Skip to main content

Y viva Espana...

Words from a Bird.  Day 105

Today my sister reminded me that it was only eight sleeps till we headed off to Spain with our excellent friend Mrs W.  This is an annual event, and the three of us have never missed a year yet although other friends and family members dip in and out.  One year there were ten of us, which was really too many.  We all know what it's  like when ten women get together to discuss where they're going to eat.  I think we walked past twelve restaurants one night, all taking time to look at the menus, before discarding them and deciding there might be something better further up.  There never is.  I came to the conclusion a long time ago that they probably all share the same kitchen, have the same menu, but just have different spelling mistakes.  Favourites over the years have included:

Pork Cop
Craque Monsuer
Steamed Crap with Ginger (Spanish Chinese restaurant)

As an avid tea drinker, in the absence of my PG Tips, the Spanish offer Horniman teabags.  This always raises a laugh over breakfast, and there's always a lurid tale to tell.  The tea seems to have taken a back seat over the last two years though, as the hotel we go to has started serving Prosecco with breakfast.  It's ever so nice on my cornflakes...

So this year, we have my mother and aunt spending half their holiday with us.  They realised a couple of weeks ago that they had planned this all wrong, as the four days spent with the three of us are at the end of their week's holiday.  I am not too sure what they are implying, because these two are the worst when it comes to the wine.  If there is ever a shortage of Rose wine somewhere in the world, you can bet your screwtop bottle that they would have visited there quite recently and drunk the city dry.  They'll deny this, of course, but the truth always hurts. 

To alleviate the alcohol problem, we have booked two different hotels to spread the load slightly.  No doubt by day four, we will be venturing further afield, probably by taxi as we would have already worked our way through the bars which are in walking distance, looking for that last bottle of Rose. 

So we'll drink gallons of Rose, eat too much Steamed Crap and not sleep enough at night.  We'll get dressed up to go out, then spend the rest of the evening complaining that our shoes are too high, and our dresses too tight.

But we'll talk, and we'll laugh.  We'll sing Karaoke and play daft games, and we'll definitely spend at least six hours in the sunglasses shop (A personal favourite of Mrs W who must have more sunglasses than Simon Cowell).

So be warned...if you're heading out to the Costa del Sol over the next two weeks, you might do well to go prepared.

Take a couple of bottles with you...you can't be too careful...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Say goodbye...

Here's a question for you.  Why is it that when we are dieting, we say that we have 'lost weight'.  To me this implies that at some time in the not so distant future, we're going to find it again.  I like to imagine a 28lb blob of yellow fat in a three piece suit, winking lasciviously at me and saying, 'Oi skinny.  I've missed you.  Fancy letting me ride shotgun around those hips again?'
So instead of 'losing weight' I am getting rid of it.  Throwing it away.  Killing it.   Banishing it, never to be seen again.  Previous experience tells me that I will probably have old Blobby hanging back around my middle in a couple of years, once I've tired of leaves and crispbreads, but I am trying to do things slightly different this time.  Slowing down the stampeding rate I eat (I blame hurried school lunches for this), speeding up the walking, and being more aware of what I am doing and why I am doing it.
Someone once told me that if I ever felt like pickin…

Cold wind blows...

I don't know how cold it is with you at the moment, but I spent yesterday morning snapping the two furballs off various trees and posts as we attempted a walk before I went to work.  I had made the schoolgirl error of asking myself, 'Just how cold can it be?' before putting one extra sweater on beneath my walking coat.  I also had my Olga from the Volga fur hat, a scarf and gloves (to be fair, I've been wearing all of these since the middle of October).  Unfortunately, what I hadn't taken into consideration was the above the knee dress I was wearing to work yesterday.  I imagined that the extra warmth up top would somehow work its way to my knees.  
I was wrong.
Getting back indoors after forty five minutes of combat with The Beast from the East, I looked down at my legs.  Even with the black 100 denier tights I was wearing, I could see that my legs had taken on a slightly different hue to normal.  They were looking like two red pillar boxes, and it took ten minutes …

A man could go quite mad...

I have started to realise that there are many things about me which drive the husband mad.  When you first get together, those small faults are cute and a little bit quirky.  However, fast forward a couple of decades and they become a fairly acceptable excuse for manslaughter.  
I started thinking about this after the contretemps with the cutlery drawer a couple of weeks ago.  If you remember, the husband informed that that I was messing with his feng shui by putting the boiled egg spoons in with the dessert forks.  He only seemed to notice that I did this after I bought a new cutlery tray for the drawer, so I'm blaming Groupon for grassing me up.
The other thing is my snoring.  When we first met, this was described as 'endearing', and he told me that as he lay next to me at night, he used to smile to himself and listen to me.  This swiftly moved on to comparisons with a nasally challenged warthog, and more recently to a Boeing 747 with a noisy exhaust.  I'm considerate …