Another Day, another deluge

Saturday 30^th June 2012 

There is a point at the beginning of ‘Summertime’ when TV advertising campaigns are launched seeking to conjure up a feel good barbecue atmosphere.  Our camera friendly characters swap merry dialogue and raise a glass before the shot hones lovingly on some barbecued sausages, accompanied with audible sizzling.  In case you’re wondering who is strumming the acoustic tune, the closing scenes will reveal Gary Barlow singing ‘Here comes my tax avoidance windfall (doo doo doo doo) And I say …’.

In the meantime, of course, the weather is hardly putting on a sunny disposition.  We’ve attended a few outdoor events this summer at the local park and also went to watch the Olympic flame being carried aloft.   At best there are sporadic spells of sun. A pattern of stop start raining usually occurs and so this was to be the case during Ed’s school summer fair.  Initially, it was bright.  Jan took Ed to get his face painted while I waited with Sam for a turn on the bouncy castle.  Within minutes I saw the hurtling pair coming our way.  I thought a hard line was about to be taken about the suitability of Sam going on the castle but they then proceeded to run past us. Ed was giving Mum a run around, after deciding not to queue for face paint, and was heading to the familiar Reception Entrance.

 I went with Sam in to the school yard where we watched a year group choir singing.  As the rain started and grew in momentum, much of the audience headed to the shelter of the Assembly Hall. I was initially with the fleeing droves before thinking ‘Hang on.  There’s a group of kids doing their best to sing in these conditions.  Hows going back to support them?’  Sam and I went back to watch the choir sing which they did with dwindling momentum and raised glances before the man with the mike prematurely wrapped things up.  I didn’t head into the assembly hall – I envisaged a tight squeeze, especially with the buggy.

I put Sam’s rain cover on  and we headed under one of the gazebos which offered raffle ticket prizes all wrapped up in cellophane and ribbons.  The ensuing scramble away from the elements must have seemed quite intense to a two year old – there was a cacophony of excitable children’s screams and the rain pounded against the cloth roof that collected contained amounts of water which, when it could be held no longer, was deposited in a great splash in front of the gazebo.  Sam, unperturbed, dropped off for his nap time in the buggy.  So, a North West rainfall seemed every bit as effective as a ‘Sounds of the Rainforest’ collection used by some to induce sleepy relaxation.

Before the floodgates opened

Tuesday 5^th June 2012

Our Aberdyfi bungalow was set amongst others on a zig zaggy trail road up a hill.  The car journey upwards required the foot on first gear and lots of gas from driver Jan.

We arrived after tea time and were keen to start making the boy’s tea.  While putting on the bed covers, I heard the words, I least like to hear on arriving at a holiday base: ‘Mike - We have a problem’.  Returning to the kitchen, there was smoke coming from the oven.  The smoke alarm was unmoved or unworking not adding any shrill noise to the undesirable kitchen scenario.

Jan likes problems to be immediately identified with words that broadly mean ‘can resolve’.  My face emerging from the smoke, possibly a bit darker than before, and none the wiser, initially infuriated. However as some smoke dispersed, I could see that there was an uncleaned tray of oil at the bottom of the oven. It looked like some previous occupants had cooked some roast meat.  I removed this, poured the oil away and we used up our one sponge to give the tray a clean.

We opened the door and windows, letting in some cool June evening air.  Our surroundings , when we were able to take stock of them, were great, as good as any view I can recall.  Our hill view looked down to an estuary surrounded by great landscape and the tide was coming in.

The water in our toilet bowl was yellow.  I pulled the flush but the bowl refilled with more of the same coloured water.  Our bath also filled up with this.  Jan reminded me that the bungalow literature said that there might be some colouring of the water but it’s perfectly good to use.  Perhaps it’s like the Donegal soil tainted water that is said to have health enhancing properties.  None the less, we weren’t ready to drop the boys into a bath full of this coloured water.  We wouldn’t forgive ourselves if this generated slow moving soupy ripples outwards.  We showered the boys instead where the colour wasn’t so apparent to the trained eye.

Wednesday 6^th June 2012

Using the coastal road route, we headed north to take a ride on the famous Blaenau Ffestiniog steam train.  We planned to call at Portmerion afterwards.  The coast road was great with its scenery and ruins (or perhaps remnants from the burnt holiday homes era) but it wasn’t the quickest. Waiting at some temporary traffic lights, we realised we would miss our scheduled train, leaving a two hour gap until the next one was due to depart.  We headed to the Portmerion tourist village instead.  Here there was a visible amount of classic cars and a rally was taking place.  I first became aware of the existence of the village during the screening of Prisoner repeats in the early nineties on Channel Four.  This ushered in a brief vogue for the sixties drama and those penny farthing stickers turned up on the walls of my college with the accompanying words I am a free man.  Today, I fulfilled a twenty year old wish to visit the place but instead of striding around, chin up, in modish gear or driving a classic car, I ill humouredly chased the boys around as they ran their separate ways.  ‘Ed is too far away from you…by the colonnades’ yelled Jan on a bench before rejoining a mobile phone conversation with  Mum.

With the next train ride from Porthmadog looming, we left after an hour.  It became quite a dash. Actually there was a train stop close to where we were at Portmerion that would have been ideal and allowed us more time at the village.  I’ve read some travel writer’s accounts on this railway service.  It doesn’t get warm write ups – the likes of Bill Bryson and Paul Theroux are usually several weeks into their UK journey and  weary of steam train enthusiasts ('Lets play at trains' the former said).  Having seen it featured on CBeebies, we were coming at it from a different tack, something that the children may enjoy.  Dolphin shows and steam train excursions seem to have become our away day outing of choice.

The train had first class and third class carriages.  We used the latter, small habitable benches that faced each other.  I had a look through the windows of a first class carriage.  There were detachable chairs positioned around tables for a more pub snug feel and, indeed, drinks could be ordered.  Our hour long ride revealed a picturesque panorama of greenness and Sam, two, remarked ‘the ride is bumpy’.  Coming up to Bleaneau Ffestiniog we went into a darkened tunnel for quite a period.  Our talk halted but perhaps we should have seen how long we could hold a conversation in such pitch blackness.  I enjoyed the expressions  on the boy’s faces when we emerged back in brightness.   

The TV tonight was wall to wall Jubilee hideousness.  We didn’t come to Mid Wales to get away from it but feel glad that we did at this time of the year.

Thursday 7^th June 2012

We took the coast road and modest toll bridge north in anticipation of  kids' entertainments at Barmouth.  We stopped at Aberdyfi, and on the promenade watched some grandparents and kiddies partake in some crabbing activity.  Excitement beckoned when the wind blew a bucket of the said crabs over initiating a chase and netting of the errant crabs.

At Barmouth, we decided to eat at the Pavilion Café.  There was a big sign which warned against outsiders using the toilets with words more or less stipulating that there is eagle eyed monitoring of this.  It looked like that it had been designed by the same people that manufacture army range warnings.  Jan had been in earlier and committed some civil disobedience in not paying the requested 10p.  Service at the till was surly but the place looked well maintained and we heard some people saying of the lunch ‘this is actually ok’ which was about right.

It became very windy and the rain was relentlessly coming down.  We headed to the amusement arcade and filled a plastic tub with twopenny pieces which Jan and Ed fed into the Penny Falls Machines.  I took Sam out towards the rides, got some tokens from to the booth, and led him to the carousels where the lad working them dashed from one ride to the other to pull the lever.  As the rain (and probably chip lunch), lowered our spirits we went back to the car park to decide what to do next.

The list of other options such as castles and dank caves lacked appeal in the weather and we decided, for the second day running, to go on a steam train at Tywyn.  It was actually a children themed day with ‘Duncan’ train, one of Thomas the Train Engine’s clan to be present.  When we got there, however, there was a notice saying Duncan was poorly and wouldn’t be with us today.  This seemed unsatisfactory; we needed some American kid to step forward, look the period uniformed staff member in the eye and say ‘Now tell me the real reason why we can’t ride on it’.  After yesterday’s long journey, we stayed on for a mere one stop from Tywyn, waited in the sheltered train stop for a bit before thumbing down a packed returning train where we were allowed in the guard’s carriage.

In the evening, sitting tired while some exhaustive Royal coverage played out on TV, we heard a gurgling sound from the kitchen which sounded like a lot of water going down the plug hole.  In a way, this is what happened.  While rain water was plentiful outside it had run dry inside. Our tap supply of Amber coloured Cambrian Hills produce was gone. I rang the number on a laminated card and was told that this was a site problem and the water people are looking into it.  Couldn’t say when it was coming back on.  This meant problems for washing up and pulling the flush but we had a bit of bottled water for the kettle.

Friday 8^th June 2012  Exit, pursued by some rainclouds

We managed to pull the flush – just, but, like the previous people who stayed here, left a ‘present’ some dishes, cutlery and mugs that we were unable to wash.  Then we departed an hour early. To put things in perspective, the next day, this part of Mid Wales hit the national headlines  when it was hit by some horrendous flooding with people having to be evacuated from their homes and caravans, leaving a whole lot of damage behind.

Footnote   This was the response from the people with which we rented the bungalow:

Many thanks for your email, apologies for the delay in replying but I have just arrived back from Plas Panteidal due to the problems caused by the weather

If I can answer point 2 first, the water went off I understand between 8 -10pm. The reason being due to weather conditions the water pipes became blocked and caused a disruption to some of the bungalows, the water was back on again around 11 am the following morning, because of the severe rainfall experienced the pipes had to be unblocked several times over the next few days as the debris the water was bringing down was incredible, we are glad to say that all bungalows had water throughout the horrid weekend that Wales has just experienced especially where the bungalow is situated.

We apologise for the loss of water but it was totally beyond their control, we hope that the enjoyment of your holiday was not marred although they can understand the inconvenience encountered.

With regards to the oven this should have been reported immediately to Lesley in housekeeping so she could have come down and sorted the problem out, with regards to the fire/smoke alarm I visited no 8 yesterday to check and all was in working order, so not quite sure what happened with the smoke you encountered. I understand from Lesley that all appliances are checked before new arrivals, could you advise if their silver foil in the grill pan was new or had been used??

In summary we apologise most sincerely about the water situation and the oven problems you encountered,if the oven problem had been reported they would have been able to rectify for you, the water was a little more difficult.

We do hope that you are able to visit Plas panteidal again and hope that we can be of service to you.

James Yorkston Manchester Deaf Institute May 23rd 2012

I once got a random text from a friend stating ‘Moving up Country – a classic from beginning to End’.  He was right.  Tonight James Yorkston is performing this 2002 album from beginning to end.

Bright evening May light shines through the venue’s dormer windows.  To attend a indoor gig in broad light feels unusual, let alone one whose person’s music conjures up sessions on a wind lashed night in a rural outpost pub. Other dates on this tour have been played with the album’s original band, the Athletes, but tonight is a stripped down affair.  James and his support, Seamus, stayed in the same B & Bs and take turns behind the merchandise stall.

I rued it a little when I read that James was without the Athletes, his former backing band.  The album opens with a wistful tune great as a stand alone acoustic number but there is a point, track two, where the band’s arrangements move in,  lifting things. Come that point, tonight, the harmonica gets an airing; other times there’s a little foot propelled percussion all brushing the tunes along with modest embellishments.

 Always a personable and good humoured stage presence, James is on a high with some hearteningly positive family news and an announcement of a new LP in August. In the same buoyant spirits he revealed that he cocked a snook at a mouthy Adey Beecroft type on the train journey by catching him with the tip of his guitar.  It was accidental but something that would have merited a round of applause if it also took place, in front of an audience.

My music is not always up to the minute but, if I like something by an act I try to follow their output.  Watching them live, I like to have a certain amount of familiarity with the songs. This playing of a one such LP from beginning to end is better still. We hear all of Moving up Country in its warm resonance.  Instead of taking a bow and going away until encore time, we hear a more recent and some new songs. One of which is a reflective number, referring to a time when he felt a more  unkempt look made him a magnet for those marginalised and fallen on difficult time.  As dusk descends, throwing the stage into focus, I have to depart, missing the last of the tunes, including a version of ‘Ace of Spades’ as I sought to catch the last train home.

Return to Gran Alicante

Sunday April 1st 2012 

The five day forecast for Alicante had predicted rainclouds. The day time temperature was to be in the late teens and it was to be cool in the evening. Our apartment’s owners had testified that, on a recent visit, the region had been cool at night. This perturbed some of our travelling group.  Still, in comparison, I'd only to consider a rainy day in Stockport with its steady drone of traffic and kerbside sprayed water, some of which I’m usually at pains for me and the boys to avoid.  Besides, much of the Spanish region looks like it could do with a bit of rain.

It was a fraught time in the run up to catching the plane. While returning from picking up Jan's Mum (who was also travelling), Ed was sick in the car. Did he have a tummy bug? If so, we may have had to rule out getting on the plane. When everyone arrived back, I took Ed for a bath and washed his removed clothes. An hour passed with no further signs of illness from him. The holiday was on but this hiccup took away some momentum. The taxi arrived early, and in the rush, I forgot Sam’s turtle shell ruck sack which was to be debuted on this holiday. Parts pinged off the fabric car booster seat, also newly ordered. At an airport lift, while I was holding Sam’s hand, the closing lift doors came close to catching the cusp of his heel. For the first time, I heard a critical utterance from J's Mum.

On the plane journey,  J's Mum spoke to her co-passenger, with too much enthusiasm, of how it's set to be a rainy set of days ahead. By the time we left the plane, they looked like they were anticipating the holidays a little bit less. We collected our bags and, as we left, there was a traveller left looking concerned in the direction of the one remaining bag doing laps on the carousel circuit, not a bag that was hers.  J's Mum said to her ‘I lost my bag on a plane once – it ended up in Singapore’.

Our taxi driver dropped us off to the apartment, we off loaded our baggage and headed for an evening meal at the local Mexican restaurant, EL Texicano. A solitary member of staff was running the show here. Indeed, with the holiday season just beginning, this would be the case for most restaurants within the town.  I was forced on my feet more that I'd have liked but he waitress was relaxed about Ed’s habit of collecting and lining up table restaurant numbers.  J's Mum spilt some red wine my way which splashed over my top. I waved off apologies and thought I’m happy to take this if it lifts the Mum in Law critical commentary just a little. However later, while reading today’s newspaper in bed, a complaint came from the next room: Mum in Law said the rustling was keeping her awake.

Monday April 2nd 2012

The best introduction to Gran Alicante is to catch the road train.   We weren't able to do it at first attempt. A choo choo sound careering away indicated that we missed our intended timetable stop so we called in at O Duill’s. The Irish bar has some competition from Molly Malone’s (‘est. 2011') having recently opened at the other end of the block.  However, O Duill’s proved to be well placed as the would be passenger’s convenient stop gap when the train was missed or didn’t turn up. We discussed the weather with the barmaid. The predicted rainfall hadn’t yet materialised. ‘It’s a micro-climate here’ the barmaid said. An hour later, the road train turned up and we lugged our things on. Ed smiled, happy to be reacquainted with the train and there were similar responses when the driver waved to people out and about the town, including some holidayers unloading their car, their broad smiles anticipating the week ahead.

After a tapas lunch in the town centre (where Ed gave notice that sitting still might be a challenge over the holiday), some pay rides and a shop we caught the longer journey back via the beach. In the evening, after an evening tea at the under-rated Sand Hills, I found myself having to change a rather explosive nappy of Sam’s. Jan lamenting how I handled the changing and bagging of this nappy hardly made the point with precision and laid on layer after layer of rather abject analysis. My response was to suggest that there were discredited world leaders who get a more congenial hearing at the Hague War trials that the damming tone that greeted my nappy changing. I listed some at which point J's Mum roared ‘That’s enough nations’ and declared that she was going to bed. It was 9:30pm. I thought to myself that I mustn’t allow myself to answer back from criticism, however withering. Take it on the chin for the sake of having a harmonious holiday with all family members.

Tuesday April 3rd 2012

We visited the nearest park. It was still well maintained with visible gardeners, exercise equipment and, especially pleasing, an open kiosk that served beer in frosted glasses. On the way back we called at the supermarket where much word of mouth is generated at the latest round of soft warm baguettes brought out of the bakery. We bought two of these but on the way back down the hill, I let one slip out of my hands onto the pavement. I remembered my vows from last night and took the laugh free withering criticism that followed. Jan's gritted teeth utterances suggest a career as a ventriloquist if able to muster up some good humour. Why not some whimsy here I wondered, something like ‘I would say you dropped a bloomer there, Mike, but in fact you dropped a French loaf’.

In the afternoon, we visited the terrace side pool after an attendant (who initially argued that we were still in Winter) eventually agreed to open up. We expected to be the only ones at the site but some people from Stoke turned up who we remembered from the last time we were here. Jan and her Mum are usually quite adept at getting the stony faced to open up and talk but not on this occasion. The Stoke foursome appeared unmoved by this poolside reunion and recollections of last year. They lingered nearby for a moment then appeared to think better of it and moved further down the opposite pool end. I recalled that it was about Day 12 from last year when they opened up and spoke at any length.

Jan was looking forward to going to the Los Belgos restaurant tonight but we found it closed. As we debated where we could go, things got heated. We were outside a place which advertised its paella with a blown up photograph of shiny prawns within a bed of rice. ‘…and if I have to look at that any longer, I’ll be sick’ said Jan.

Wednesday April 4^th 2012

When we earlier heard that there would be rain in the first few days, we decided to pencil in one of these to go to Elche zoo. We took a taxi to its off the beaten track destination.  At the entrance we declined having our photos taken with some animals for a fee and took a modest safari trail ride, seated on some truck trailers.  A bilingual talk was given over a microphone on animals that we were passing.

We decided to catch a parrot show in an outdoor amphitheatre style set up.  This was pretty good: the parrots (the one name I noted into was introduced as ‘Michael’ from Venezuela) performed various tricks like riding on a miniature bicycles, some of the presumably tricky penny farthing variety.  The guy presiding over it, feigned eye rolling exasperation when the parrots didn’t proceed as planned, playing it for humour in that visual Euro style. I’d assumed I’d enjoy this more than I would the later sea horse show.  In five years of children, we’ve seen more than our fair of mammal tricks but it was for the children to enjoy seeing a sea lion bound out of the water and balance a ball on the nose in between deftly catching fish treats in the blue water.  Music blasted overhead to accompany the tricks and there was some toing and froing exchanges between guys when the odd trick didn’t proceed as planned. I’m no fan of power ballads but that Dinah Carroll song was marginally improved by seeing a guy do some dance steps to it with a sea lion.

We had a look at the animals, but with our previous frame of reference being Chester Zoo, the site seemed small and cramped in comparison.  Chester Zoo’s large enclosure funded by the car company of the same name made the one jaguar’s roving ground here seem diminished and restrictive.  A lot of the animals were only one of a type (they would have been turned back from Noah’s Ark) which induced an air of sadness to their predicament.  The large farm environment, while being as parched as large parts of Spain, could surely have invested some of the entrance fee on a bit of greenery for some animals.  When we returned, the taxi driver said that the local papers were saying that the zoo may be closed due to unease over the animal’s welfare.

Later in the evening, Jan and I got to enter a pub quiz team at the ‘Phoenix Nights’ Bar.  We had a middling finish – joint second out of four – but we entered the raffle and had our number pulled out of the hat.  This gave us the chance to unlock the box for some rollover cash if we picked the right key which, alas, we didn’t.

Thursday April 5^th 2012

We caught the road train to town for some shopping.  In Lidl, we decided that we needed a shopping trolley.  I tried to back out through the opening barriers but only succeeded in setting off the alarms which sounded like a beginner trying to play the foghorn at great volume. If any of the shoppers were to wonder who the guilty party was, they were directed to me by J's Mum who uttered ‘Stupid Man’.  When we got back to the apartment, I unclipped and lifted Sam out of the buggy.  With its handle hanging shopping bags, the buggy collapsed backwards resulting in two broken eggs.

Besides two less eggs  there were  other items that we had forgotten to buy like oranges. As we were putting out lunch in the veranda, a van pulled up outside and a guy came out and addressed me in Spanish.  My response was as uncertain and uncommitted as it would be when someone in dark glasses gets out of a van and seeks to engage me in something I have no idea about.  However, when he pulled open his van door to reveal various native fruit and veg, I elected to buy some oranges. Good service.  What’s the equivalent in the UK?  There was the ‘Corona Man’ twenty years ago with its money back for returned pop bottles.

Friday April 6^th 2012

We walked to a funfair that had been set up nearby to mark the Easter period.  Jan and Ed went on the rollercoaster and for a euro got a loopy rollicking rollercoaster ride.  Within the rail route someone in a Micky Mouse costume moved to the music and brushed passing kid’s faces with his balloon.  Sam was vocal in wanting a turn but, at the end of the ride, Jan could not be swayed that he was big enough to go on it. We had an unproductive look around the fair for anything he could go on then returned home.

During lunch outside, the house’s cleaner, a bloke, introduced himself over the gate.  He advised us that the cost of cleaning (something that we were previously advised was voluntary) was fifty euros, ten euros more than what we paid six months ago (Rise in cost of cleaning 20%; Spanish inflation 2.1%).  He went on to talk about the fair (‘It’s mainly Spanish there’) so I suppose we got something of local guidance for our extra ten Euros.

We went to O Duills for tea.  J's Mum told the waitress that she traditionally didn’t eat meat on principle on Good Friday and asked after the fish options. We got out the pub’s shoebox of toys for the boys and read the ex pats produced paper.  I’d expect it to be full of columns lamenting aspects of British life and it mainly was: a front page editorial ran pictures of this week’s snow (the sort of thing that had members among us texting: ‘Thinking of you while we’re sitting out in the sun’) and contrasted this with the simultaneous ‘drought’ going on in parts of the UK. It asked how Spain can maintain a water supply with a fraction of the UK’s rainfall.  Elsewhere in the paper, George Galloway, the ‘anti-politician’ was lauded and questions were raised over how Chelsea could represent Britain in the Champions League with just one UK born player.

We picked our meals which were pretty good for a pub set-up.  Mum-in-Law again relayed that she wasn’t eating meat on Good Friday in a way that suggested Camilla, the bar maid, might argue back, rubbishing such beliefs.  ‘That’s okay’, said Camilla. ‘I respect that’.

Saturday 7^th April 2012

Jan and Mum went to Santa Pola Market, taking Sam with them.  I stayed in Gran Alicant with Ed.  We called in to O Duills while deciding what to do. In the beer garden a bloke with a pulled down sun hat was sitting with a beer and feet up shouting in a splattergun kind of way.  Ed and I escaped his wrath although a family arriving for breakfast were not spared - they scurried past him and inside the confines of the pub.  Inside, staff member Lisa lamented being landed with the nutter.  No-one was sure what his gripe was in Spanish whether it was tourists, austerity cuts or his life status.

I decided to take Ed up the hill to the park, feeling I’d inherited some of my Dad’s leaning towards walking the kids to places through thick and thin. At the top of the hill it was exposed and I had mislaid my shades. Figuring that I’d left them at the bar, I later went to collect them.  While there, I asked what happened to the vocal drunkard.  Things had apparently got really out of hand when he attacked a member of staff from next door’s Sunset Bar in the early afternoon.  Camila, last night’s waitress, was just starting her shift and was compelled to sit on the offender until the police arrived.  Not a regular incident, said Lisa.  Camila, the professional, worked on looking very unruffled.

In the evening, Mum in Law agreed to babysit and Jan and I went to the Dutch restaurant taking a candlelit table for two.  This seemed the most grown up, up market place on the block.  I’d imagine staff would have looked dimly on Ed running round lifting table numbers or black market DVD man popping his head around the door like he does at every other eatery here.  My meal, that staple the veggie lasagne, was different to the usual shallow dish. Piercing the lasagne was a skewer with a suspended filo pastry sheet.  On top was a sesame seed layered cherry tomato.  Jan talked lyrically of her dish in a way that I couldn't match with vegetable lasagne.  The walls bared pictures of skinny canal side Amsterdam houses which reminded us of pre family life.

Sunday 8^th April 2012

I walked up the hill again with Sam to shop at MaxCoop before it closed early for the holidays.  We called in to L’Espigo greeting some staff members for the first time since August, little blondie boy Sam still being a big hit.

In the afternoon, I took Ed to the funfair at the top of the street. We had several tokens left from Friday and I was keen to have a go on the rollercoaster. Inside it was more Hammer House than fun and frolics. As the ride took us within the public facing décor, we passed Micky Mouse now lifeless.  His grinning head lay disturbingly on the floor and his ugg boots stood upright alone.  More care had been taken with his tailed coat and waist jacket which at least were hanging up on a hook.

Monday 9^th April 2012

Temperature levels began to rise this week and we headed to the pool.  Outside the pool confines, in the street, a small gazebo had been set up and from it would waft the aroma of barbecued paella. Locals converged from surrounding houses, voices rose, got animated and it all had the feel of a community bank holiday occasion.  Back at the pool, I looked forlornly towards the Stoke family who were still monosyllabic and looking towards the pool behind inscrutable dark glasses. I discussed, and was dissuaded from, turning up at the outside festivities with a bottle of rioja and a hopeful expression.

Over the bank holidays, we would be wrapped up in bed when live music from the Easter festival would be performed into the night and early hours. I had read of these events in the run up to our holiday and envisaged being there when the boys were in bed and getting a taste of some native music.  But I was exhausted and always on early rising duties.  Travel hadn’t broadened the mind in this case.

Tuesday 10^th April 2012

In the total of three weeks that we have stayed in this place, I had wondered about the steep bank which rises then presumably dips towards the sea.  Plenty of tower blocks loomed high which suggested some high density holiday place.  I hadn’t heard anyone talk of going there.  We had earlier in our stay discussed visiting Benidorm but ruled it out due to time and travel costs. Thus Jan, I and the boys walked in the direction of Arenales de Sol.  We joined the coast road path which widened into a chequered patterned promenade with lined palm trees. Information boards highlighted the beaches notable sand dunes. There was the a fly poster for a fashion brand but whoever posted it up must have had a target demographic of an elderly dog walker or cyclist as that’s all we saw during our extended walk as we looked to find the place’s centre. 

We passed a closed bank and, ominously, a closed tourist bureau.  The apartments generally looked vacant with many a for sale sign.  Beyond the tower blocks the sea front looked reasonably attractive but it was obviously built during a more optimistic time, pre Credit Crunch. Eventually we found some open café bars and settled at one called Terrace 38.  There was a few Spaniards at the next table, dressed and jacketed in contrast to our now self-conscious T Shirt and shorts. We had a drink, the boys an ice cream, and stopped at some play facilities before heading back. The same display stand which advertised foods, specifically close ups of paellas and pizzas (the same picture which threatened to turn Jan’s stomach last week) was on display here. For anyone who wanted to go somewhere with less tourists, this most touristy designed of areas, was the place to go

Wednesday 11^th April 2012

After mutterings of changeable weather, the second week in particular shaped up to be bright and sunny.  This was our last full day and we were winding down, but we made it to the beach.  I did chores that would be familiar from home, washed clothes and put them out to dry. I bagged the recycling and rubbish and took it to the street based banks.  I was kept away from packing duties.  With everything bar immediate essentials bagged we headed off to Los Belgos and sat outside a restaurant for the first time.  This was the third time we came here as Jan was a fan of the mixed grill.  Kelly, who served us was pleasant and friendly. Just when I was beginning to suspect that my choice cuisine on the complex was stir fried vegetables by any other name, they volunteered to make me a curry. Our party remunerated the staff with a handsome tip, although I think drink may have had a say in just how handsome it was

Thursday 12^th April 2012

At the airport we joined our queue, an altogether slower one than the ‘bag drop’ queue going to the same destination.  When we were eventually poised to be the next group to be checked in, a member of a travelling company turned up with a bagless passenger, mumbled something about her requiring to be seen next, and then fled, into the crowd of the airport, like someone trying to lose her chasers.  As the lady stood in front of us she would have heard sensed the evil eyes, heard comments about ‘pushing in’ and discursive sentiments about Brits not complaining enough.  Whether she was in front of us for the right reason or not, I felt some empathy with the woman and thought ‘Go Girl! Piss off all these sour types!’ When the lady was called next for checking in, she turned round and thanked us, a dignified response.

With all the money spent on the holiday, I sometimes console myself that we save money on energy costs for this period.  We hadn’t run the boys’ bath for 12 days on the water meter.  However, when returning, we found out that our house’s en suite water tap had been running for the duration that we’ve been away, turned on, un-noticed by us by one of the boys.  I checked the water meter reading by that on the last bill and felt like weeping.  To answer that Spanish paper’s poser as to why we may struggle to get by with the considerably greater rainfall we have than Spain, it may be because of bunglers like me not checking that they have turned their taps off.

Rejoice! It’s a 3 and a half E!

Friday November 25th 2011

Over the years, while in their respective buggies, Ed and Sam have dropped off many a mitten, hat and shoe onto the ground. It may, at the time, escape my attention but when I get round to noticing, it will usually get retrieved. A member of the public may catch up with me and hand them over with sympathetic comments over the prospect of having to buy a new pair of pricey toddler shoes. If a longer period of time passes, I’ve retraced my steps and found them placed on a wall or bench. They’ve seemed to have found their way back in the way of these cats you hear about who intuitively track their way back to old haunts from a great distance. A recent wooly hat was found on some nearby railings, several days on. I put it in the wash and Sam is back to wearing (and dropping) it again.

The expectation that that it all gets recovered came to a juddering halt today. Sam had shaken loose a shoe at some point when we were bringing Ed back from school. I retraced my steps against the tide of departing children and their parents. Surely by a school, someone who found it would know what to do. I surveyed the nursery area and the now deserted school yard. I enquired in the general office. Then I returned to the street and did it all over again looking closely at those collected dunes of fallen leaves which shared the same brown and orange colours as Sam’s shoes. ‘Never mind being so arty farty staring at those leaves – get your boys out of the cold’, I could almost hear a Northern voice saying. Perhaps some rascal of a boy had lobbed it in a garden. We went home.

So when on Saturday November 26th 2011 , Jan and Sam went to the shoe shop to get a replacement pair of shoes, I was hoping with all hope, that he would have had to step up a shoe size which would have made getting a new pair of shoes a necessity in a parallel universe. It was getting dark when they had come back. The door opened and I looked intently on the new shoes that Sam was wearing as he came bounding in. They looked like they may be bigger. Jan confirmed that he was into new size territory. Just. That 3E result brought greater relief than City’s 1-0 win over Forest.

Colorama Kings Arms, November 11, 2011

I first heard of these through an Oldham radio station The Revolution. The station, an analogue lifeline to good music in Greater Manchester, went on to be bought out by radio ‘prankster’ Steve Penk and subsequently became musically indistinguishable from any other commercial radio station. The exodus of DJs from the station that took place re-coalesced for a new internet station Radio Republic that went live today today, 11.11.11 and a couple of the guys are here tonight playing music in between the bands. They may feel a pang of pride in helping raise Colorama’s profile in these parts.
I’ve followed Colorama’s progress since. The three piece launch into Derw Mewn and follow it with several Welsh language tunes which isn’t so out of place in Salford if some same language banter from members of the crowd is anything to go by. The Welsh landscape is never far away in their lyrics – one song is about the betrayal of a girl friend who swaps rugby union for rugby league.
Longstanding anchorman of the band, Carwyn, sometimes has a tightened singing expression similar to that of blues guitarists (or Bruce Forsythe as my friend mentioned) as his band play their absorbing folky multi-instrumental sound. Instruments are brought out and deftly applied. There are autoharps and Uilleann pipes (which I last saw being played live at a Northern Ireland music session fifteen years ago). The ‘seasonally inappropriate’ Autumnal, a highlight, has understated harmonies and melancholic acoustica. There’s a smattering from the new Colouring Book CD which I bought and am playing now as I type this. The likes of Lisa Lan and Eleri have me almost happily tasting the bar's Krombacher beer.
A final song called Good music, which may be a working title, allows for some Van Halen style riffing from David Page. It’s as if, after playing a set of finely honed melodies, an inner axe man has been unleashed. It was a suitable parting shot to send me on my way into a cold rainy Manchester night to catch the train back.

Photo by Maurice https://picasaweb.google.com/110737376453713511038/ColoramaAndJohnStammarsKingsArmsNovember112011#

Horsey, horsey will you stop.

There’s a carousel which is a fixture on Stockport’s main shopping street. I have regularly taken Ed there for a ride. Today was the first time, for a long period, that he went on it and the lady controlling the rides remarked to Ed on how he’s grown. As I strapped him into into the Safari Car, there were protests from Sam who wished to have a ride himself.   Sam could go on the horse or motorcycle if I accompanied him I was told. I’m not quick-thinking enough to have amicably declined this and, as I took my place on the horse, behind a strapped up Sam, it occurred to me that I had never seen any other adult opt to do what I was doing. I have participated in things before where I have felt a bit of a berk – like being the only man in a group of parents and children trundling around in a circle singing Ring a Ring of Roses – and, it seems the best way to avoid embarrassment, is entering into the spirit of things. Ideally, I should be wearing pastel coloured clothes and be making excitable chatter to Sam about how we’re right behind Coco the Train. Instead, I winced and, as the carousel rotated with growing momentum, felt increasingly sick, my demeanour getting more pallid for anyone who happened to be watching with each passing rotation. The people who work the thing have my respect; there’s more to it than just pulling the start/stop levers as they talk the kids through the process. Still, on reflection, I’d rather not have learnt of this. In future, if I remember, I'll avoid passing too closely to the carousel with Sam until he is of an age to go on it on his own.