I am really truly sorry for writing that last post. It is not me and it is total garbage. Something attacked me last night in a spiritual sense and I had this urge to write that rubbish about cooking. It is not my style of writing. I know what is funny and that wasn’t. It was disgusting. I am going to leave it posted for a while in case you want to comment.
I am going through a change in my life. I have reached a crossroads. Yesterday evening I was in contact with a very brave and ill lady and I went completely over the top, so far over the top that I believe any relationship we may have had is shattered by the chasm I created. I was advised to wait a while and see what happens. Then I came under attack. That attacker has now been destroyed. I only realised it a few minutes after that post was published.
Should I delete it or leave it. I decided to leave it as an example to myself of how not to write, of how not to be such an idiot in letting myself be attacked in such a way. So to myself and to you dear readers I apologise. I am truly sorry. And to the lady, what can I say, please enjoy your life and pray for me.
Cooking for the single man the Bluefish way. Goverment health warning: ladies, if you p** your pants with laughter, please leave this post now, or read it with your eyes closed. The following scenario could be in a house near you. You have been warned !!
“Hi Jack. Your door was open so I thought I come round to see if you are okay. I just saw your wife running down your front yard, screaming, and I saw her grab the first man who could walk and went off with him. Got married a week ago! didn’t go too well then. Oh, you’re hungry. Can’t cook ?? No need to turn the football off. Wow, you watched 4 games today already. Yes please, put the Playboy down and do up your trousers.
Now, where’s your kitchen? Don’t know?? It looks like the bathroom but has loads of cupboards. Come on, Jack, up you get. Yes, you can bring your beer. Now, let’s have a look in your fridge. Um !! Got a lot of beer cans in here, in fact there is no room for anything else. Ah! an egg! Now, where’s the frying pan as I think I will show you how to fry an egg, on toast perhaps? No, we don’t need that saucepan Jack. The favourite one that you boil your dirty motorcycle chain in ! No, we don’t need……a here it is. The frying pan’s main purpose, Jack, IS for cooking! I understand that your wife hit you over the head with it, but it is for cooking. Ah, good there’s a spatula in this drawer. What ! It’s the replacement your wife bought as you used the original to pick up your dog’s pooh in the backyard ! Jack, how could you !!
We need some oil, Jack. Have a look through the cupboards and see if there is any sunflower oil. Olive oil? Butter? No? Where ARE you going? Okay, for demonstration purposes I suppose this will have to do. You kept this can of engine oil in a safe place, in your wife’s knickers drawer??
No toast then. You put a tube of glue in the toaster to soften it. It caught fire. You threw it out of the window where it hit the dog, which you have not seen since. Yes, it must be pretty lonely with no wife and no dog.
Right !! That’s the frying pan hot enough. Bang the egg on the side of the pan. That’s it, it’s cracked. Put your fingers in the crack and split the egg open and pour it into the pan. Easy. No, don’t worry about the yellow part smoking on the hob, or the shell in the pan. No, don’t eat…….I’ve got to go now Jack. Bye”
I could have run down the front yard, screaming, and gone off with the first woman I met, but I have to go round and see John who is sewing a button on his shirt with a staple gun.
Initially I would love to thank all my visitors who came here for a fleeting moment. This is my second attempt at building a website. The first in 1996, but gave up as I didn’t have a Science degree in head banging. I thought about it for ages but disliked the word “blog”. Eventually I thought I would have a go. This blog has only been up and running for 10 days, 1311 pages visited from you guys/gals in 26 different countries. Wow !! AND I have 34 followers…..I am really overwhelmed. I hope you are following me because you like my writing, not because you think I need a haircut and you are after me with a pair of scissors !!
I am following most of you because you have interesting things to say on so many subjects and my meagre attempt at photography is trampled on by the excellence of your posts. I have bypassed many blogs that say things like “OMG I have not had sex for 10 minutes. The universe hates me !” (I haven’t had it for 20 years. What’s her problem ?) or ” My brain is not working today” or “my shoes don’t fit I JUST HAVE to go shopping”. I only click on LIKE if I do like. So if my face is on your site, to me, you ARE awesome. Well done.
The Carpenters: We’ve Only Just Begun Please play this beautiful love song as you read my letter.
Where are you my love, my dream ? Are you walking on this world or in realms above looking for me ? We may have passed each other not knowing that our love has just gently touched, not realising our connection. We may have never met yet. You may be on distant shores staring out of your window looking for me. Tears rolling down your cheeks, pining for your love. I feel the same way. I feel lost without you. An emptiness which only you can fill. Where are you my love ?
Maybe you are in realms above waiting for me. When we meet, we smile, knowing that from now on we will walk hand in hand throughout eternity. Hand in hand through fields of flowers dancing in the breeeze of love. We will sit picnicking under the rainbow of the waterfall listening to the blue birds singing such sweeetness. Hand in hand into our past, present and future. I miss you even though I have not met you.
Where are you my love ?
Well, it’s only 147 days until Christmas. It’s so unfair as it’s only 143 days to the End of the World. I have a decision to make. Have a wild 143 day party (you are all invited), run around in circles screaming, hide under the stairs with my 2 cats with a million bottles of water and cans of bake beans (don’t fancy that option) or blog till I drop.
I have worked out that I am the antichrist because my birthday is on the 15th December and this year I am 66. And 6 days later is the end of the world. So, I suppose, everything is my fault. I take full responsibility. But that can’t be so. For on most products you buy in the shops is a barcode with 2 longer thin lines at the beginning, middle and end. Look above a number 6. Two thin lines. Shopping is bad for you !! You learn a lot on my blogs.
So there you have it. I’m okay. Whew !! So maybe I will have to have a wild party where everyone runs around in circles and play postman’s knock under the stairs. Too much for me. I think I’ll just go and feed the cats and watch the world end with a cool glass of beer with a splash of squeezed lime.
I can hear the keys on the keyboards tapping by OAP’s who were teenagers in the 1960’s. “Got to read this !!”. The 1960’s, the time when indecisive Hippies mused “Ommmmmm” all day while dancing in muddy fields with flowers in their hair. For the name given to women in those days was “Birds”. Forget it, gentlemen, you won’t be interested in this…..go back to the Women’s Volley Ball on the Olympics !! ( aside: maybe the title of this post IS a New Age cure for my condition? I’ll take my 10% now as I thought of it !!)
In fact, this is for the mystics, omen decypherers, psychic analyists of “what was that all about !”
I slept soundly on the first night in this rented temporary apartment. My two cats curled up fast asleep on top of the bed, cuddling in and warming my legs. Dawn broke. We did not hear the cockerels crowing or the baker’s car horn on his morning delivery through the village. We missed the sun’s awakening as the curtain of darkness gave way to the band of light moving gradually down the mountainside. In a drowsy moment I felt my cats sitting on my thigh. I opened my eyes and, there they were, looking up, heads moving from side to side. For flying around the ceiling light was a House Martin (like a swallow), black swept back wings with a white tummy and red face. Round and round. Then it sped out of the open french doors into the morning sunlight of Spain. The bird made my cats’ day. They never stop meowing about it !
This has happened three times over the 6 weeks I have been here. Maybe I can have a lay in one day !!
Another first day strange occurrence was when I arrived here in the village. A diamond formation of 4 fighter jets flew over the house so low, fast and loud. It never happened again.
Can you tell me what all this means, or shall I just enjoy the memories of the three birds in my bedroom.
Yes. It’s true, dear readers. I do need advice and your wisdom in this matter. If you have read my previous posts especially on my other blog you would know that I was evicted from my last house and am now living in a temporary apartment. A quick precis : I lived with a lady as a companion for 20 years. She died. The house went to her children. They threw me out through no fault of my own. I moved into rental accomodation 6 weeks ago. I am now in a position to buy an apartment on the Spanish Costa del Sol. I am in a real quandary. Why ?
Should I stay?
Plus side: I have many dear dream friends here in the mountains of Spain who are really caring. Drive me wherever I need to go and give me help if I need it. I know and am respected by most of my Spanish neighbours. I gave my car to my house cleaner as I am too dangerous to drive on my own in the mountains where I have been living for 8 years.
Negative side: Should I rely on the kindness of others for the rest of my life. Shops are well spread out. It is kilometres to the nearest large town.
Should I go ?
Plus side: I want to move to Sabinillas a small Spanish coastal town. All the shops, my bank, lawyer, cafes and restaurants are on level ground and grouped together in a small area. Due to the Spanish housing market slump, house prices have dropped dramatically and it is now a good time for me to buy. I will not need a car.
Negative side: I will miss my friends and neighbours. (They could always visit and use my new apartment as a beach hut )
My S1 ( a form obliging Spain to look after me medically. It’s an EU thing !! ) arrived from England with my OAP pension details in December 2011. I went to reception of the medical centre in the “big city” of Cortes de la Frontera to ask where I should go to process my S1. Reception was a room full of 30 waiting “Andaluth” women all shouting and no-one listening, with one receptionist. I eventually found who was last to arrive before me and waited. The pretty receptionist with big….heart… told me that she could initiate the process there and then. Took photocopies of all my docs and S1, gave me a stamped form in lieu of my forthcoming Spanish Health Card. Five months later, no health card. So I returned to reception and went through the same agonising wait. The pretty receptionist with the big….heart….could not find me on the computer. So, she photocopied all my docs and S1 AGAIN and gave me another stamped form. Then I had to go to the doctor in Estacion Cortes de la Frontera for the first time.
The doctor comes twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. On Mondays and Wednesdays at 12 noon one has to go to the Estacion town hall to get a numbered ticket to see the doctor for the following day. So with ticket #8 I saw the doctor who could not find me on his computer. He eventually found me, saying something was wrong, then initiated the process for me to see a specialist at Ronda hospital. A month ago I received two letters from Benaojan medical centre ( where the doctor comes from ).
Let us assume that my name is Adam Baker Charlie DUCK. The first letter contained a warning that I would receive a communication from Ronda hospital and the name on the letter was to Duck Adam Baker CHARLIE. The second letter addressed to Adam Baker Charlie DOCK asked me to go to Benaojan medical center with my passport and European Health Card ( never ever had one ) within 7 days or I will have to pay for treatment, because there was problem with my name. No, who would have guessed !!
I contacted a friend who had been through the correct process, who took me by the hand, bypassing Benaojan and took me to Ronda Social Services. Scattering all my documents over his desk and throwing his hands in the air and shaking his head, the receptionist man reinitiated the process. Photocopied all my documents AGAIN. Neither of us could understand what he was saying, but we thought that all the paperwork went to Malaga and I should receive a communication in 20 days.
In fact I did. My documentation was now at the same point as my friend’s who had started his process of getting a card in May of this year. So, this morning, my friend, his wife and myself entered our local medical centre. After 45 minutes of tutting and grimacing by the male receptionist my two friends are now proud possessors of papers in lieu of their card. It took me 3 minutes to get my piece of paper as he had had practice with my friends. The cards should arrive in the post within a month.
At the same time as my friends were being processed, my friend’s wife had to have a tetanus vaccination. She had pricked her finger on a cactus a few weeks earlier and the finger ballooned. She was immediately given a tetanus shot. It was time for her follow up shot. She leant across to the other receptionist and gave her a pile of papers pertaining to being shot again. The other receptionist stood up in amazement, for in amongst her papers was a receipt for a tetanus shot from an animal doctor. It seems that one of their cats had a tetanus shot by a vet and the receptionist thought that the vet had vaccinated my friend’s wife !!!
So the moral of this tale is that if you are coming to live in Spain for the Sun, Sea, Sex and Sangria (I haven’t got passed the Sun stage !) forget it, as it’s Paperwork, Photocopier, Pandemonium and Patience.
Why didn’t I go out last night? What a horrendous waste of money and volunteers’ time. I settled down with anticipation to watch the opening of the Olympic Games 2012. It started well with the fields, hill and costume clad volunteers showing England’s green and pleasant land. This is going to be really good, I thought. The rest of the spectacular using the modern template of a disused warehouse, fire, smoke and action deteriorated into clip remakes of old films, off site fill ins and worn out old jokes. The hospital scene was plainly evil followed by a so called celebration of pop music touched up with the loss of a mobile phone.
Millions of pounds sterling spent on trash. This was meant to be the showcase to the world of the best of Britain. There is so much beauty and fun to be found in the world, including Britain. Where was the Irish dance, where was the Welsh choir singing, where was the Scottish games, where was the English beauty of say Chelsea Flower Show?. These are just examples. With real imagination in the design of the show I would have gone to bed last night, not let down, but a happy bunny !!
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