Braidzen girl

The inevitable has happened. I got a braid. I was concentrating so hard at dinner last night on deflecting  the onslaught of cheese and jam coming my way, whilst trying to remember the Spanish for 'thanks for a nice hol'. Concentrating so hard that I walked head first into the trap of admiring a 13 year old girl's leather hair braid with bells and shells on the end. "You want one?" "Erm, no, it's so beautiful, but I haven't got any money."
"You could ask Ana?" "Erm, no, I can't really, she's already too generous. I'm very sad but it's not to be."

I turned my head to deflect another plate of salt coming my way, and turned back just in time to see the girl whispering with her Mum, who was looking at me and smiling. Minutes later I was in a gaggle of pre teens hurtling towards the little fair nearby. "Are you sure it isn't closed? It is 1.30am." They eat really late, I haven't been exaggerating. "Nope, it's open, fantastic."
"Ten euros!!!!" I'm glad it's not me paying.

I kept it on for at least a day, and hacked it off the next with nail clippers with no small amount of my own hair.

It goes in my hair as well as ham goes dipped in freshly squeezed melon juice. Something else the children like here. I showed Bob the braid on skype and she was nearly sick so I'll leave a photo out. 

Seize the pudding!

Last day of the beach today, and like my sweet Sashy and Roast advise, I shall make the most of it.
I haven't had the chance so far as we have been sitting in our own sweat all morning waiting for Cristobal to come back from scuba diving. But I have been very good in that time trying to talk to the boys about their toy cars (ooh that one looks fast!) and not crying when the cleaners threw away my stash of melted Lindt.

Today we are going for lunch with our three best friend families who also holiday here every year. They have all been very sweet to me, practising their English more than can be fun on a two week break. The children, especially the girls, love testing me on my Spanish alphabet and 1-10, and are much less frightening than Javier and Miguel when I make mistakes. I have learnt the Spanish for "I like you pretty dress/hair braid/mood ring/ which goes down a treat.

I'm hoping lunch will be good. Last time we went to this place I misunderstood the pudding question and had to watch unhappily whilst everyone else but me ate chocolate bombe with raspberry icecream.
This time it shall be mine. Mwahahahah.

Aphrobite

The mosquitoes don't strike often, but when they do it's hard. As I inspected how my beach bod was developing this morning, I realised I looked like I'd been punched.

Well, at least the mosquitoes touch me. On hols with friends Alex would plot strategic hugs for me so I felt loved enough to limit my unfortunate visits to Czech doctors.

Here, surrounded by loving families I am feeling a little lonely. I kept hearing this word "quieron", and wondered what it meant. It is never used on me and I was curious why. Oh, it means "my love". Well, not for me.
Cristobal has started giving me a playful slap on the neck as the children get, when we leave wet towels on the floor or don't finish our dinners. Ouch. But I don't get any of the loud smacking skin kisses that any child in range of an adult acquaintance gets.

Oh well, I shall carry on attempting to nestle into the crooks of waitor's arms as they pass me my fatty meat, and cuddling a 2L waterbottle at night (it's very hot here did I mention) pretending I'm camping next to Bob or Chaz's icy cheeks. So refreshing.

Dad diaries 2: Honey I drowned the kids

You will never guess what the Dadz did today! I was busy applying my suncream in great globs in anticipation of our beach trip, when I heard the door slam. Cristobal had responded too willingly to an impromptu suggestion by Dad No.2 and they were taking all the children on the boat. In less than tranquil weather. Oooff. Raised eyebrow, pursed lips ahoy!

Settled under a beach parasol with the other Mums we realised we could see the boat in our stretch of sea. A few pages of my book later I realised all the Mums had stood up and were speaking in tense tones. I couldn't tell you what they were saying but I used my emotional intelligence to sense they were worried about the boat, which was being thrown about somewhat. I could see some 7 year old heads bobbing about in the waves. Eventually a little dingy collected the vulnerable crew and deposited them back in the speedboat.

Ana said, 'Well, Cristobal thinks his friend's wife is irresponsible because she forgets to switch the oven on for dinner......" Huff puff.

And we found the Dadz and kids having a chocolate milk in a cafe raving about their adventure whilst the Mum's choked back their tears. It is lost to me in translation whether it was dangerous or an adventure.

Something else which I don't quite know what to think about is cheese with jam. It is appearing regularly as our starter at dinner.

I don't have a photo of it, any will do, but it is weird. It comes in four slices of spongy cheese ("What cheese is this? "Fresh cheese" "Oh"..) with little pots of blueberry, strawberry, blackberry jam and marmalade. 

The Dad Diaries

Spending so much time raising my eyebrows with my Mum colleagues I start to blame Dads for everything. Lets go to the cinema without checking the times. Or even if it still exists. Closed for 2012. Oh it must be the crisis. Pretty sure it was something to do with a Dad actually. Bike ride forgot to tell Mum about? Ok, lets go. Oh, now we've got four minutes to change before smart meal out.
Dinner finishes 3am, probably Dad's fault. The walk to it certainly was. Haven't you heard of taxis?

However, once we got to the restaurant it was absolutely amazing. I was trapped sitting at the end of the table with all four middle aged men but it was quite fun, and as the Mum belonging to the most English speaking one was at home caring for their sick child, I had some near comprehensive conversations. Usually I only hear their endless jokes as,

 "Que corriente mucho bien Yo Paco. Yhgu hfh yo tambien no yo Paco! Thghgh tampoco...
Thehgngngj espere mallo verdad estoy Claudia Schiffer!'

But Santi kindly translated them all for me this. Then we had the most enormous platter of steaks swimming in their own blood. I wish I could stop humanising meat.

This doesn't fit into the blog anywhere as it's not funny, mean, or vaguely about food, but on the way home we went past a circus was resting for the night. There were some elephants elegantly curling up some straw. I was sorry their dinner had come so late. As one of the Mum's would say sarcastically, 'the Dad's are always heroes, just because we stay out all night we see an elephant.."

The squids

No complaining today. More than four hours sleep does wonders for ones mood.
However, if anyone is missing my ungrateful poison, I will comment that the cleaners have stolen my old Weekend magazines. And one was mid crossword! How will I get through the next week of beach without old Lucy Mangan columns to keep my misery company?

I'm feeling quite chirpy today. I sprung out of bed, greeted the daily anxious 'Que tal?' with 'Estoy contenta' and was only slightly smug to hear that no one else had slept well. Oh well, I announced, I shall be the entertainment today! They smiled weakly as I skipped back to my bedroom to write some more things about them all.

As I was writing I found that Bob had written already 'time to take your braids out!' Well, Flobablob, you thought you were joking, but I have been wearing woven threads in British flag colours for a week now. Albeit in bracelet form, not hair. It was a new craze the children had, up until yesterday when they discovered pogs. I'm not joking.

Something else you may have thought I was making 'una broma' (possibly the Spanish for a joke) about was the muffins in milk filling every possible space between meals.

Exhibit A: Javier's breakfast. I smuggled my phone sweatily into breakfast in the band of my pants just so I could document this unseen.

After breakfast we played on the beach for a few hours until lunch. I tolerated Javier's sandcastle dictatorship, and still had the strength to pull him around on his surfboard for twenty minutes. "When is it my turn?" "My board! Go more fast. More fast. Bad girl. More fast."

Then we met their friends for a seafood feast. I had an excessive amount of seafood. Both the langoustines and squid have me lolling on my bed right now like Kirstie Alley playing a mermaid.

Although actually I don't think a sack of prawns agrees with me. Madre mia! I'm sure Kirstie Alley never moved this fast... 

Worth my salt

I'm not coping very well on this holiday and I'm starting to think I'm luxury illiterate. I have painful earache from diving into the med too many times off their speedboat. My skin has come out in a very uncomfortable rash from the heady cocktail of 12 hours of daily sunshine and factor 50. Even on days I don't see the beach, about a spadeful of sand falls out of my bra when I get undressed.
Today I didn't realise that you're meant to suck the brains out of those big prawn things and they laughed at me. Really? But it tastes so strong. Yes, so does caviar, I imagine someone might have commented, if they could speak my language. I don't think I should be allowed to leave the apartment.

In return for all the glam I am trying to be the perfect guest. I am enthusiastic (often genuinely) about playing with the children. I didn't even complain when Javier hit me today. I overcame my small town sensibilities to teach them the lyrics to 'Blow my whistle, baby', on request. It felt wrong but it was better than hearing them mumble.
I don't wear any breasty clothes infront of the Dads, and I complain with the Mums about the Dads as best I can. Raised eyebrows and pursed lips are international.
I don't swim against the tide of breakfast times anymore- today I ate my breakfast churros and chocolate milk at 12.30pm. And because that wasn't filling enough, I added some whole wedges of cake to soak up the last of the milk.
I even let the top middle of my back burn so no one is burdened with having to apply my suncream.

I think you would agree that I am a pretty good guest. Possibly the hardest thing is pretending not to choke on their salads. I asked what the Spanish word for salty is today and a stray Dad told me it was salada. "You can remember it as it sounds like salad, and we put a lot of salt in our salads". Don't I know it! I shall pretend that's what got in my eye today not the salty sting of homesickness.