony, no. Working up a sweat on the way home and looking forward to the shorts in the sun but as one came the other went.

Since we got back the cloud has covered the sky, not quite to the eastern horizon but not far from it. The breeze has a cool edge. The palm fronds are not so much swaying as leaning. The prom is deserted. The balcony doors shut. The waves are audible and quite frequent. Instead of strolling along a deserted beach in the company of a benign sea I'm sat looking at it all typing this.

I may have to put jeans back on. And socks. Maybe a pullover.

Monica, the Spanish weather lady was right, catastrophe indeed.

There were people on our beach today.

The weekend is so different here. We get a Telegraph, for one thing, this weekend postcards too, although unanimous agreement about whom to match the postcards with was not forthcoming but I'm told I was wrong so that was sorted pretty quickly. And correctly, of course.

We found a freezer in the pescado area of the supermercado displaying coconuts filled with coconut ice cream. For €2 it was a no brainer so lunch was sorted. Our usual paddle from one end of the beach to the other and back was the final duty of the morning and a wonderful one it is.

Usually it's only us, maybe one or two in the distance but today there were people absolutely cluttering up our beach. There must have been at least two dozen and maybe more over the kilometre or so.

Most days there's just no one around apart from a very, very few, like us, who aimlessly bimble about guessing the nationalities of those we pass. We always just say "hola" and sometimes a "buenos dias" but never a "hello." Often we'll get a "bonjour" or a "guten tag" and sometimes we'll be offered a "hello" or even a "good morning" to which we reply in our very best Spanish.

The local are easily recognised from their attire usually consisting of overcoats, scarves, hats, gloves and all the paraphernalia that I'd wear if it were cold, like single figures of centigrade.

Here, it's not been in single figures since we arrived and on all but one day it's been low 20s by lunchtime and high 20s for the first week, then low-mid teens later on. In fact I've been swimming most days and each day bar one, I think, we've paddled from one end of the beach to the other and back again in time for a bocadillo, alliolli, fruit for one and beer because it's so cheap.

But it's the weekend and Saturday the fleet stays alongside. By 0930 from the entrance to the harbour to a mark placed just off from our balcony the spangly sea does its' best to disguise the flashing blades from a tribe of canoeists and kayakers, each group of ten, twenty or so have their safety rib shepherding them. Once they start their racing around the yellow marks the dinghy sailors make themselves known further offshore than the kayaks and after them come the rowers then the day sailors and finally the angling boats steam along the coast heading south and not returning till dusk. By 1330 all the others have returned to the Club Nautico, hosed down and stowed away.

Oh, and lest I forget, our surfer (see last Sunday's post) put in an appearance and again sat on their board a few metre off the beach looking seawards intently no doubt hoping that when the wave arrived they'd be ready. At the far extremity of our jaunt they were still there. As we approached on the return leg they were forlornly making their way over the beach to the promenade. I'm not sure why the wetsuit was needed, either, but I'm sure that one day they'll be rewarded. Maybe not here, but you never know.










Late morning and the promenade sees skaters, parents and prams, kids on bikes, grandparents rendering first aid, footballers, runners, screamers, shouters and all manner of life. Not in huge numbers by any means but a steady trickle along and back past our balcony and then between 1330 and 1400 they all go. The place is deserted until dusk when everyone appears to do a re-run of what they did earlier.

But today, as the photographic evidence proves there were hordes on our beach. They got in the way of our usual track and we were forced to detour by as much as a metre or even two at times. I know the thin end of a wedge when I see one and before long we'll have the beach smitten with paddlers, aimless wanderers, purposeful meanderers and even the idly inert standing and staring at distant horizons.

It'll all happen again tomorrow but then normality will return on the day after.

Except that it may not. The Spanish weather lady, Monica, said that domingo would be a "catastrop" as there was rain forecast. Only 14C rising to 18 but rain. Rain? Not all day, I'm not sure exactly which part of the day but the prospect of rain was enough to cause her to adopt a rather anxious expression and adopt funereal tones in her speech. Only the mid to high teens of C? I look forward to seeing how we all cope.

I have the raincoat I travelled out in somewhere so I'm hoping to survive.

Lost in translation?

A cautionary tale of three ladies.

Yesterday began with not one, but three women intruding into my life. The first demanded naranja upon her return from jogging just before the heavy wooden door slammed.

I'm not at my best in the morning and it was a struggle to see anything as the sun is just above the horizon and right outside our balcony doors which makes seeing very difficult.

Out internet needs the satellite TV to be on for optimal performance and as the jogger had already iPadded it was already on so when I pressed the (wrong) remote red button the telly came on. Obviously she'd moved one from where I thought it was so it wasn't my fault.

The second intrusive lady was the very smiley Scottish Carol Kirkwood who is an anathema to not morning people and as I took to my knees to gather whole naranjas from the floor after my slight error of judgement and there she is before me grinning like an Ayrshire cat telling me that the weather's pretty dire and disruption should be expected and all the time I'm blinded by the sun's rays and getting warmer by the second.

I have to say that grovelling after naranjas rolling all over a slate floor in boxers and a tee shirt in front of a weather lady does nothing for your knees, especially when with each statement she makes you feel ever more amused .... and so, so thankful.

Gathering one's synapses into some semblance of order one was able to guide a knife correctly halving the morning's quota of naranjas when a familiar voice informed me of "a look at the news from where you are" caused further confusion in my already struggling cognitive process.

At this point, I paused and realised that my confusion was entirely caused by my unrecognised attempts at multi-tasking all caused by female distraction. Something had to give so I sat down to see a news report about storms, rain, wind and pestilence in places familiar but distant and to take stock and bring order to the mind. Of course, what I should have done was to put the coffee pot under the filter before pressing the red button.

Then along came the third lady, "Bee", the "Spotlight" weather lady who began to further spread woe, doom, gloom and despondency except it made I smile (only a bit, being primarily a sympathetic sort) and grabbed the camera, the wonderful new one I may have mentioned and took this .......

Spotlight weather alongside a blazing sun drenched balcony and after much slider sliding you may just make out the outline of a, probably not the, jogger enjoying the early warmth of the day, the calm, the dryness as they do their business along the top of the beach between the promenade and the palms .......




Of course, upon the jogger's return all was calm, the floor cleaned, the naranja poured into very large wine glasses which I think I'd cleaned of their red residue, the coffee was dripping through the filter into the pot, the health conscious butter substitute disappearing into the toasted pan normale and a gentle breeze was wafting through this downstairs area as I had opened the back bedroom balcony doors hoping that the effects of the coffee earlier resting on the slate tiled floor would dry before her return.

Once again I've had to learn the hard way that mornings are for joggers and multitasking is for women and that ladies are responsible for all manner of ills.

It took us a year but we got there.

A year ago we arrived, knackered having ascended more steps than a lighthouse keeper in a tour of duty, in a square dominated by a Church with the most blue of bluest tiled domes. At that time we were in such a hurry to see it all that we completely ignored the square itself.

We would have gone back last year but the tram journey included a 10k bus link.

Spanish ways are not our ways but they are lovely people as we experienced yesterday but there is no please and thank you. It seems that only us foreigners habitually add "por favor" to a request and "gracias" is not always the last word. No matter, setting standards will always be a trial, or so I'm told!

Equally, when getting off a tram, train or the underground we are used to those alighting leaving space for those disembarking, here such is not the case. First you must avoid the younger ones with smart phones thrust forward then you need to be aware that to the rear there will be the elderly, ladies usually, with shopping baskets on wheels. You don't get in their way, either.

Local customs made the bus link more of an ordeal than we liked to repeat, thus we didn't go back, although we did use the bus to get to other places. Today we found out that the tram is now sans bus link. We merely changed trams. The old diesel electric ones lie forlorn in a siding and the new electric ones on La linnea 9 stand proudly a couple of feet above those on La linnea 1.

So, a year after we left the square regretting not having joined the other tourismos for a cafe con leche we sat, drank and watched. I guess it takes a revisit to realise that charging about photographing everything in sight and wondering if you've seen all there is to see is best left to Americans and Japanese tour parties.

So, today we took our time. We left at 14, arrived at 18 and sat with coffee at 22. This was too hot so we ambled back and tried another new experience. A frozen orange, emptied of most of its innards and filled with an ice cream that was almost a sorbet.

Now, we have to go again, but fortunately it won't involve buses next time, either.

View into Plaza de la Iglesia, Altea, showing two old codgers sat pondering, counting blessings and enjoying a very fine 2Euro cafe con leche .....

shortly to be joined by two more .....

When in Rome ......

Yesterday I went into a shop and asked the price of an item.
The lady replied in Spanish at 3,000,000 words per minute.
I had to resort to the "soy ingles" whereupon she looked and slowly told me 19 35 Ayuro.
I wasn't going to buy anything but I think for a millisecond she thought that my "Hola, buenos tardes, cuanto cuesta este" sounded almost right.
That's never happened before.

Wandering uplong first thing(ish) this morning we were on the shady side of the street.
That's a bit early into our sojourn but it is warm, however, we're still overtaking the local populace but no doubt that'll end soon.

The highlight of the day was when our neighbour on the next balcony offered us a plate full of freshly made cakes. Some coconut buns, some macaroon type things with a wonderful hint of cinnamon and some of the lightest finest oatcakes that I've ever had. It was a wonderful thing she did and has made our day.

She spoke no English and we ... well, we mucho bueno'd and gusto's and gracias'd and were so pleasantly surprised. A lovely moment. We are now just grateful that we didn't finish the Christmas cake so next time our balcony visits coincide we will be able to reciprocate, though what she'll make of a Christmas cake in a country that delights in lightness, I don't know. Bet she likes it though! That's never happened before, either.

Later, fired up with this shopping business we did dos supermercados, one for solids, one for liquids. I can report that San Miguel has dropped to 1Euro a litre. One Euro! It's cheaper than water, cheaper than milk and far cheaper than coke, in fact but for 0.079cents it would be cheaper than petrol. Even the Shiraz has dropped 20cents. That may be why my current frying pan full of "stuff" following my sister's recipe for caramelised onion and anything you can find thrown in with added juices and, in this case rather a lot of Shiraz.

I'm told not to worry as if you simmer it long enough it'll thicken up.
May be a very late tea, then.
That's happened before.

Supermercado Pescaderia counter, or small part thereof.

To the left is all shades of squid, behind the blue price list, octopus, behind the pillar shellfish, small craws, shrimp, prawns and lots I haven't got a clue about. Right of the pillar the green boxes at the front are full of shells, mussels by the ton, limpet lookalikes, parts of crab and what looks like small fat gezzies. Behind are Salmon and a mass of very, very small stuff, like linsees, pout, whiting, megrim and John Dorys but you'd need umpteen for a decent feed.
The rest of the counter extends more than twice as far to the right and to the left there's another few metres of the counter you can see. I guess that this represents about a quarter, maybe less, of the wetfish area. Every supermercado is the same.

Sorry it's not a better photo but wandering about in a supermercado taking photos is not my forte, really!

The day "The Cannibal" came to town.

Not "The Cannibal" himself, in person as it were, but his "junior" cycling team. Last year we had Team Caja Rural today Eddy Merckx's "Topsport Vlaanderen - Balois" team have arrived.

The first clue was a serious photographer and his assistants carrying lights on sticks covered in ProPhoto and Pocket Wizard stickers. Canon's finest and (strangely, I thought) a crate of Sigma lenses. All set up outside our residence of last year. We wandered by, one of us feigning disinterest and one of us exhibiting the real thing.

A little further along we came to the cycling teams car convoy and trucks. One of us diverted from the chosen path, one of us didn't. Once I caught her up we ambled on our way.

Our plan was down along the low road and back on the high. Alas, for reasons still not properly discussed the time taken was far longer than expected. The end result being that a stroll planned to be undertaken before the temperature got silly became a tad warm by the end.

Almost home and the aforementioned photographer and the young cyclists were all set and photos were being taken. Now, last year the photographer and his radio triggers didn't work and we gave up watching. In the end he sprayed his cyclist to make them "shine" for the camera. Today's photographer had all the gear and knew what he was doing so he had these poor chaps racing up and down the seafront working up a proper sweat and then passing between his lens, lights, reflectors and background hung so the sea was obscured. Why obscure the sea?

Just watching these poor chaps, all Belgians, I think, but English speakers, made me sweat profusely. The sprinters were off, turn sprint head down  and "pop" photo taken but the rest were struggling to work up any sweat at all. Once they managed to look warm they turned, accelerated and had their photos taken, too.

It was so interesting in a "James May" kind of way. This afternoon on our way back from watching the boats land I had a yarn with the sponsor and team manager, very interesting but I'll save that for when there's not much else to say. I will say that one vehicle that Caja Rural didn't have but Eddy's chaps do was a "telenet" van. A bit like a mobile F1 pit wall box, analysing the cyclists performance in real time and able to offer advice immediately. The team planning man was well talkative about that! Not sure I would have been so I'll not mention it.

Anyway, back to this morning, and once I got tired of watching professional cyclists who looked like they should be in school and fed on proper food charging around on Merckx bikes I joined my wife in the sea for a swim.

Later on they rode past under our balcony and I confess that the effort they were making was enough to make me waddle to the fridge to pour another drop of cold refreshment.

They're here for a fortnight. The training planning man said that he .........................

No Comment

Christmas cake and San Miguel, a very different day.

"Naranja, when I get back and I'll leave the door unlocked" said the jogger as jogging was begun.
That's no different from any other jogging day.

Radio 4 on the iPad with Jim Naughtie rudely and routinely speaking over his interviewee before they'd had their say was no different either.

In fact, as I sat looking at a Turkish stovepot coffee maker pondering it's workings, I wondered at what point in time BBC studio interviewers ceased to allow interviewees their say and began the egotistical dash in the direction of self-promotion?

Congratulations to Evan Davis in this, business "correspondent" always stating his own view of the causes/results of this or that and asking his interviewees to agree with him, promoted to "Today" and still interminably self seeking, rarely elicits a view from anyone although ensuring his own are clearly extolled to the obvious delight of his superiors, no doubt with an eye on their "package" if they make an error of judgement, and invited to replace Jeremy Paxman on Newsnight. They should've offered Jeff Randall more to stay at the beeb.

I mention Evan Davis but the same applies to all of them these days. They realise that if they're going to "get anywhere" they have to be known so their interviews become a transport for their own delight and self promotion.

Who remembers a "Paxman" interview bar one, and only then because he was like a puppy with a toy. If he'd been a wise old dog he may have realised that all the time he repeated the same question that his quarry was never going to answer he may have elicited something worth listening to had he asked another question. We now remember the interview for the questioner, not even the question or his interviewee. Sad indeed, but "BBC man to the core", we were told when he'd left. Well done, Michael.

In fact, who remembers any interviewee of any of them in recent years? See what I mean?
But can you remember any of Michael Parkinson's or David Frost's interviewees? So can I, but I'm old.

Nope, the decline of "Today" and the self serving nature of the BBC didn't make the day different, either.

The days when people reasoned together have passed and no one noticed.
You don't get noticed through your integrity, nor your intellect, nor your honesty, not for your efforts to help, placate, comfort or change. Nope, all you need is a soundbite, a song or a willingness to mock those you couldn't intellectually hold a candle to. And a photogenic visage. Welcome to the cerebrally inert, the celebrity, our brave new world has been tailored just to fit you!
Nothing different there, then.

Peering past the Turkish stovepot a vertical slice of intense light cuts through the painting on the wall giving life to colour that I hadn't noticed before, but that wasn't different, just my lack of awareness.

Opening the balcony door and looking out prior to the day's first shutter press there was something different but I couldn't ascertain what.

Oranges destroyed on the juicer, coffee burbling on the hob, door slamming, words uttered.
Nope, nothing unusual.

Balcony doors released and swung fully open. That's a bit brighter and rather warmer than usual. Harbour full of trawlers and (long) liners, only alongside on Saturdays and Sundays so that meant we get a Telegraph. Same as ever.

Birdsong.
Not usually as audible as this.

The sea is like glass there's no wind so there's no waves so there's no noise so the birds are clearly rising to the challenge.
That's a bit different.

Juice drunk, coffee savoured, Telegraph bought. Just like every Sabbado here. But it's hot. Seriously hot and then what makes this Sabado totally different?

We go for a swim.
We, as in us.
It is simply too hot to not go swimming.
The sea is flat as a dab and clear as gin.
Yup, today is the hottest I've experienced since we were last in The Baleares.
And today is the first time the other half of "we" has swum in the sea for, well, since we were last in The Baleares.

Oh, we had Christmas cake with our olillio, jamon, queso, pan y San Miguel at lunch. too.

That was different.

I do so like different.
I like reason, too.

I could have posted a photo of a cloudless blue sky, a turquiose sea unruffled by even the slightest breeze and acres of clean golden sand but everyone's seen that sort of thing before.










Sorry it's been a bit long but I couldn't just type "It was a very hot day and we went for a swim," could I?
"Yes" I'm told, "and no more "Today" till lunes."

Sorry.

Cooking in your cossie.

Don't.
No matter how hot the day or how lovely the beach.
Don't fry pancetta and onions clad in your cossie.

Yesterday euphoria, today the grim reality

A glorious sunrise was heralded by demands that naranja be delivered to the balcony where the wise one sat, iPad in hand, coffee freshly provided.

Thus, I felt duty bound to accede her every whim so following the hazardous preparation of filtered coffee whilst relatively unprotected I began arduous cutting, squeezing and pressing of enough oranges to make a still life look overcrowded.

I even have the photo, taken with the new camera that I've been allowed.

Following that I had to carry a rather heavy rucksack back from a supermercado.
Not one trip, either. Returning in a favour, so to speak I was engaged en preparacion of our second coffee of the day.

Alas, another supermercado was waiting for our business, apparently.
This visit was sweetened by permessso to replenish the brown bottle supply and get milk.
The only proper milk, we remembered, was in yet another supermercado way up the other side of the tracks.

One of us stayed in the air conditioned expanse of groceries the other was sent out in the heat of the day on an errand. Milk collected and burdens borne our return found me in a degree of exhaustion requiring an infusion of sugar and stimulant.

Following this and a length of pan split and filled one had recovered sufficiently to endure the afternoon. Seeing as another one had discovered iPad libraries, a sun drenched balcony, a bowl full of almonds and copious supplies of liquid refreshment, the other of us took advantage of the peace and quiet and went for a bathing.

It was lovely. Probably not far from an hour spent exchanging heat with the Mediterranean and then the short walk over a beach and 15 steps to the front door.

My return was greeted with some amusement by our neighbours on their balcony wrapped in sweaters, hoodies and scarves. Smiles, shakes of heads, pointing at their cranium and finger waving in my direction was understood even if their words were not, although "frio" was used but hardly relevant if they knew the context. Looking up from her iPad I was reminded that "they cope with 40C in the summer...." Indeed. It's all relative, I suppose. They probably cope with people too, the sea was my own.

Refreshed and now in recovery mode, I await the request to remove a bit of cork and no doubt later I will be encouraged to undertake washing up duties.

As the sun gracefully descends to blur the distinctions between the azure and the pinks of the southern and western horizon letting them become a tobacco coloured glowing band before the streetlights come on and the slight breeze turns in for the night I got an email from one who is in Toronto. All talk of -17 but felt like -30, it was 17 proper degrees C before breakfast here. Nice photos, though.

For a while (albeit a very, very short while) I felt a tinge of sympathy but she chose to go there and I told her it was cold. I done geography once. I know about these things.

Pretty good at cork removal and washing up, too.

Why me?

Why? An oft asked question.

Obviously, if you are a person of faith the answer is found in the person in whom you have faith but if you are not it's a pointless question as whatever happens is a result of some random act in a chaotic world and randomness in chaos is pretty hard to order and make any sense of.

Today I had a "why me?" moment.

0600 Woken. Dark, dingy, cold and damp at 50N.
0630 Collected by a friend and delivered to a cold, windy airport but at least it was daylight.
Thanks, Kev.
0820 Through security in time to catch the last of "Today"
0900 Melvin Bragg's excellent history of Magna Carta
0930 Interrupted by a sandwich bearer.
0945 Requested to move to gate 25 by the EasyJet lady.
1010 Asked to hurry aboard an aeroplane as "it's 4C and very cold for those outside"... really?
1025 Took off. Lovely flight. Captain with wit and humour.
1320 (BST+1) landed Alicante.
1350 Caught bus.
1430 Downtown Alicante 20C
1440 Dribbled the contents of wonderful pizza down my shirt in public.
1500 Tram.
1515 Tram. Missed the first one as one of us who thought he knew the right platform was sadly deluded and given "the look" as the search party of 1 informed him of his mistake.
1618 Arrived here.
1630 Met by "Lolli" and this view.

Shown the apartment.
Given wifi logon.
Given Satellite TV key.
Shown a cupboard with coffee filters and Turkish stovetop coffeepots.

Why me?
What have I done to deserve all this?

I can report that San Miguel has seen further reduction in price over the last year.
I can also report that Castllo de Lirie Bopal Shiraz Valencia is lovely for 1.49Euro.
Sat on the balcony, glass in hand, sublime.

Why me?
What have I done to deserve this?

These questions demand consideration and watching the trawlers moor up, listening to the waves lollop on the shore, glass in hand, blood red moon just rising to the north east, gentle airs of about 15C trying to wobble the palm fronds just across from where I sit as the gathering twilight engulfs my world they are very much on my mind.

Why me?
What have I done to deserve this?


I have concluded that I have done nothing to deserve this.
Nothing at all, really, nothing.

The inevitable conclusion that I'm drawn to is that the only reason I'm here now is that a long time ago my wife married wisely and well.

Another one bites the damp ......

... if it bit the dust it wouldn't be this far north, would it?





So, last year's tree is slung out along with the last year.









The new year has arrived and so far it's hard to tell the difference. The "news" still tells the same stories, the weather is still rather too cool, windy, damp, grey and if outdoors is your "thing" I'd describe it as "unfit for purpose."

The fire has been lit, the bottle of red opened and no doubt one will be encouraged to tidy up and sort out whatever it is I haven't tidied up or sorted out. Another job for dreckly, then.

At least the old tree will soon be taken apart with an axe and made ready for shredding and burning.

I shall soon be getting ready to pack all the essentials needed for a sojourn in a calmer, warmer, drier, sunnier place. Camera, but just one, lenses, only the one fitted, flashgun, nope, remote triggers, extra cameras, lenses, flashguns, pocket wizards, tripod or even monopod ... nope, extra cards, nope, extra battery, yes, charger, nope, usb cable yup.

Laptop, power supply, iPod, iPad,usb cables, binoculars. Yes.

Not even taking our own coffee as we found some pretty decent stuff there last time so that's another 2kg spare but I'll probably take 500g of finest English Breakfast blend again as tea bags just aren't right for afternoon tea, especially if guests turn up.

What will I do with all the spare baggage allowance? I make it about 8-10kg less than last year. Half of that could be taken up with an as yet uncut Christmas cake if permesso is given.

A year ago we were packed and ready to go by this time, this year we're just ready to go but we have six days to wait before we fly. That delay seemed such a good idea a year ago when it was all such a rush, now it feels like a penance for having the temerity to fly 12 degrees further south and a couple of degrees further east and so joyfully desert these monochrome shores.

I can't wait, nor can my mentor who is currently poring over the maps we collected last year and who only a moment ago suggested that we take the SatNav out of the car because it "may be nice to hire a car for a while."

The new year then, just like the old year with so much to look forward to, I can feel the excitement rising.

I trust that if you've read this you are also excited at the prospect of 2015.

Mined ewe, if you've read this you must be pretty desperate but I do hope that in 2015 your trials are few and only minor irritants and your joys are many and magnificent.