On 1st April, it was my mum's 80th birthday! Although I couldn't get to celebrate with her on the day, we had previously arranged to have a little party at my sister's house the following week, so on the Friday afternoon, I jumped into my little blue car and drove down to Malaga to catch a plane to the UK.
After an uneventful and relatively peaceful flight, I arrived in Manchester where my sister was waiting for me. We spent Saturday shopping and cooking and generally chatting away as usual and the sun shone down. It was lovely and everything went to plan.
The party was relatively small but consisted of family and close friends. It was a shame that all my family couldn't come with me but it was logistically and financially impossible to travel en masse so close to Easter. However, one of my gifts to my mum was a large framed photo of my three - Mum's request - and she was very happy with it.
I also did a painting for her. One of my Zentangles which carries a 'hidden' message....look carefully and you might just see that the design is based on the number '80 80 80'.
I had the picture framed with a nice dark passepartout and a mid-oak frame which looks perfect in Mum's room
It was very good to see old friends - many of whom are now genuinely old....but who look great. I also think my mum looks pretty good for 80!! Here are a few photos from the day...I should really have taken more, especially as my sister's garden was looking so very beautiful but I completely forgot!
A view of the delightful garden - perfect place for a party
Setting out the tables and chairs...
Tuck in... plenty of delicious food for all tastes.
And an Easter themed birthday cake...the chicken is co-incidental! It was a gift from a friend to my sister but to put it on the top was irresistible. We decided against candles...fire risk!
As I was saying..Smart phones have a lot to answer for!
For example, I was leaving work the other evening and as I walked down to my car, I had the most sensational view of the castle, here in Alcala la Real. And so I took out my phone and took a photo of it. And it was up on Facebook before I got home. Pretty impressive, really.
(Here it is, if you missed it on Facebook!) Isn't that inky sky just glorious?
And having almost a week's holiday in the UK with my sister and my parents was made to feel less of a distance from my own family when my daughter sent me this (completely unrecognisable) photo of herself, out on Halloween.
I guess it must be her,,, there aren't too many Romys around.
It was also good to be able to ask her which jumper she liked best by sending her an immediate Whatsapp message to avoid making a dreadful fashion mistake...
This one...
or this one...
(She answered but I bought both anyway and she was happy.)
I had a lovely time in the UK but before I get on to that, which I probably will, let me just share a little lesser known corner of Spain that Mateo and I discovered recently.
Ruy had an Archery competition near La Carolina, which is about an hour and a half's drive north of here, heading to the mountains that delineate the beginning or the end of Andalucia (depending on which way you're travelling.) These mountains, or rather one of the main passes that takes you through the Sierra Morena, is called Despeñaperros - translated quite literally as 'dogs tumble or fall from a high cliff' or (as I rather cynically think as it's not a reflexive verb, ie. the dogs don't do it to themselves)... 'dogs are tumbled or made to fall'. It is a spectacular place with national park status, incredible flora and fauna and an impressive number of soaring vultures usually on display. We almost always stop there on our journeys to the north of Spain. But is it awful of me to think that a place with a this great gorge and such a name might well have earned that name at some point in the past? Was it not the place people threw away their dogs? I wish them all well, the dogs,whenever we go and we never, ever let ours out at this point unless he's safely on a lead!
Anyway...(I had a feeling this would be a rambly one right from the start!)..after a very early start, Ruy, Mateo and I had a lovely drive up to La Carolina in my smart and sassy little new car. Having reached the town without incident, we then had a rather traumatic 3kms to the archery site where I was convinced I had scraped something vital off the bottom of the car as we navigated, at a snail's pace, the rough and potholed track to the hosting finca. I was almost in tears but we did manage to keep going and nothing seemed to be leaking out or falling off, so after seeing the archers off on their first round, Mateo and I headed off for our own little adventure deep in the mountains of the Sierra Morena.
It took us an hour or so to go the next 30kms - which is slow going, believe me - but we firstly turned off the motorway at Despeñaperros and turned right, instead of the usual left, heading for the strangely named village of Aldeaquemada - Burnt Village. It was 'only' 23 kms....of hairpin bends going up, up, up and ever upwards. Obviously, we eventually started the same process only this time going down. Before we left, I had seen that there were some waterfalls near the village that were supposedly worth a turn of the head and I thought Mateo would like to visit them with me - and I was suitably impressed that he agreed, even though it meant getting out of bed before midday on a Sunday...7 hours before midday. He did say, 'where are you taking me?' at one point but I had lost the plot myself and was just wildly changing gear between 1st and 2nd and hoping that we would arrive somewhere...anywhere..soon! Which of course, we eventually did...Aldeaquemada. It didn't look burnt but heaven knows how the population survived there. I half suspected that there was a backway from another town that probably only took 8 minutes and where you would be able to find shops and bars and possibly even a petrol station....However, it's not. I took the following from its website (translated with the help of Google as I couldn't really believe what I was reading!) and it doesn't do much to encourage a visit..
Its climate is humid, prone to inertia, quartan fever, dropsy and soreness of the ribs. The prevailing winds are from the west and north and the population has 60 houses of common construction, 6 short streets leading to a square; a granary, a church, a cemetery, served by a priest; a primary school, equipped by parents of students, and an insignificant amount of 'their own; (Google couldn't help me with this but it made me shudder a little); a town hall, a jail, a butchers, an abattoir and an inn at the entrance of the village, built by the government.
There are 357 inhabitants... which by my reckoning means almost 6 people per house!
Anyway, after our first wrong turn as we entered the village, we saw the lot and before we were spotted by any locals and encouraged to stay and experience any dropsy and quantan fever-filled hospitality, we sped off down an unmade track, grinding my poor new car's bottom along as we went, towards my intended destination.
The waterfalls of Cimbarra.
We had mentally prepared ourselves for slight disappointment as we were coming to the end of a long, very hot and very dry summer. We knew that cascades of water were not just unlikely but out of the question. But we were blown away by the place, even without a dribble.
It was silent. It was vast. It was just mindblowingly beautiful. I posted these on Facebook, but I share them again here on the basis that you just can't get too much of a good thing!
Look at the amazing rock formations in the distance!
And close up!
We couldn't be sure but it looked as though at one time, there had been some sort of mill here.
Which would explain the millstones...but we were miles from anywhere....most strange.
Fascinating rock strata
And then, the pool of unfathomable depth where, in spring, the waterfall splashes down.
You can see where the water will travel and that we very nearly had a trickle as it had rained earlier in the week.
There is a little water in those top hollows...
A zoom in to the cave behind where the water falls
And a clip that I filmed as we first arrived and enjoyed the silence and the landscape.
Anyway...we eventually tore ourselves away, hairpinned our way back to civilisation for a leisurely sandwich and coffee - not in Aldeaquemada, I hasten to add - before heading back in good time to wait for Ruy. As always, I hoped he might beat his rival, national champion, Alberto just this once...but as we arrived, I got a phone call from Ruy asking me to come and get him as soon as possible as he'd sliced his finger open with a broken arrow and couldn't continue. So I did...but I didn't drive the last 300m in my poor battered old car. This was on the basis that if I needed to get him to hospital, then I needed the car in one piece. As it happened, the wound was clean, if deep, and not bleeding too much and we decided that a mad dash to A&E wasn't necessary. And it's now healed completely.
And whilst I was in the UK, as well as new pens for tanglin, I picked up a most horrendous cold which only really emerged when I got home. I ended up in bed the last three days and even now, the desk is littered with snotty tissues. Aren't colds just the pits!
When my sister picked me up from the airport, she whisked me immediately off to see a chiropractor that she has started to visit. He specialises in neurology and brain function and has done amazing things to help my sister's foot problems. I don't have time here to explain it all but I am going to do a post on my experience with Anthony soon. I need to keep practising my exercises first though. It's all very unusual!
Just before we went in to see Anthony, my sister warned me that my dad had had a very nasty fit two days earlier and she had thought he wouldn't survive. But he has and I found him remarkably well under the circumstances. I am not entirely sure he is ever absolutely sure that it's me that's visiting. I arrived about 10 minutes before my mum's friend usually comes to play dominoes and he assumed I was her. The idea of dominoes was obviously rather more exciting than my presence because he sounded a bit disappointed....but unfortunately, that is how his life is now. My mother is quite incredible and manages as much as she can with sometimes wicked good humour and acceptance as long as my dad is also good humoured and easy-going. But when he occasionally has bouts of anger or depression, I know she finds it all very difficult. Not being nearer, it is too simple for me to forget how complex it is for my sister....
Anyway, whilst I was in the UK, I met up with Janice! Yes, she was in the UK at the same time - which is very nearly a first for about four years when I saw her in Huddersfield after her treatment and we had a really special hug that I will never forget. We met for lunch in a cool new dining place in Knutsford, where we indulged in sausage and mash but never took a single photo. Not of ourselves, each other, the place, our food...not on our erratic drive back to my sister's, not when we were there, not in the rain or the sun...Janice! We didn't take a photo!! But it was so good to have a few hours to chat and enjoy your company. And you were, as always, looking super chic! I did love that jacket!
I went out again that evening and ate really well in a very lovely pub in the unlikely-named village of Grappenhall. I say unlikely-named but I have checked it out and it was mentioned in the Domesday Book. It is also the birthplace of Tim Curry and is where pianist Stephen Hough grew up. The carving in the church there is said to be the inspiration for Lewis Carroll's Cheshire Cat... all of which is slightly more interesting than Aldeaquemada had to say for itself. (I still don't know why it's called that either!)
Anyway, I have rabbited on far too long and far too much and avoided doing any housework this morning. I will be out teaching all afternoon and need to go and prepare for this. I will leave you with the threat that there may be more to follow. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed just blathering on! I never even mentioned the Anderton Boat Lift, musical fireworks, Scrabble, Chester, sculpture, what got packed and what was left behind ...plus what was taken away, vis....there's lots more!
Well, we're back. Back from a lovely week in England with family and friends.
I'd booked the flights in February and it wasn't until just before we were due to leave and I printed out our boarding passes that I realised we had eight days, not just a week, of holiday. It felt fantastic!
The last time I took the children to England it was Christmas; the weather was cold and wet; the days were short and it was dark by 4pm. This year, we were treated to eight long, glorious and sunny days; the sun didn't set until 10pm and rose again by 5am. We revelled in the rich greenery of the Cheshire and West Yorkshire countrysides. We had one short sharp thunderstorm soon after we arrived in Huddersfield which was noisy and quite spectacular and very welcome.
My sister has moved house and is now in a beautiful old farmhouse with acres of land.. I have, in the distant past, posted about the many tractors around here, including very beautiful Lamborghini ones...and since visiting my sister, I have tractor envy. She has her own little tractor to cut the grass and of course, we had to have a go!
Here's Romy receiving instruction....
We were treated to wonderful home-cooked meals and the children and I slept in the old, almost but not quite, converted barn, all together in the same space. I fell asleep every night to the sound of laughter and silly stories and games of 'I went to market' (a memory game where each player adds something else to the list of purchases...) and just general messing around.
We visited my parents and found them not too badly organised. Dad has just got a hoist and a new bed which helps Mum and the carer to get him in and out of bed and in and out of his chair. He looks well under the circumstances but is always anxious to speed up the time between his daily routines - often, by 3pm, he's anxious for supper and bed.
After a couple of days relaxing, enjoying the sunshine and my sister's garden, we hired a car to visit friends in Yorkshire - sadly missing Janice by a week or so as she had returned to France, more or less with Le Tour. Check out her blog for more lovely information about this! I had arranged to meet my dear friend Karen (of Southwold Famous Five fame) in Salt's Mill in Saltaire, one of my all time favourite haunts. I'd dropped Mateo off in Huddersfield to meet some of his friends so it was just Romy, Ruy and I who went. We arrived early and I positioned myself near the entrance so that I'd see Karen when she arrived. However, there were two entrances and she managed to sneak up on me - very sneakily she did it - and caught me by surprise. We'd sort of expected a slightly tearful and emotional meeting as it's more than four years since we've seen each other, but our outburst of hysteria was unexpected! We both burst into a mixture of laughing and crying and hugging which became a mascara- and nose-dripping spectacle with my children and Karen's husband, Philip, looking on in slightly embarrassed amusement. It was perfect! We had a lovely lunch together and lots of catching up. It's twenty five years since Salt's Mill opened and the chap in the Diner is still there, welcoming the hoards and he remembered and chatted to us as if we'd only been there last week. And then Karen handed me a very precious little parcel. It was Mavis - our prize pig from the Treasure Hunt we did in Southwold (see earlier link!) - who, as we were there in 1984 as I remember, is now 35 years old!
After this lovely afternoon, we went to stay with my friend Marion, over in Huddersfield. Like everyone else we stayed with, Marion had prepared us some wonderful food. I did wonder whether it was because we had unconsciously been missing 'English' food but I suspect it was more the special care that people made on our behalf and we are most grateful - certainly one very direct way to our hearts. We stayed overnight and so the next morning, I was able to drop Ruy off at a friend's house and call in to see another before going to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park with Marion, her son, Ali and another friend, Clare. This is the place we visited most often from our home in Huddersfield and at the time, is where FR did his undergraduate and postgraduate degrees so we got to know it very well indeed. Sadly, the University of Leeds has closed the campus based here now and all the buildings that were home to FR showed great signs of decay and neglect...we couldn't get to see some of the older and more beautiful buildings as the grounds were roped off for visitors. I didn't honestly pay too much attention to the surroundings as I was busy enjoying my time talking to my friends but I think the children were glad to be back. Mateo took some photos on his phone and they're not brilliant but do capture some of the amazing trees there and some of the unexpected features!.
With Marion, Clare, Ali and Romy
When we returned to my sister's, she took us on a stunning walk around Marbury Country Park with Twigg, Cocoa and Fizz. And we had a pub lunch at the side of the Trent and Mersey Canal, where the Anderton Boat Lift is now operational again. It all seemed very civilised and organised and pretty. And that's not to say Spain isn't these things but my three words are not the first that come to mind when living in Andalucia...(Photos to follow - they're on my sister's phone and she's now in Belgium.) The rest of the week was made up of more visits to Mum and Dad, a quick trip to the chiropractor, a shopping day at Cheshire Oaks - more because one of the cars was in for a service there - but we did get a few items and overdosed on the outrageous amount of choice of things for sale. A once in a lifetime visit, I suspect! And Ruy got some great archery practice and he and Romy were invited to hit a few balls on the Golf Course Driving Range just next door - which they enjoyed very much! And suddenly it was Thursday and time to come home again. It was wonderful to spend time with my sister and to see my parents and so special to spend time with precious friends too. But we were ready to come home again. I always tend to say 'home' for England, but my children don't. They had a great time - and Ruy in particular, had a brilliant day with his friends, including catching his first fish - but Alcala is their home and they were ready to return. And that was a good feeling too. After a goodbye and utterly indulgent meat-and-potato pie meal at my parents'..... ...we pootled back to the airport and climbed aboard our plane home with some satisfaction. And at the other end, FR was waiting for us with a lovely picnic and the beach bag prepared for a late night dip in the Med! Don't ask me why I didn't take any photos of my two brave children swimming in the sea at 10.30 as I have no excuse, just as I have no excuse for not having a photo of Karen and I in our emotional meeting. But these things are firmly fixed in my mind's eye and you'll just have to believe me that they are wonderful! So, we've been there and we've come back again. Not story of Hobbits or dragons but a journey, along the way of which we all made a few discoveries, found many things to make us feel grateful and felt the pleasure of returning home again. And that is no bad thing.
The old-fashioned kind. The one where your mum catches you doing something you shouldn't. And gives you a telling off.
Fortunately, my mum has given up doing things like that to me these days. However, my sister hasn't.
She had told me she didn't read my blog much but sod's law has it that she read recently. She saw that I was blogging when I should have been packing. Eeek - I got a bent ear. She was tempted to let rip in the comments box but refrained - (shame, I'm sure you'd have enjoyed it..) but she gave me what for over SKYPE.
Everytime we've moved house recently, she's helped out. She knows I am sitting here - typing - when all around me are things that need packing in boxes, things that need throwing out, things that need dismantling. She knows. She's right.
She told me some home truths and said I must show her on SKYPE video what I have done and what I haven't. So don't tell her I'm writing now. I'm going to start work just as soon as I've had my coffee. But I just needed to register how silly it all seems.
This is how it should be done!
Now I must go before my sister sees this and tells me off again. (Though the bottom line is that I really don't manage too well without her.....)
My sister and I exchanged emails this morning. We try to speak regularly on SKYPE and whilst we could probably speak more often, once we get going, we can easily while away an hour or so without drawing breath. It's good to talk. I miss my sister.
In her email this morning, as well as telling me she was suffering with the cold that hit my mother - I knew it wasn't a Spanish bug - she told me she's off to London for a couple of days tomorrow with some friends. This in itself was no great shock - my sister has a wide circle of friends and is always off somewhere or other with them. What did make my eyebrows shoot up was the fact that she said she hasn't been to London since she came to visit me when I worked at Waterstone's - at a time when Tim W. was still very much in charge, (he interviewed me and gave me the job, making me responsible for the music department in the Charing Cross Road store and for which I will be forever grateful) - and when it still had its apostrophe! The dropping of the apostrophe caused quite a stir at the beginning of the year - though the name remains and Tim has long gone.
As I often do, I'd like you to bear with me on a short detour from the main theme of this post. I'd like to concur with the line in Wikipedia that states that Tim set up a new kind of bookshop, that 'employed a highly literate staff'...the people I worked with at this period were absolutely fascinating and some have gone on to develop further the areas they were interested in during their time at the shop. Jonathan Rich ran the fiction department and went on to write himself, including episodes of 'The Bill' and 'Casualty' and also a drama-documentary for the BBC on Egypt. I have just discovered he is also a voice over artist which doesn't surprise me at all as I remember his wonderful melodic voice very well indeed and having just listened to some of his recordings, I'm blasted back to the past when we worked briefly together on the same floor of the store. Jonathan was a joy to work with, funny, clever, a big softie (hugs on the hour, every hour) with a wicked wit and a real love of music - it's been such a treat to listen to his voice again, even if it's to hear him advertising software solutions and estate agents! I also remember being very fond of a serious chap called Ray Monk, whom I once accompanied to a rendezvous at St. Paul's Cathedral for him to buy a saxophone. Ray ran the philosophy department and is now a Professor of Philosophy at Southampton University with a string of prizes and books to his name - mainly on his abiding interest, Wittgenstein. Elizabeth, who ran the Travel department left to go to Zimbabwe, Colin, who ran the Health department had been a psychiatric nurse, the 'Saturday' boy was the son of the author Hunter Davies...it was an interesting place to work. (I ran a pretty good music section too.)
Back on track now. At the time, I lived in a place which has also changed its name. In 1985, Staines-upon-Thames was simply Staines and it was sometime during this year that my sister came to visit. I remember very little about what we did but it must have involved walking into the town centre along Gresham Road several times. I know this because on the last day of her visit, my sister slowed down as we passed one of the buildings on this road and then started to laugh. She laughed so much, she had to sit down on the pavement. She laughed so infectiously that I started to laugh too without having the slightest idea why. When we laugh, we laugh til we cry. So there we were - sitting on the kerb - tears rolling down our faces, unable to speak. Behind us was a building and my sister kept turning round and pointing to the sign, trying to explain why she was laughing but every time she looked at it, she'd start laughing again.
The sign?
THE
NATIONAL
DYSLEXIA
INSTITUTE
Why the hysteria? My sister is only mildly dyslexic (undiagnosed) but all week, as we walked past the building, she had been struggling to decipher the words. On our last trip, she worked it out....
If ever an institute needed to change its name - this has to be it!
A month can be a long time...and we did a lot of things and Spain is very big. This post mainly covers the time we spent on the coast of northern Spain.
Allow me to start with our safe arrival after a journey of over 600kms (or 385 miles) in some pretty hot weather. We were very glad to reach the relative cool of my in-laws house. FR and I had had a stupid fight a few days before we left - neither of us know why - and we were both still rather sulky and subdued, which is embarrassing to admit at my age but there you go. I guess deep down, I was rather dreading the time in less than comfortable beds, under threat from the dreaded mosquitoes and managing in the awkward, frustrating houses in both La Flecha and also in Leon. Not the best of starts.
It was, as always, a pleasure to see my in-laws and they were delighted to see us too. And the children were immediately at home and bounded off to check out their bedrooms, beds and to pick up where they had left off last time.
This was Tuesday evening and we'd made arrangements to meet up with my sister to spend Saturday with her, Rob, Emily and Luke - William choosing to stay at home this year - during their holiday in the Basque Country near San Sebastian. We agreed to meet somewhere on the north coast and to make the most of our time, we decided to camp the night before and stay til the Sunday with our meeting point being the nearest beach to our chosen campsite.
We'd had to borrow a tent from friends in Alcala as our old one was just too big, cumbersome and awkward to use for short stay holidays. (And last time we camped in it, it had taken us three hours to put it up as we'd forgotten how it went...by the time we finished it was dark and onlookers had had to fetch their torches to see the final outcome.) It was a lovely big, old-fashioned tent and it was with some regret we sold it to some lovely people from Leeds - who live about 10 kms away from us here - and who have given it a good home in their garden.
So we set off on Friday to find somewhere to make camp and as we drove along the coast road, we turned into a petrol station where, on asking, we were directed towards a little village where we were told we'd find some campsites. We seemed to be following a road to nowhere but eventually, said village came into sight and we found a gorgeous site, up on a cliff overlooking a beautiful little cove - and managed to take the very last spot in what was a busy but very peaceful place, full of dips, ledges, trees and steps.
Unfortunately, it was raining lightly but the tent went up without a hitch - the children staring in disbelief as we had it 'mantled' (surely this is the right word) in minutes rather than hours. And the rain stopped so we went down to the cove and enjoyed a quick dip and a wiggle of toes in some perfect sand. Mateo made a den with driftwood.
Campsite hugging the cliff in the background
Mateo's den
On Saturday, we awoke to the sound of rain on the tent roof. There's no denying, it's a lovely sound whilst you're still snug in your sleeping bag, but I wanted the loo and was not looking forward to the trek down soggy steps and past dripping trees. But needs must. And I needed. And whilst it was wet, it wasn't cold and we had all slept like logs - a phenomenon that we notice every time we stay in Asturias. It's as if the dampness encourages deep, deep sleep. By the time I got back, FR had got bacon sizzling on the stove, the rain had slowed to the odd drip and my sister had texted to say they were on their way. (This is not to suggest I lingered in the toilets, just that it was quite a distance away...)
Soon after we'd eaten and tidied away, I tootled down to the road to wait for Judy and before long, they arrived, brightening the day into instant sunshine.
And we had a lovely day, visiting a museum in Ribadesella, where in 1968, a huge cave containing prehistoric paintings was discovered. We weren't able to see the actual cave as numbers were limited, prebooked and full up until November, but the museum was very interesting and well presented.
Awaiting lunch in Ribadesella
After the rain began again, we made a mad dash for the cars and moved on to Colunga to see the footprints left by dinosaurs over 65 million years ago. Sixty five million years. More than.
Disappointingly, they didn't show up as well in the wet but each indent was made by a dinosaur.
See these steps...I fell down them. It hurt a lot.
A last drink together - Judy and I had been deep in conversation all day and this picture captures it perfectly! Not sure I could believe what she was telling me here!
This is Lyme Regis
After this, we drove around the coast to a village called Lastres. This part of Spain is called the Jurassic Coast and so reminds me of the coastline around Lyme Regis, Jurassic Coast of England. Full of fossils, dinosaur relics and information.
There is a similarity in a sort of mirror-image way in how the two towns are laid out..
And this is Lastres
Only Lyme Regis is sunnier....
We had a lot of rain during our day together but it didn't dampen our spirits at all. Eventually, though, we had to say goodbye and set off for our respective beds for the night. We were soon snuggled into our damp but cosy sleeping bags, whilst unfortunately, it took Judy and family five hours to return to San Sebastian. Spain is bigger than we think sometimes!
The next morning, the rain continued and although we braved another dip in the sea, we decided enough wet was enough and so we packed up and left.
We stopped on our way home at a stunning beach in a place near the Cantabrian border, called La Franca, which we liked so much we decided we'd definitely come back again during the holiday. And just a couple of weeks later, we did just that. Spain was on red alert for the highest temperatures of the summer as a heatwave came up from Africa.
We were staying in Valdepolo at the time and decided that the coast would feel cooler, so we set off nice and early and took the scenic route over the Puerto San Glorio, which is a mountain pass of outstanding beauty and wiggly roads. It took us four hours driving in blistering heat but which doesn't feel too bad in an air-conditioned car.
However, we weren't prepared for the weather on our arrival at La Franca. It was decidedly chilly! Whilst the rest of Spain was wilting, we were enjoying a bracing day on a breezy, overcast beach. And rather enjoying it.
Not crowded!
Perfect sand for toe-wiggling
On our journey back, the heat rose as we moved south again and we were so very glad to have had a day of relative coolness.
Our last view of the north for a while - it's a long way away. A long way.
More of our month to follow shortly.
This post was intended to be a brief two liner explaining that for a little while I would be 'offline' as we're off where there's no wifi, no internet connection, a deadzone. (FR's parents' house, where the internet connection we had when we lived there has been withdrawn - and then to his grandfather's house, where there is no wifi and no mobile signal either!) However, events overtook me, as usual.
I wanted to put something like 'where the sun don't shine' for no internet access but of course, the sun will be shining, so that wouldn't do at all! So I popped onto the Urban Dictionary to check out synonyms for 'deadzone' - and found something that made my eyes pop a little.
Entry number 7 under 'Deadzone' reads thus:
Skelmanthorpe
The only place in the world where there is literally nothing of interest whatsoever.
Located 6 miles south-east of the town of Huddersfield in West Yorkshire, Skelmanthorpe is said to hold 4000 old people, out of a total population of 4000.
Ask yourself; How dull and uninteresting can it be here? Surely this is an exaggeration. Well no, dear reader, I cannot put into words how unbelievably lifeless and dead it is, since i cannot describe nothingness.
Man 1;
'Skelmanthorpe is where i'm taking my kids on holiday!'
Man 2;
'You sick, demented bastard.'
And instead of telling you what we are going to do on our visit of undefined length in northern parts of Spain, I feel I must right the wrong of this dictionary entry! Skelmanthorpe is a lovely place I know well and visited often. It has a wealth of interesting facts and features associated with it and I have friends who live there. I very nearly bought a little apartment there once, in a beautiful converted church - though in the end I didn't (NOT because it was a dull and uninteresting place full of old people but because it was the very week I met FR and our immediate intention and desire to reproduce could have meant a one-bed, bijou apartment would prove very impractical!)
It's very name is interesting, conjuring up a Viking history, which indicates it dates back to around the 9th century. Locally, it goes by the unusual, if not very pleasant name of 'Shat' - no idea why and don't like to ask. It was pretty much destroyed during the Norman Conquests - he had a lot to answer for did Norman - but sounds like it bounced back to become the place to be for rowdy revelling in the 1770s, when the Skelmanthorpe Feast was held, complete with bull and bear-baiting, gypsy fortune telling and a fair bit of drinking...
And in 1934, a cinema was built in the village! How many villages can claim this, I ask you? Agreed, it turned to hosting wrestling matches in later years to boost revenue (given the village's lively history, perhaps this is not surprising) and then, later still, a bingo hall and then a squash court. And to completely refute the entry in the Urban Dictionary, it is now a Youth Club - so much for only old people in Shat!
It has a very nice Mediterranean restaurant, called 'Volare' which has been seen in sunny weather, to sprout cosmopolitan tables on the pavement outside its doors. And being a good Yorkshire village, it has an excellent chippie. At least one.
There are two very good primary schools, no less than five churches, cricket and football teams - and heavens, the Kirklees Light Railway runs through the old station. (And that does Santa Specials!) It also has one of the oldest established brass bands in the whole country and they're good, very good.
There, I feel I have done by bit to right a wrong. How is the world wide web going to manage without me in the next few weeks, I wonder? What have you read or seen on the internet that has shocked, outraged or merely made you tut at its inaccuracy?
I might manage a sneaky peak at what's going on because all being well, I will be meeting up with my sister and family on the north coast of Spain for a 'prehistoric day' - we plan to visit caves in Puente Viesgo and then to retread dinosaur footprints on the beach at Colunga - she's bringing me a very special present I purchased with my birthday money - a tablet! Not an iPad, couldn't run to buying one of those, but a rather nice little android. I am ridiculously excited about it.
See you anon. Happy holidays - and remember, if you're visiting the north of England, give Skelmanthorpe a turn of the head and a cheerful wave - I'm sure you'll get a friendly response.
The first was my sister and her husband who had come to spend a couple of days in Granada - stopping off overnight with us - as part of my sister's birthday celebration this year.
Although we had a very short time all together, we packed plenty of walking, talking and eating in. I was so happy to be with her that I completely forgot to take photographs and last night, she sent me the photos my brother-in-law had taken. It was lovely to get them and relive a little of our time together.
It struck me as most interesting that Rob had chosen to photograph very different aspects of Alcala la Real to the ones I have taken and so I thought I would share those here.
Walking from our house - La Mota and its archeological dig on the right
On the steps leading up to La Mota
The entrance to La Mota - we'd just walked up a very steep hill - but there's still another to climb!
A little memorial near the houses at La Mota
The same, only with some local kids
This is the first time I'd stopped to look at this gate - it's rather lovely
though we were not sure what was on the other side - maybe an old convent?
He NEVER poses like this for me!
Rob was captivated by this hideous bouncy castle - he couldn't image why it didn't scare kids away!
(Not a Spongebob fan?)
We are clearly very bad at posing for photographs all of us together.
I shall make sure I remedy that in the future.
We are also not very good at capturing food - we like to get stuck in far too quickly! On the Sunday, FR cooked the ribs he had prepared a couple of days before. He went to the old house nearby and used the fireplace to light a fire and cook the ribs most professionally over the glowing embers of olive wood. Then he transported them back - giving us a call to say EET (Estimated Eating Time) would be five minutes - just long enough for us to get the other food out of the oven and onto the table. There was such a hush round the table as we tucked in that after a few seconds, eyes met across ribs in surprise and we all started laughing.
Sharing - can't beat it!
