Tuesday 18 September 2012

Ciabatta matter

We have been back in the house for a few weeks post beach, which is so much more relaxing. My sun punished skin has lots its tan. My hair braid is out. I don't have to meet ten new Spanish people a day. We have been quite normal and eaten lots of fish fingers and played lots of Playmobil. I can even now sing the entire theme tune to most American teen comedies (dubbed in Spanish). Most conversations go like this: Javier: 'I want to watch Phineas y Ferb!' Me: 'No, I like Austin y Ally, cartoons make feel ill when they move too fast!'

It's even got so normal that I've been enjoying occasionally leaving the sofa to go bike riding. It's a little bit annoying as Miguel makes us follow him and tests out all the routes first. "Stay there, watch me if it safe."
I've only had 18 yrs more experience than you- I think I can tell if the tiny hill is safe to ride down. And as Alex riding two miles ahead of me on our last bike ride will testify to you- I am more than safe with my breaks.
But for some reason they think they are in charge. "Frances come, Frances stay, Frances look, careful Frances!"

The only thing they've genuinely trail blazed me with is tomato on bread. You toast one slice of crusty ciabatta type bread. You swim it with extra virgin olive oil. If you're Ana you then add a layer of sugar. But if you're Javier you then ask for half a tomato and squeeze it all over like a lemon. Then you add a layer of ham off Harriet the kitchen pet pig. So delicious.

We had such a good day yesterday that they even said 'Stay with us?' as I made to slink upstairs at night. Err no. I'm got some deep thinking and deep vaselining to do in my room. It takes a while. 

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