Chill

 

The sun and heat and occasional dousing by warm Mediterranean salt water has done great guns with my psoriasis knees , so much so that Dorothy actually looked disappointed when she gleefully tried to chop down on one when I eventually sat down on the couch after sleeping and housework and watering the garden and dropping round to give Old Trevor  some advice on analgesia.
This is the time when I don’t miss being in a relationship.
It’s lovely to be just me and the animals
I’m weary after my night shift coming so close to travelling back from Spain , so I’m mooching for the rest to the day.
Tomorrow I go to London
I’ve bought garlic doughballs for supper and a small box of Mac and cheese bites and after a dusk walk will drink my last beer and watch the hit Prey on Disney +
And share my supper with the girls 

Good Old Herb



 

My plane home was delayed but I refused to get all pissed off with it all as the easyJet staff were good humoured and helpful and our Irish pilot jovial and apologetic.

The car park didn’t charge me extra for the delay and after a confusing wiz around the new roadworks near Widnes I finally got home in Wales  at 2.30 am.
I can’t sleep, even though I’m still on Sitges time so I ve grabbed a beer out of the fridge and set up a gift Janet gave me. A metal silhouette of Sitges church  which I thought was rather sweet.
It will look nice with a candle behind it
I’ve just been reviewing the last day listening to Herb Alpert on YouTube.
I went back to the bar where I saw Greta the diva at lunchtime Sunday but sadly she wasn’t there. 
I stayed and had a beer and a somewhat dry Caesar Salad and watched the gay Sitges Promenade by.
It’s a kind of mincing Disney land at times …
And not really very real at all 



Homeward Bound


 Home later today after a whistlestop visit.
My family are all staying on for much of the week.
Although I know the train system well. I will book a taxi to the airport
The girl from Ipanema is playing in the restaurant this morning


The Plaster For Most ills

 

Tim with Sitges friend 2018

Like most families, mine can be slightly unpredictable when arranging a meet. 
Someone is distracted and is late, someone wants to eat early, someone forgot the time, someone( like me) is invariably early. 
I’ve learned to go with the flow. 
We generally all get together when we need to.
Last night was my brother in laws birthday. We all arranged to meet at our usual table for 8.30 pm so I donned my second best I love Sheffield  T shirt and went out to a gay bar around the corner from La Santa Maria for an early drink beforehand .

Minutes later I was talking to Greta, a rather shopworn and heavily made up German lady in her seventies.
She was sat at the bar reading a Spanish magazine.

Initially I thought she was in drag but as it turned out darlings she was indeed a elderly Austrian former Opera Singer from Barcelona. 
All this information I gleaned moments after she referred to my T shirt 
Sheffield…I sang there in the 1980s, It was a beautiful city as I recall” she sang out 

Now Sheffield, in the 1980s as anyone from the iron city would tell you , wasn’t very pretty at all and after a bit of banter I actually found out that Greta had in fact sang at the Grand Theatre in Leeds and had been a chorus singer on stage for over thirty years, most of it at the Opera houses in Barcelona and Valencia.

I was never disciplined enough to be a good performer “ Greta confided “ Too much good living” 
She tapped her glass and I bought her a beer
“ it’s too hot for anything stronger” she confided and she waved amiably at a group of gay men who were getting up to leave their table all of whom waved back and blew her kisses.
“ The Gays love Opera! “ she explained. 

She chatted about Montserrat Caballé, who she said was always delightful to the “chorus folk” and talked fondly of her funeral which she said was supported by the Spanish Royals indeed.

I found her an absolutely delightful character and would have stayed longer if I hadn’t somewhere to go
When I stood to leave she asked me if I was meeting a young man and I told her I had family to catch up with
“ Ah family” she emoted wistfully, the bangles on her thin arms jangling loudly

“ The Plaster for most ills” 

And she waved me goodbye


I go back home tonight. 
It’s been a lovely 72 hours or so….and Greta was right…..family is the plaster for most ills in the world 

In the restaurant , The die hards proved that last night when we drank the last drinks of a honest evening
Sharing stories, until then untold, around the safe dinner table 
( written 0022 Monday 8th)

Killing Me Softly


 
As usual I’m sat at a table with my coffee.
For me, this is Sitges’ best time of day.
La Santa Maria Hotel has changed hands since we were all last year and the German Matriarch Uta who owned and oversaw everything has been replaced by a faceless manager from a chain of hotels.
The place has been streamlined and changes made, most noticeably. In the guise of the Maître d, who is now a 1980s dressed bundle of nerves with a quick temper and bad manners.

But breakfast time remains what I always remember it as being.
Cheese and sausage and scrambled eggs
Lovely coffee and 
Peace and quiet.
A Spanish version of Roberta Flack’s Killing Me Softly is playing on the radio and The famous Church of Bartomeu and Santa Tecla has rung out the quarter to nine chimes
This pleases me 

We are all talking last night of the significance of having a regular family holiday at the same resort in the same hotel when there are too many new places in the world to visit, and I would agree with that sentiment .
From this post covid year I intend to visit new places and make new experiences 
But for a few days in a blistering August, it’s still lovely to be catching up with the familiar and with family. 
To touch base over coffee and drinks 
To remember and to celebrate.

And With the swift’s screaming in their fish shoal circles around the Town’s Church tower, it’s easy to realise that most things don’t change too much.

Sitges


View from Hotel Room
Hey ho
And lunch




 

Sitges Bound

 

I can’t be arsed with much luggage
T shirts, shorts, undercrackers a book, 
iPad and phone
Family reunion here I come, up at 2 am for airport
If this one is cancelled I’m off to Sheffield

Fact
A Māori performance is called a Rotorua
The performers flutter their hands quickly, a movement called wiri, which can symbolise shimmering waters, heat waves or even a breeze moving the leaves of a tree.

Angitū Whakawātea • Tāmaki Haka Ngahau 2022

Sometimes a group of Maori choristers belting out an Adele tune is exactly what you need on a Thursday Evening/Friday Morning
the power of the harmony is phenomenal. 


Watched, in part a sobfest kannada film with a patient called Charlie 777 which had me and a patient crying buckets
and that's without  effin subtitles!!!