Shopping in Spain and other stories…

I’ve had a busy week.  Last week I tried to plan all my classes at the weekend.  Due to my report deadline approaching, however, I ended up playing catch up again.  So, the reports handed in on Wednesday, I thought I was free.  Not so.  Following yesterday’s weekly meeting, it was announced that we were to prepare the end of term tests for next Friday.  It’s not too much work, but it will end up being one of those last-minute panics.  It sort of takes the shine off the long weekend.  Nevermind.  For most of Spain, there is a five-day holiday starting today and ending on Wednesday.  As Tuesday doesn’t officially count as a national holiday, I will be working on Tuesday, but not Monday or Wednesday.  It is, therefore, a light week.  I will prep my classes tomorrow afternoon and try to chill during the week.

Mr A and I were planning to do something active this weekend.  Three months with my love and his delightful culinary skills together with my penchant for chocolate and my hunger attacks at work, which (aside: Real Madrid have just scored a second goal!  I hate them!) fall in my fifteen minute break just before last lesson, have resulted in FEAR that I might be fat again.  I’m not sure this is the case, but I won’t know until three weeks time when I reach Liverpool Airport and find two disgusted parents.  Okay, so they won’t be disgusted, but humour me.  I’m a 24-year-old female with fear of gaining weight, getting grey hair and wrinkles.

So, back to that plan of doing some sport.  The boy came home from football this morning happy as any boy whose spent an hour and a half booting a ball around a field.  I thought it would be an excellent idea to spend an afternoon out of the flat, eating tapas or drinking coffee or one of my other favourite pursuits.  Given my irregular eating patterns and lazyitis and the fact that we didn’t leave the flat until around four-ish, it was to be expected that we didn’t get those not-so-long awaited tapas.  In Spain, it’s illegal to eat lunch before two or after three and it’s illegal to eat dinner before nine in the evening.  My stomach doesn’t tend to agree with this rigid timetable.  In its nationalistic way, it has become resistant to being told to conform to Spanish ways.

Upon finding our chosen eatery closed, we headed in the direction of a supermarket called Mercadona.  This was a first for me and a treat for the pair of us, as we prefer to do our regular shops in Maxidia or Lidl, being generally cheaper than their neighbours.  Mercadona is more the supermarket that I’ve been waiting to meet in Spain.  It was big, with lots of aisles, something akin to a supermarket in the UK.  It displayed a wealth of Christmas goodies as well as a few strange-looking pig legs which smelt bizarre and appeared to be decaying.  These jamones ibericos are a firm favourite of the Spanish, and so they are to be found all over Cadiz.  We picked out some non-pig leg related goodies and went to queue.  Suddenly, Mr A felt a pain in his foot brought on by the football game earlier on.  So we slowly walked home with our shopping bags, stopping off at a bakery for bread and cakes.

We ate at home and warmed up Mr A’s foot with a bowl of hot water.  I insisted he take some paracetamol to kill the pain for a few hours.  It must be a miracle drug, because minutes later, on receiving a call from an acquaintance living one floor up from us, he left the flat to go and socialise. Feeling decidedly unsociable and preferring the (relative) warmth of our flat, or rather, the blankets I hide beneath, I stayed here.  He didn’t leave me alone for long, though.  He said he missed me.  Just as well, because I missed him, too.

So, no sport this weekend, then.  We’ll see if Mr A’s foot heals itself.  It’s still not 100%, but he’s not in as much discomfort as he was before.

Well, the television leaves as much to be desired tonight as it does most nights.  Bizarrely, I’ve not felt like doing anything involving reading books or work.  It’s as if I’ve run out of creativity for the time being.  This is not a worry.  I’ll be quite happy to focus on inconsequential things like clothes and hair and make-up once it’s the Christmas hols, so I might as well get a head start.


6 Responses to “Shopping in Spain and other stories…”

  1. David Warr Says:

    My two favourite Scousers: you and Rebecca Ferguson.

  2. crazykites Says:

    Thanks! Who’s Rebecca Furguson? 🙂

  3. David Warr Says:

    X Factor contestant

  4. crazykites Says:

    Never followed X Factor! I never felt it could live up to Fame Academy.

  5. Carole Says:

    I have a new favourite Scouser…Sir Ken Robinson.

  6. crazykites Says:

    Am I not one of your fave Scousers, Mum?

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