Yes, it’s that time of year again.
Hearing a helicopter directly overhead, I assumed it was the ultralite that comes round taking aerial photos. Seeing the shadow of the blades cross the vine, I realised it had to be something rather bigger and went outside to see what was happening.
It’s not surprising that there’s a danger of fire with skies this blue, but since the holidays don’t officially start till tomorrow, it’s a bit worrying.
Continue reading “fire!”
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.)
Continue reading “pictures of pigs”
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:
I wonder if he realises he’s probably destined to be guest of honour at the New Year meal next week.
Of course, some people prefer to buy their festive food pre-processed from the supermarket:
Continue reading “festive food, anyone?”
Although the festivities go on for the best part of a month – starting with la Concepción Inmaculada on December 8th (or possibly el Día de la Constitución on the 6th) and not ending until Twelfth Night when los Reyes bring the children’s presents – it never seems very Christmassy in Spain.
For a start there may be snow on the mountains, but there’s also glorious sunshine and it’s still daylight till after 6pm.
For the last few days we’ve been having carols piped over the council tannoy system for a couple of hours every morning in the village, but other than the Little Drummer Boy, Continue reading “baaaa, humbug!”
After three weeks of the grey-green UK “summer”, I returned to the dusty yellows of Spain and found the village in the throes of fiestas.
don't confuse the narrator 