Urgh!

29.9.08

I have just had the fright of my life...
While sitting here at my laptop, browsing through sites that should help promote my work (one can only hope!), something landed on my face... on my eye to be exact.
I screamed, through off my glasses (luckily they landed softy on the desk) and jumped a mile into the air (ok... perhaps I can exaggerate a little bit) and ran as fast as I could out of our home office. I am shuddering at the thought. Urgh.
As I shook off my faithful pink cardie and headed into the bathroom to inspect my poor face. I couldn't see a thing. Whatever it was, was no longer. No longer on my head anyway.
Urgh... I can't stop shuddering.
As I carefully tiptoed back to my desk, scouring the place for anything alien... I noticed a little grasshopper on the floor. Urgh... a grasshopper had landed on my eye... of all places!
Urgh... I know I keep saying Urgh... but it's all I can think of to say.
Oh, the joys of living in this part of the world... and out in the countryside as well. Bugs galore.
URGH!

Rain, rain go away

29.9.08

The weather has been dreadful all weekend. I genuinely feel sorry for all those tourists that eagerly arrived for a sun-drenched holiday just a few days ago, to be greeted not by the beautiful hot sun but instead by thunder, lightning and constant rain.
Proof that living here isn't all a bed of roses, this weekend's storm left us with hardly a thing to do. We also had friends staying with us... they own a holiday home in the village where I grew up but whenever they come over for a break, they always come and have a weekend out in the country with us.
But what to do? It rained almost from the moment they arrived. On Saturday morning, we popped to the local shopping centre to buy some bits n pieces for dinner and the place was heaving with people. I hate crowds. I become claustrophobic and uncomfortable... however, I do love shopping so I tend to grin and bear it. Saturday, however, was another story and I just wanted to get home and put my comfy slippers on!
Whenever it rains here, all the shopping centres fill up - it doesn't make any difference whether it is a light shower or a full on storm, shopping becomes a nightmare. Is it the same the world over? Or is it just here because there really is very little else to do but shop?
What else is there to do when it rains? You can't very well go to the beach or the local waterslide parks can you? To be brutally honest... there isn't anything else to do.
In the winter, my husband and I are almost always at a loss what to do. We used to go out for long drives in the country but even that has become a tad tedious... having gone down those same routes time and time again. We dream of faraway places where you can go ice skating, roller skating or even skiing - just for something totally different to do with our time.
Many a Sunday morning, we find ourselves meeting friends for a coffee, often at the (surprise, surprise) shopping centre where we spend an hour catching up before heading our separate ways and then wondering what else we can do to while away the time.
After returning with our friends this weekend, we sat down to a nice cup of tea, occasionally eyeing up the storm outside before my husband decided to start preparing dinner. It was, after all, something to do. With the ducks roasting in the oven, we sat and played Rummikub for a couple of hours before enjoying a super supper while watching Strictly Come Dancing on TV.
The following morning, our friends were keen to head home but found themselves struggling to get out of our house due to the ferocity of the storm. In the end, they decided to brave it and made a swift escape, leaving us, once again wondering what to do with ourselves.

Charity fashion show

25.9.08

Last week I was honoured to have been invited to a charity fashion show. It wasn't just any old invitation... I was to be guest of honour! I realise this was due to the fact that I edit the monthly fashion page in the local newspaper. But I was still honoured, nonetheless. The event was a huge success and many more people attended than was previously thought. Everyone had a ball. The models were all volunteers or friends of volunteers at the local animal charity, Nandi, and they were all so professional. It was fantastic. What was so remarkable about the show was that all the clothes were 'vintage' (I love that word!), in other words, they were all second hand items that had previously been donated to the charity shops. You would never have known would you?!
There was also an added surprise in the form of a sensuous salsa performed by two dancers from Strictly Social Dance. It was superb! And just in time for the beginning of Strictly Come Dancing on TV. Great timing! Here are some of the photos I took of this excellent cause...













Hot summer nights

25.9.08

I slept on the terrace a couple of weeks ago. It was such a beautiful evening that my husband and I just couldn’t resist lying beneath the stars as we dozed off into the land of dreams... that, and the fact that our bedroom had been unbearably hot.
As we lay there, counting the shooting stars above us, my husband had just closed his eyes when I saw the most magnificent one. It was the biggest, brightest shooting star I had ever seen and he had missed it. I was convinced it must have been some kind of comet... he was convinced it was probably something man made. We agreed to disagree.
Anyway, again we drifted off to sleep, only to be awoken a few hours later feeling a trifle chilly. I nipped inside and lugged our huge duvet cover outside and we snuggled up and dropped off again. Another couple of hours went by and I was woken by the feeling of something crawling on me... everywhere. I screeched and leapt up, rudely awaking my other half in the process. We didn’t even stop to see what it was. We just shook ourselves silly and shot inside to the comfort of our bed – fan on high to try to keep us cool.
The next morning as I gingerly stepped onto the terrace, I noticed hundreds of giant flying ants all over the duvet. I shuddered. I could have been smothered by those things. I could have been smothered to death (an image of my lifeless body creeps into my mind... death by giant ants...urgh). Ok... so maybe I am a bit of a drama queen sometimes.
That was the first time we had slept under the stars on our terrace. It would most definitely be the last.
Since that episode, we have, finally, had air conditioning fitted into our bedroom! After nearly eleven years of living in a hot apartment by the sea and three years of living in a warm villa in the country, we can finally sleep in a cool room in the summer. What utter bliss. For years we have, like many other expats here, have settled for the humble fan. A fantastic invention, of course, but it has nothing on the air conditioning unit. My skin is starting to feel dry and, with the lack of fresh air throughout the night, our oxygen levels are clearly lower than usual, but we have a cool bedroom! At the moment, nothing else matters! It could be sucking the life out of me, for all I care. It’s a cool bedroom!
Contrary to popular belief, it can get incredibly cold out here during the winter months. It’s not cold enough for snow but we often find a frost covering the ground first thing in the morning, particularly in January and February. Even though it is this chilly, my husband still insists on sleeping with a wide open window. “We need the fresh air”, he says. Perhaps now I have a good bargaining tool, “you didn’t say that when we had the air conditioning on in the summer”. What can he say to that? Not a lot really.

Hot summer nights

25.9.08

I slept on the terrace a couple of weeks ago. It was such a beautiful evening that my husband and I just couldn’t resist lying beneath the stars as we dozed off into the land of dreams... that, and the fact that our bedroom had been unbearably hot.
As we lay there, counting the shooting stars above us, my husband had just closed his eyes when I saw the most magnificent one. It was the biggest, brightest shooting star I had ever seen and he had missed it. I was convinced it must have been some kind of comet... he was convinced it was probably something man made. We agreed to disagree.
Anyway, again we drifted off to sleep, only to be awoken a few hours later feeling a trifle chilly. I nipped inside and lugged our huge duvet cover outside and we snuggled up and dropped off again. Another couple of hours went by and I was woken by the feeling of something crawling on me... everywhere. I screeched and leapt up, rudely awaking my other half in the process. We didn’t even stop to see what it was. We just shook ourselves silly and shot inside to the comfort of our bed – fan on high to try to keep us cool.
The next morning as I gingerly stepped onto the terrace, I noticed hundreds of giant flying ants all over the duvet. I shuddered. I could have been smothered by those things. I could have been smothered to death (an image of my lifeless body creeps into my mind... death by giant ants...urgh). Ok... so maybe I am a bit of a drama queen sometimes.
That was the first time we had slept under the stars on our terrace. It would most definitely be the last.
Since that episode, we have, finally, had air conditioning fitted into our bedroom! After nearly eleven years of living in a hot apartment by the sea and three years of living in a warm villa in the country, we can finally sleep in a cool room in the summer. What utter bliss. For years we have, like many other expats here, have settled for the humble fan. A fantastic invention, of course, but it has nothing on the air conditioning unit. My skin is starting to feel dry and, with the lack of fresh air throughout the night, our oxygen levels are clearly lower than usual, but we have a cool bedroom! At the moment, nothing else matters! It could be sucking the life out of me, for all I care. It’s a cool bedroom!
Contrary to popular belief, it can get incredibly cold out here during the winter months. It’s not cold enough for snow but we often find a frost covering the ground first thing in the morning, particularly in January and February. Even though it is this chilly, my husband still insists on sleeping with a wide open window. “We need the fresh air”, he says. Perhaps now I have a good bargaining tool, “you didn’t say that when we had the air conditioning on in the summer”. What can he say to that? Not a lot really.

To be posh or not to be posh

22.9.08

Having grown up in Iberia, I went to an International School. It was an amazing experience because it enabled me to learn about so many different cultures. There were kids from Germany, Holland, France, Canada, US, England, Portugal, Spain – you name it, they were there. It was a whole new world ripe for exploration.
Being just ten when I first entered that school, and boasting a strong Yorkshire accent, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to be someone else. I remember trying very hard to speak without my accent and telling everyone my name was the (rather posh) one on my birth certificate, as opposed to the (more common) one everyone has called me since I was born.
I wanted to fit in with the posh kids but I probably looked and sounded like an idiot. Eventually my efforts diminished, the accent returned (albeit strangely less pronounced) and I was known as my simple name once again. I was happy though. My posh friends only sounded posh – they were not in the least stuck up and I soon began to realise that it was the little things like our widely differing accents that made us so unique.
I had many Dutch friends who I could have listened to for hours. I just loved the way words rolled from their tongues. And I loved the way they spoke English too, almost with an American accent. To me, they were the coolest of the lot. I remember staying at my then best friend’s house for the weekend and for breakfast the whole family sat round the table chatting. There were all kinds of fascinating foods and fruit juices that I had never even seen before, let alone tasted.
To them, breakfast was the most important meal of the day. It’s a shame it never sunk in – my husband has to practically force feed me to eat food first thing in the morning these days! (Note to self: remember the Dutch, eat a hearty breakfast)
After 22 years of living in Southern Europe, I no longer have a Yorkshire accent. The only time it rears its head is when I say words like ‘bath’. According to my brother and sister, my accent is now a posh one. Funny, considering that’s what I wanted when I was a kid. A couple of years ago I appeared on a regional BBC programme about expatriates living in the region. I couldn’t believe myself how ‘posh’ I did sound! It was actually embarrassing.
Why has my accent fallen by the wayside? Perhaps due in part to my mixing with different cultures, or perhaps being with my husband since I was 16, who knows? My husband is also English, but he hails from Essex – although I do remember calling him posh when we first got together. But that’s a story for another time!

Who am I?

22.9.08

You’re probably wondering, ‘who on earth is this Iberian Bird?’ Well, I wonder the same thing all the time. Maybe I ought to give you a bit of history to give you some kind of idea.
I’m 32 years old and I live in Southern Europe – the same place I have resided since upping sticks with my family some 22 years ago. Although I always described myself as a ‘Yorkshire Lass’, having only been ten years old when I left, I have now succumbed to my surroundings and call myself ‘European’, or in other terms, an Iberian Bird. And no, I’m not quite on the endangered species list. Well... not yet anyway.
Although I have to admit I do feel that I might just be a dying breed. You see, I’m a married woman. Not just that... but I’m a happily married woman. I’m not saying that there are few happily married women out there. No not at all. It’s just that I married my ‘childhood’ sweetheart and I intend to be married to him to the end of time. These days there aren’t THAT many couples who have been together since they were kids and are still, to this day, as happy now as they were then – or more so, in my case.
In this day and age, too many people succumb to divorce. Although expensive, it’s the easy way out. No one wants to fight for what they’ve got anymore. They forget why they got together in the first place: love. Love conquers all, remember? No? Well... perhaps you ought to think about that before jumping lock, stock into the open arms of divorce. Fight for what you’ve got... not with each other.
I’ve kind of gone off on a tangent, haven’t I? Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Me... the Iberian Bird. At ten years old moving from the confines of cold, wet, dreary northern England to the hot summers of Iberia did come as a bit of a shock, to say the least. Admittedly though, it didn’t take too long to settle in. Welcomed with open arms by the locals, we had found ourselves a pleasant little pocket in the country with a swimming pool and ample space for us three siblings to not get in each other’s way.
The Good Life continued for a few years until the tragic death of our beloved mum. Losing a parent at any age is overwhelmingly heartbreaking, but friends told us that life had to go on, no matter what. Dad continued his role as our ‘rock’, cooking, cleaning, taking care of us in every way he could. We missed mum terribly but refused to let the tragedy break us. We had always been a close family and this would never change.
As the years went by and we grew into fine young adult specimens (ahem) our lives took us in different directions. My elder sister and younger brother had both returned to Yorkshire, while I remained behind, fulfilling my dream of further education. I had always imagined I would become a professional. A professional what, I wasn’t actually sure, but I did a couple of A’levels with the intention of going to University in England. I hadn’t thought for a second that love would prevent me from doing so. And so it was that after completing my A’levels, I couldn’t possibly have left my soul mate behind so I decided to stay.
Having lived here for 22 years, I am the envy of all my old friends and family. I have been very lucky but life here isn’t all a bed of roses. But that is another story altogether.
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