Gredos – don't confuse the narrator

heads, hair, hats

Blue-rinsed and perm-headed
hydrangea matrons
eavesdrop our conversation.

As we breakfasted on a café terrace the other day, the great heavy mops of hydrangeas nodded gently at us like elderly women listening in and approving our plans for the day.

At least, that was my first thought.
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camouflage

The Jersey Tiger moth seems to be doing it wrong:

This makes me wonder about all the other creatures in the ivy hedge who have their camouflage right. Which makes lying in the hammock rather less enticing.

We went for a drive yesterday and, as usual, I took my camera with me. But I wasn’t really in the mood for taking pictures; I wanted to see things for myself rather than look at them through a viewfinder. Sadly, that means that although I have a few nice pictures of a reservoir, I missed a really good shot of black cows straggling across the Spanish hillside and another of a herd of bracken-coloured goats grazing on the scrubby roadside.

We also saw an elderly rustic walking down the middle of the road carrying a seriously dangerous-looking rifle, apparently stalking something. I didn’t take a picture of him, either, but that was mainly because I think that pointing a camera at a man with a gun is not the wisest of acts.
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on holiday

Last weekend, the pueblo celebrated the fiestas of the local Virgin. (Not the summer fiestas – those were at the end of August, and not the fiestas for the patron saint – that’s next month: the Spanish are always happy to take days off work and chase bulls through the streets or set off firecrackers.)

Fireworks, Arenas de San Pedro, fiestas de la Virgen del Pilar

Now there is a lull in the village as the locals close up their shops to go and join the vendimia or take advantage of end-of-season offers to take their own holidays.
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