Bomb Crisis

An Introduction to Catalan vocabulary.

1: Kiosk on the roadside.

I've heard about being hoisted with your own petard.

According to Chambers:

Petard: noun historical - a small bomb for blasting a hole in a wall, door, etc. hoist with one's own petard blown up by one's own bomb.

So this is a roadside bomb shop! Well - nothing in Spain would surprise me - they have Europe's worst safety record and their roads are carnage.

Mr Chambers adds

ETYMOLOGY: 16c: French pétard from péter to break wind, from Latin pedere.

Hmmmm.

It turns out that petard is the Catalan word for banger or firecracker. The sound is deafening.
They were available for a few days before the Fiesta of Sant Joan, (Joan = John) the pagan festival of fire. After that the shop was taped up by the police.


2: Sign on local market.


Kev (the Spanish speaker) said 'Oh yes - crease resistant '.

Kaz (the non Spanish speaker) replied.

'Er I don't think so. All fashionable clothes are supposed to be creased these days - in fact you probably have to pay extra for it. Rebajas means sales. So these pantalones are going to solve the financial crisis.'

'We must e mail Alistair Darling.'

'Don't call me darling' said Kev as he consulted his Spanish pocket dictionary - 'it's so bourgeois'.

I was right of course.

And I don't think those pants will crunch your credits.
KAZ

GULLiver's Travels

We arrived at the usual piso to find all was well.

Until I had to visit to the restroom which was out of order - or 'the bog was bust' as we Brits would say. The local plumber couldn't come until 7pm the next day.

So, the following day we drove to the Parc Natural where we saw purple heron, marsh harrier, spotted crake, bee eater, roller, hoopoe, reed warbler, fan tailed warbler, green sandpiper etc...(do you really want to know all this?)

Then home to get out of the heat and wait for the plumber ...... and look what I found.


He was a very brave herring gull with a damaged wing - so he couldn't escape from the terrace. Herring gulls are big birds - he was knee high, had a fearsome beak and was looking at me expectantly.

And I was fresh out of herrings.

What to do?

If he stayed there he would die - slowly.
If we managed to lift him over the wall he would fall to the ground and die slowly.

I couldn't find the number for the Spanish equivalent of Bill Oddie or the RSPB ... and he was still looking at me.

Should we let nature take its course?

NO!

Averting his eye (and beak) I threw a sheet over him, lifted him into a box and we drove back to the visitors' centre at the Parc.


A nice señora inspired our confidence as she took him in. I doubt if the wing could be fixed - but the vet would do the right thing by my new friend.

He's probably in Herring Heaven by now.

How did Gulliver know we were birders?

The plumber didn't show up - but the loo miraculously started working again.
Excellent - I needed a rest.
KAZ

Would I Lie to YOU?

When I’m planning to go to Spain - I’d rather not tell you about it.

You would only go on and on about my carbon footprint and idle lifestyle or say it’s all greasy food and penduline tits.

Then there would be the insinuations re Kenneth Noye and Ronnie Knight style activities on the Costa del Crime. Do you really think I’d associate myself with the ex Mr Babs Windsor?

Anyway, I go to Catalunya not Malaga - my only criminal activity is stalking the lovely Thierry in Barcelona.

I could always carry on writing about football and rain and Manchester.

I could tell you about Britney’s visit on Tuesday to our M.E.N. Arena when she jumped on stage and shouted ‘What’s up London?’


You’d never know where I was if it weren’t for that sneaky statcounter showing the red and yellow flags.

But I won’t be flying to Spain next week

!! Because I’m already there !!

....... And I’ve brought my laptop with me.

KAZ

Eavesdropping.

The bloke next to me on the bus was talking very loud French into his téléphone cellulaire. He shrugged and gesticulated as only a Monsieur could - and, as he signalled the word 'gauche', he nearly knocked me off my seat.

The Chinese girl behind me shouted loud, consonant free Chinese into her 手机, as a giggling gaggle of Somali girls squealed and screamed in Somali (?) while they climbed to the top deck.

None of this is unusual in Manchester and I walked down Market Street to the usual background of Spanish Polish Russian Punjabi Arabic Guajarati etc.

But nothing prepared me for what I was to hear in Debenham's later.

Mum to small son:

"Ok Geezer. Yer not avin ennyfink coz yer won't wait nor nuffink. Lor' luv a duck! Just keep yaaahr norf an' sowf shut . Know what I mean. Nuff said yeah?

(O.K. I exaggerate a little but at least I didn't mention a J Arthur.)

A cockernee in Manchester?
Previously unheard of.

Then it occurred to me that some of my blogging pals are from the deep South. Do Geoff, Rog, Dave, NiC and Scarlet all put batter on their bread instead of on their fish?

And is anyone saying ‘Hoots Mon’, ‘Why aye Man’ or ‘Golly Gosh’ as they read this post?
KAZ

The Sporting Cock.

You may have heard the Merseyside Derby (Everton v Liverpool) referred to as the Friendly Derby.

But try telling this to Rafa Benitez.


Relationships declined after the Heysel Stadium disaster. Everton had qualified for Europe that year and the fans blamed Liverpool hooligans for the subsequent ban on all English clubs.

So now the two tribes of fans hate each other - in true footballing tradition.

'EVERTON 1' is the brand new shop at Goodison where the team's latest strip (by Le Coq Sportif) will be sold.

But there's a brand new shopping centre in Liverpool called Liverpool 1.

Everton have a another shop there called 'EVERTON 2'.


And its address -

EVERTON 2 - LIVERPOOL1

LOL!!!
KAZ

NUTTERS and BOLTERS.

I've just finished 'The Bolter'. But if I’d been aware of the identity of the author the charity shop would be 50p worse off.

Frances Osborne is the Tory wife of George - the odious ex member of the Bullingdon club (no1 in the pic). He was a few years later than his mates Dave and Boris.

Fragrant Frances discovered that her great grandmother was Idina Sackville, the scandalous, five times married, gin-fuelled, orgy loving member of the ‘Happy Valley’ social set in 1930s Kenya - as portrayed in the film 'White Mischief'.

In spite of the stigma of her divorced mother, Idina managed to catch and marry (in1913) one of the richest men in Britain. They were a promiscuous lot.

The 'cinq à sept’ referred to the early evening shagging session.

Why this time?

Because it was just after tea when the ladies unleashed their stays and peeled off layers of undergarments before changing for dinner. So it was practical rather than passionate.

Only married women were chosen so that surprise pregnancies could be kept in the family. Stately homes were designed with this debauchery in mind - they had a special door leading from the man's dressing room to the corridor.

I enjoyed this book for all the wrong reasons. The lives of the hedonistic rich who introduced the concept of binge drinking to the world and set the standard for bacchanalian orgies was undeniably fascinating.

Idina was a despicable person - but she did start the East Grinstead suffragette movement, build two plantations in Africa and pursue an intrepid daredevil lifestyle with no thought for personal safety.

She also had a sort of social conscience - which is more than can be said for her great grand daughter's husband.
KAZ

Lesser Spotted.

As you know I'm a Lancashire lass. But Kev's a Cheshire boy.

No - don't be daft not Alderley Edge or Knutsford, he was born with a view of this.


So when we venture owt and abowt he likes to visit the effeminate Cheshire plains whereas I always long for the dark satanic hills.

(Kaz photo)

Last week he won and we went to a woodland in Northwich which is a tad boring. We were looking for the lesser spotted woodpecker which has previously eluded us.

Not to be confused with the greater spotted wood pecker - which is very nice but rather common daahling.

So we sat looking at this hole in a tree for ages...and ages ...and ...ages..

**** But .... eventually it appeared ****

(Kev photo)

It was almost a repeat of one of my favourite adverts.



KAZ

Hoochie Coochie Parkie

You may recall that I don't believe that we can save the earth by paying 10p for a plastic bag and using Ecover toothpaste - but I do it anyway (apart from the toothpaste).

But just look at this garbagio that arrived unsolicited through my letter box.


Inside the very large envelope (top) were 8 pieces of paper including a huge 3 page fold out effort with a picture of Parki. He was very concerned that I wouldn't be able to afford to pay for my funeral. Perhaps it's this caring attitude that got him his knighthood.

....or do you think Sun Alliance might have given him some financial incentive?

Instead of accepting his generous offer I shall recycle all this stuff and make a cardboard coffin. This will free my mind from anxiety and allow me to concentrate on my choice of funeral music

Shall I choose Robbie's 'Angels' or James Blunt's 'Goodbye my Lover'?

Only joking ..... it will of course be the marvellous Muddy Waters singing 'The Hoochie Coochie Man'.

Gypsy woman told my mother 'fore I was born,
You got a boy-child coming, gonna be a son of a gun
Gonna make pretty womens jump and shout,
And then the world wanna know what this all about

But you know I'm here
Everybody knows I'm here
Well, I'm the hoochie coochie man
Everybody knows I'm here

But - perhaps another of my Blues favourites by Lee Dorsey called 'Get Out My Life Woman' would be more appropriate.



The funeral guests (Ed: what funeral guests?) could sing along with enthusiasm.
KAZ