Last time I wrote, I was recovering from the first few days of living in our new house. I had found that the world continues to turn, even when the internet and the phones don’t work, and I was looking forward to the arrival of the lovely Rosemary.
Pretty exciting, eh?
Since then, we have happened upon the best source ever of solid pine, made-to-last second-hand chunky furniture, joined a rather anarchic Spanish class, and endured some interesting plumbing and electrical happenings.
We have unpacked clothes we had forgotten we owned. We have stacked the garage high with shelves groaning under jam jars full of all manner of screws, nails, hinges, hooks and knobs. There are tools for which we possibly never knew the use, jostling for space among the saws, hammers, toolboxes, coils of wire and hose-pipe.
The observatory at night
The arrival of a young lady and a tent in the garden was a source of great interest. Rosemary erected the tent, and used it as an observatory for some star-gazing and night photography, until a night of rain and high wind almost blew it away. We were amused that it caused such a stir, but as we sat over breakfast one morning and enthused wildly when no fewer than FOUR vehicles had gone past us on the rambla in only forty minutes or so, we began to understand how our cosmopolitan ways might be rich pickings for a community starved of excitement.
We have rediscovered the delights of having a dishwasher and a garden. We have given up on unpacking ornaments: we have no windowsills to put them to sit and collect dust, so we have left most of them in their boxes.
The wood came with a complimentary bottle of the wood man’s olive oil
We have explored the area a little, and eaten outside a lot. We have had our firewood for the winter delivered and have turned an untidy pile into a couple of beautiful, neat stacks. We have even lit the fire the last few days, because the weather has begun to turn rather chillier.
I tried digging over some of the neglected patch of land at the side of the house, to prepare my long-awaited vegetable garden.
One of the two stacks. Pretty good, eh?
Unfortunately, I found that my ankle could hurt even more and complain more bitterly than it did after four days of moving boxes and organising the house. We decided that it would make sense to ask the marvellous Mario to do the heavy work that I had hoped to do myself, so that I could save myself for the fun bits. He came for two or three days and knocked it into shape for us, clearing it of weeds, erecting a fence to keep the dogs and the local wildlife out, and generally setting it up for me to plant the veg. Mario was a hit with Geoff and Rosemary, who quickly came to appreciate his sense of humour, as well as his incredible work ethic.
As I look at the rows of cabbage, romanesco, carrots and sprouts, the patches of onions, peas and broad beans, the smattering of salad leaves, radish and beetroot and the solitary pineapple top, it is hard to remember what the area looked like only a couple of weeks ago. I am trying to get to grips with the irrigation system, but I enjoy puttering about with the watering can, so I am not trying very hard.
It’s very tiring being bad
The dog of the blog and her diminutive side-kick have also been settling in. From day one they loved having outside space to run about and do important dog stuff. In front of the house is a generous patio and gravelled area, and below is a large, open space, which they have found is excellent for games that involve speeding about and knocking each other over. The fence that the agents put up to keep them in is fabulous, but they just jump over the wall instead, and disappear off, given the slightest opportunity, coming back stinking of fish, or rotting food, or worse. Poppy has the grace to look ashamed of herself, and puts up with being bathed as the reasonable consequence of her transgression. Minnow, on the other hand, tends to smell worse, care less, and grins happily at us until she gets put into the bath. At this point, she panics, lets out pitiful cries, and shrieks and struggles and shakes until we are almost as wet as she is and riddled with guilt.
A vat of patatas a lo pobre, which I cooked, and then forgot to serve
We inadvertently planned our house-warming to coincide with the Day of the Dead, which was a prior commitment for all our Spanish neighbours, but several of them dropped in for a while between their visits to the graves of their relatives. We had various other friends and acquaintances here, including two intrepid souls all the way from our previous home and Mario and his wife and two little girls. Much cava and many sausage rolls were consumed, and the children made inroads into a bag of clementines. Rosemary charmed the two elderly Isabels by using her two words of Spanish, de nada, in an appropriate context, and we were invited to drop by any time, should we ever need anything.
We decided the house-warming had been fun and well worth the diet of leftovers for the rest of the week.
One of the interesting things that came out of the housewarming was the discovery of a storage cupboard beneath the stairs down to the garden from the terrace. We had not noticed that it was there, but one of our guests pointed it out to us.
The following morning, we went to take a closer look at it, and realised that we had the perfect space for keeping a few chickens. They could sleep in the cupboard, once it was fitted out with some chicken-type home comforts, and we could make a moveable run for them to rummage about in during the day.
Researching sources of timber, chicken wire, feeders, chickens etc. took a few days, but we soon had the materials ready.
Poppy settles in for some serious supervising
As usual, Poppy and Minnow did very little to help. They checked the materials, tripped over power tools and the extension cable, played chase between our legs and dropped balls and various toys under our feet. When they had exhausted the options for causing disruption, they took themselves off to the local bins, played chase for a while, woofed at our neighbour, Juan, and then settled down to a feast of almonds from one of the trees in the garden.
As the sound of crunching rang across the early evening air, the moon rose over the hills opposite. We had run out of time to finish the coop and buy chickens that day.
“Ah well,” we consoled ourselves, as we hastily packed tools away in the gathering gloom, “we can finish it off first thing tomorrow morning, and go and choose some chickens before the shop shuts for the weekend.”