pueblo – Page 35 – don't confuse the narrator

two old men

I don’t usually stop and talk to anyone on my daily walk to the village. It’s just a quick visit to correos to check for mail (9 times out of 10 there isn’t any) and straight back, working up a sweat.

There are maybe half a dozen old guys I see regularly, but we simply mumble un saludo and keep going. And there’s one vieja who does a short walk, all on the flat, as far as the polideportivo, and I might exchange a few words with her.

Today, however, I spoke to two old men.
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pigging out

It’s Saturday, it’s a public holiday, and I was planning a a long, lazy weekend, starting with a lie-in. Instead, we were woken around 8 a.m. by the sound of a pig being slaughtered.

a cada cerdo le llega su San Martin — a cada cerdo le llega su San Martín

Actually, I’m not sure the pig itself was making the wheezy, squealing noise: it might have been the donkey disturbed by the proceedings. But whatever it was, it woke me; particularly as the general hubbub was augmented by a couple of roosters crowing, another neighbour’s elderly rottweiler baying – presumably excited by the scent of blood – and the vociferous commentary from four generations of the family who had turned out to witness the event.
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