When Cricket simply isn´t Cricket

I screamed today - a proper, genuine, head turning, embarrassing scream at the top of my voice. Where? Cazorla - the MOST beautiful whitewashed pueblo to the south west of the Sierra de Seguro, Cazorla y Las Villas mountains in Jaén, one of the unknown provinces of the huge and beautiful Andalusían area of Spain. And Why? Well, I was deep in conversation with a NOT especially nice or forthcoming Spaniard while my son was crawling around on the floor doing what he does when he spies a cricket - and that is being intent on catching the critter and bringing it to me for due inspection in great and fascinating detail before the thing leaps off to live another day.

However my son is now seven and understands that interrupting is NOT cool, especially when Mum is trying to get to grips with pretty complicated Spanish facts, which I was. Replaying the tape now, I remember him tapping me gently on the arm saying Mama, but I rather ignored him as I am working at gently but constantly suggesting that he DOESN'T BLITHERING WELL INTERRUPT UNLESS THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE ....

Mistake ....

Because he finally said "Mum I have to interrupt because I think there´s a huge cricket going up your trouser leg ............."

That did it. I threw my papers onto the floor (not surfaced, an ocean of dust in fact), and started to undo the zip to my white trousers oblivious to the fact that the man I had been talking to started to snort back the giggles. THAT made the cricket move, and THAT drew my attention to where it was - WELL ABOVE MY KNEE - at which point I SCREAMED! Trousers were down in a second (man decent enough to pull a door past me so that I could strip off in some semblance of dignity) and find this 3-4inch monster of a cricket inside my left trouser leg!

HELL there are times when you realise the advantage of living in Tiny Critter Country!!

Changing Clocks, Cats Eyes and Winter Weather

Am I the only person I know who LOATHES with a deep and vengeful passion the fact that, like lemmings to the cliff, the whole world changes their clocks with religious monotony twice a year without ever fighting against the reality that this ritual freaks out thousands of families every year, twice a year, for life?

I HATE it. More children get killed immediately after the Winter clock change than at any other time because people don't see them, and what would be wrong with enjoying the last of the afternoon sun after school .... WHY DO WE DO IT????? And don't tell me it's about the farmers, every farmer I have ever met gets up when he or she NEEDS to get up, not because GMT or British Summer Time said so.

As we drove yesterday afternoon in the dark rainy gloam to Teruel, I really FELT Winter here for the first time. It is a proper drive - 45 minutes of which 30 are along VERY Spanish mountain roads - beautiful in the Summer, when you can see, and rather HAIRY in the dark, when you can't see three metres infront of your nose because there are no Cats Eyes on hairpin bends! What a wonderful invention Cats Eyes are, but I guess in a country as enormous as Spain, the idea of putting them on really dangerous roads would mean millions of the things and there isn't the wealth to do it (arguably because, some people say, that the Government, Officials and the Estate Agents pocket it all - but I wouldn't DARE be so contentious)!.

And we went all that way so I could buy knitting wool - rather cotton - to knit my son some sweaters to keep him from freezing solid in the imminent sub zero temperatures - BUT....... ALL THE SHOPS WERE SHUT! WHY?? A perfectly normal Saturday evening in Spain, and every single bleedin' shop was shut! I was SO frustrated - all the diesel, sweaty hairpin bend palms and promises, and we couldn't even buy a hot chocolate! HOW FRUSTRATING!

We then had to drive the 45 minutes back in pitch darkness and I actually found myself feeling really grateful - because I am being gently eased into the reality that in about 2 months I will be facing some of my worst fears - driving in snow and ice consistently for 6-7 weeks! So the moral for me?

Get USED TO IT GIRL!!!

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