Christmas greetings to everyone in the Turks and Caicos Islands. I'm glad to see that you are up and running again after the terrible storms. And a Christmas hello to the 268 page viewers in Russia - glad to have you back. I've no idea what you see in this blog but keep it up!
This is the first Christmas Man in Álora blog and the first from London Town where Mrs.Sánchez and and I are spending the festive season, as it's called, I believe, - and I'm going to try and do it on my phone.
We left Álora for our winter quarters in mid December- later than usual because I left it a little late to book a large dog kennel on the Santander to Portsmouth ferry. You wouldn't believe it. Large 'kennels' are scarcer than hen's teeth these days and if they're all booked when you try to buy a ticket 'on line' you get the 'bums' rush'. All we could manage was a much later sailing on the old Greek tub 'Cap Finisterre'. I've booked for next September already.
Our top quality raw unfiltered olive oil reached Birmingham more or less safely and cash rich Brummies couldn't wait to snap up bottles of the delicious delicacy as fast as Sánchez Junior could stick labels on the bottles. Christmas madness I call it.
Mrs. Sánchez during a quiet spell at Moseley Farmers' Market.
I must say it was a relief to get back to Brum in one piece. We made the almost disasterous mistake of travelling towards Madrid on the same day that hundreds of thousands of suicidal Spanish car drivers were taking part in the annual December Puente Chicken Run (El Concurso Suicida del Puente de Diciembre). This year there were 26 road deaths, which must have spoiled somebody's Navidad no end. I'm surprised there weren't more.
There was an almost tangible festive atmosphere aboard the Cap Finisterre as it headed optimistically north from Bilbao to take on the infamous Bay of Biscay. We took a risk and tucked into a meal in the ship's 5 (Pirelli) star Restaurant du Port It's bit of a risk at this time of the year - it gets a bit choppy out there and a quite expensive nosh can easily make a return visit especially what with Mrs.S's delicate stomach. The food is very good though, too good for seagulls and fish. Even on the 'Cap' it's tip top French cuisine.
The cabaret was excellent as always and we managed to sneak our Álora bought bottle of wine into the bar without incident (you should see the prices!). The bar staff were too busy keeping a Gallic eye on a drunken chap from Wigan ("I'm from Wigan") who insisted on showing everyone the new leather 'Peaky Blinders' cap that he'd bought in the duty free shop.
We were too late to book a 'dog friendly' cabin so Tommy and Monty had to spend the 24 hour trip banged up in a cage ('kennel') on deck 10. They still haven't forgiven me.
Home, Sweet Home at last. Heating on. Fire lit. Kettle on. A cooker that has a functioning thermostat. Rain. Snow . Proper telly instead of having to rely on 'my-expat-network.com' , a questionably legal website which freezes up on a whim, leaving you to stare at the screen for minutes on end on the off chance that service may be resumed.
I don't know why we ever leave England. Drinkable water. Proper grass That astro turf they put on the traffic islands in Álora doesn't fool anybody except the stray dogs club which gathers there to bask in the sun, worry the car drivers and discuss the likelihood of 'Canine Park' ever opening.
And then there's Christmas - the best example I know of hope triumphing over experience.
Mrs. Sánchez and I really do look forward to Christmas every year and try to get into the Christmas spirit. There was even snow on the ground when we pulled into the drive of our spacious winter residence. I went straight out and bought a Christmas tree.
Four days later we were all set - festive lights switched on indoors and out, Christmas cards bought, written and stamped, Christmas presents ordered on line (they all arrived in time. Well done all you girls and boys on starvation wages at Amazon.co.uk. A happy Christmas to you all).
By this time we were well and truly into the 'Christmas spirit', not to mention the supply of Ribera del Duero vino tinto we've hauled back from Spain. Well, it's what Christmas is all about innit? Two Christmas markets later we were on the good old M42/M40 heading south into the darkling dawn.
Juanito Sanchez. December 31st 2017
Ah, the chicken run brought back a memory of a language free overnight 1993 journey I took from La Coruña to Madrid airport in the cab of a canvas backed small truck. As the driver and I were only able to communicate by made up sign language, and he being a very talkative chap, he spent much of the journey without hands on the wheel. The 'highlight' was pulling into a truck stop, more a roadside cafe, in the middle of the night. The truck park was full of artics and as we entered, the screeching noise from a television showing non-stop porn and bolted into one corner of the ceiling was only slightly more audible than the general hubbub of clinking glass and conversation, punctuated by the yelling of cards players at the tables as they slapped down their winning hands! The place was crowded with truck drivers and everyone, including my driver, was drinking; beer, wine, shorts, you name it they were necking it. I managed to stay awake, in order to ensure the driver stayed awake and on the tarmac. I couldn't bail because the truck had eight or ten guitars in the back which I had to get to the airport in order to get them, the band who were flying in from La Coruña and me onto the morning flight to Zurich for a festival gig the following afternoon.
ReplyDeleteHi Clive.
DeleteYou never mentioned this. Good story. Good time tonight.
Juan.