hola a todos,
haven't written recently - largely due to the fact that NADA has happened. i think constantina tedium has hit an all time high. but i hope and like to think that what this blog lacks in larks and worldwide adventure it makes up for in entertainment (ie you chortle at my expense and count ya lucky stars it isn't you).
so the other morning there was a knock at my door, around midday which is postlady o'clock so i skipped down my stairs thinking topshop.com had arrived (it often does, fiver for international delivery, frankly it'd be rude not to). instead there was a well guapo hombre (rugged farmer type) at my door...bingo i think, things are picking up! and so he yells (they all yell):
'ORAAANGES!!!! THE ORAAANGES ARE REALLLLLY GOOD'
...errr ok - 'and?'
'HAVE YOU TRIED THE ORANGES FROM THE COUNTRYSIDE?? THEY'RE REALLLLLY GOOD.' (oranges are in season and dropping left, right & centre)
'AND DADDY? WHAT ABOUT DADDY?' - he points at the door where my spanish grandparents live - 'ARE THEY IN?'
'no, they're out' (i know, shock horror, that was the third time they hadn't been in since the end of september)
so i put two and two together (turns out it didn't equal four in this case) and come up with an explanation - my spanish grandpapa gives me fruit and veg ALL the time and the other day he gave me oranges soooo this must be his son asking how the oranges were whilst simultaneously looking for his Dad. It didn't occur to me why he was shouting (because the Spanish generally do shout, no excuses needed) and that he was ridiculously hot (and sorry to say it but my Spanish grandparents are a bit hobbity looking). So he goes on yelling about the oranges and Daddy and I tell him that yes the oranges his Dad gave me were delicious, muchas gracias and should I tell them he was looking for them? The shouting stops, he realises i'm foreign (giggles to himself) and that i have entirely miscomprehended the last two minutes of my life...and the centimo drops...he is a fruit and veg seller (recurring theme it would seem) and a papa is a potato...Papá (note the accent) however, means Daddy. ooops. felt like a bit of a twat after that...having spent over a year of my life now (collectively) living in spanish speaking countries I would have thought my vocab would be a little more advanced.
i had a smashing little birthday party with my spayynish chums and mama was here too...we had a pizza party and they bought me a kettle (not widely available in shops) and a cookbook and i was truly touched. we huddled around the table duvet gas jobby as it was a chilly night, ate, drank and were merry. mumma and i necked a botella of bubbly before they arrived, i felt too sober. so it wasn't a wild night but they are bloody lovely and i am very grateful to work with them. then mumma and i scooted off to Jerez for the weekend, lured by the promise of tasty sherry and balmy summer nights. turns out it pissed it down with rain and sherry is actually pretty gnarly. we did however have a laaavely time, getting pummeled and brillo-padded (and semi-naked) at the hammam and eating REAL food with actual flavour (no Spain, salt and tomato does NOT count).
last weekend was another bank holiday, i had a whopping 6 days off this time...so i booked myself a ticket to Barcelocccca as i'd heard so many good tings. and good tings i found! a MONSTER h&m, zara etc etc, non-spanish food everywhere, cultura splashed about all over the place... just what i needed. went to some dead weird and pervy exhibitions and just generally had a swell time. even went OUT! left at around 4 when they put on robbie williams' 'rock dj' though, enough is enough. plus i was with a load of people that i didn't actually know - something i find a bit weird about backpacking etc. i prefer to go out with my friends. call me introverted. whatevs.
so, back to goat mountain for a one day working week- when i say 'day' i mean 3 hours (ooh the strain). so the gossip from constantina - either my neighbour over the back has developped Tourette's or someone with Tourette's has recently moved in. He yells 'Aaahhbaah, aaahhbaah, aaahhbaah, aaahhbaah, aaahhbaah' A LOT and then he yells the c-word, 'see you next tuesday' - get me? ouch. at least he doesn't use the most offensive word of all 'ostia'- that's 'holy bread' when it's at home, reserved only for very special situations. that's about the extent of the constantina goss to be honest.
anyway going home for christmas in only a few days, wippee! seriously thinking about moving to sevilla and driving up the mountain for work monday to thursday. it does mean the blog content would most likely be less entertaining BUT i've got my sanity to consider. watch this space...
gracias for reading.
xxxx
