Sunday, 6th July, 2025
Up early even though we went to bed late. We watched a film which was made 20 years ago and features a very young Julia Roberts, Jude Law, Natalie Portman and Clive Owen. Closer is about sex and power and I should probably have watched it years ago but what I was left with was the music.
Particularly, I had ringing in my ears a song by an Irish musician – Damian Rice – someone I’ve never heard of. The Blower’s Daughter is hypnotic as it plays in the film
And so it is
The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her skies
I can’t take my eyes off of you
I can’t take my eyes off of you
So I woke up early, frozen to the bone by the air conditioning and with this song still playing in my head. Outside the temperature was already 29C/84F so decided to do a walk before the real sun began to make it hot.
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun …. wrote Noël Coward in his song intended as a satire on British colonialism, poking fun at the British tendency to work hard and endure harsh conditions in foreign climes. Well this morning I did exactly that. As the gauge hit 32C/90F, I set off for my 8 mile walk which has to be done. Here, I am walking through suburbia where the heat of the sky is reflected back at me through the concrete …. and it’s not flat.
Still, it was great fun and I lost a stone in weight when I got back and took my shirt off. Amazing how much water the body carries. I have to put on fresh clothes three times a day. The washing machine is working overtime.
And so it is
Just like you said it should be
We′ll both forget the breeze
Most of the time
And so The Blower’s Daughter theme emphasises the sadness of time passing, of loss and regret. Life goes on but only most of the time. There are always painful times of memory and of regret.
Monday, 7th July, 2025
Awake at 5.00 am and listening to political podcasts. I love them. They get me through the difficult times. Up at 7.00 am and out walking just after 8.00 am. The temperature is a cool 27C/81F. I’m wearing my Failsworth Cap to protect my scalp from the already burning sun.
Yesterday afternoon, sitting in the cool of air conditioning, I got a weather alert on my phone for my home village in Sussex. There was a cloud burst. I checked the CCTV cameras and it was bouncing down in the back garden. I contacted my neighbour to thank him for watering the garden for me only to be told he was worried about damage to his car from hail the size of golf balls which I hadn’t seen.
I am gradually compiling myself a chart of Fish names in Spanish so I can recognise them and know what to ask for. It’s doing me good. It’s funny but the first words that come to me after English are Greek, then French and then I have to rapidly readjust to Spanish. I’m so relaxed, that I can’t remember where the hell I am most of the time. In Greek, Cod Fish is Μπακαλιάρος / Bakaliaro and in Spanish it is Bacalao. In Italian it is Baccalà. Of course, the French are awkward as usual and call it Morue.
As the morning has developed, some clouds are in the sky and the heat has turned even more humid and oppressive. My friend, Kevin, arrived in Spain last night. He prefers the more cultural high life of Benidorm and he has clearly brought his Leeds weather with him. I am collecting copies of local newspapers to get a feel for life and language here.
After a gorgeous Lunch of crispy, green salad leaves, huge Spanish tomatoes and home made Tapenade with a bottle of crisp, cold white Rioja, I am anybody’s. I still have to walk another 3 miles before Supper plus do a swim. The clouds have disappeared and the sun is strong and hot. It’s going to be another soaking-wet tee shirt for washing.