village life – Page 46 – don't confuse the narrator

pictures of pigs

I hadn’t really planned it that way, but one of the things that brings people to this blog is the subject of pigs being slaughtered. It surprised me the first time I noticed the search phrase on the blog stats, but there certainly are several mentions – and photos – of pigs (or boars) in various states. That’s probably because I’m based in Spain and there are pig products pretty much everywhere.

As may be apparent from most of the posts, I do my own photography. Much of it is done in public places, as was the picture which follows the break. (Don’t look if you are faint-hearted.)
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dead bored

… but what piggy little eyes.

And, no, I do not know why he was waiting in the car park when I finished lunch the other day. Such are the mysteries of life in the pueblo.

donkey’s years

While everyone else has been focusing on the year of the ox, I think this little one already has years worth celebrating.

(The years/ears pun works rather better when spoken in a strong Welsh accent than it does in writing.)

the dirty bits

Firstly, an apology to those who’ve seen the title and arrived here looking for pr0n.

Secondly, an apology to those who’ve looked at the photo and are expecting foot-fetish stuff.

Even if I admit that there’s an ‘adult’ element to the upcoming musings, it’s actually all U-rated.

I may be ‘talking dirty’ here, but that’s ‘dirty’ as in ‘not clean’, not the more metaphorical dirt.

So, the question I wanted to ask, was: when was the last time you felt you needed to make an extra effort to wash behind your ears, or to scrub your knees?
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festive food, anyone?

I’m used to the neighbours’ guard dogs objecting to my walking down their patch of road when I go for a walk, but this young animal seemed mighty friendly as he came to investigate when I passed the garden he was in this morning: