(new blog because the last one would not take anymore posts?)
We decided to take a stroll around the site and we are surrounded by Germans!This site is 90% German, 5% Dutch, 3% Spanish 1.8% other and the rest, us. Brits, proper people!
Roquetas del Mar to the Germans is the same as Blackpool was to all us northerners in the 60's and 70's. The nearby towns are OK but the surrounding countryside is all rubble and looks bombed out, considering the age of most Germans around here, home from home I guess.
Us sitting in out of the rain
SWMBO decided to have a walk round the whole site so she could have a good “toot” at the other pitches, what they had, what curtains they have etc. You know, just wanted to be a nosy sod. It took ages, I wished we'd gone on bikes, must have covered a few miles. The pictures are of what the Germans do when they've got nothing else to do, make weid shapes out of water bottles?Tuesday 16th February, pancake day, we will see?
It pissed down all night and it's still pissing down this morning. Toilet block is again sealed off via a torrent of water. To get a shower, you get a shower going there, get a shower and then get another shower coming back, mind you're bloody clean afterwards.
Cleared up a bit and now dateline 11:25 pm it persistently raining again, talked to Swany back home and it's snowing / sleet / rain and cold so should we worry?
It's cold'ish but not that cold as when we used to live "up north".
The Geordie Thermometer
50 Degrees. Southerners turn on their heating. Geordies plant their gardens.
40 Degrees. Southerners shiver uncontrollably. Geordies Sunbathe.
30 Degrees. Southern cars will not start. Geordies drive with their windows down
20 Degrees. Southerners wear coats, gloves, and wool hats. Geordies throw a t-shirt on (Girls start wearing mini-skirts)
10 Degrees. Southerners begin to Evacuate. Geordies go swimming in the North Sea.
Zero degrees. Southern landlords turn up the heat. Geordies have the last barbecue before it gets cold.
Minus 10 Degrees. Southerners cease to exist. Geordies throw on a lightweight jacket.
Minus 80 Degrees. Polar bears wonder if it’s worth it. Geordie Boy scouts start wearing long trousers.
Minus 100 Degrees. Santa Claus abandons the North Pole. Geordies put on their long johns.
Minus 173 Degrees. Alcohol freezes. Geordies become frustrated because the pubs are shut.
Minus 297 Degrees. Microbiological life starts to disappear. The cows on Newcastle town moor complain of vets with cold hands.
Minus 460 Degrees. All atomic motion stops. Geordies start to stamp their feet and blow on their hands.
Minus 500 Degrees. Hell freezes over……….Sunderland qualify for Europe.
Women's toilet procedure.
When you need to visit a public loo there is invariably a line of women waiting, you smile politely and take your place in the line, it finally gets to your turn, you check for feet under the cubicle doors.
Every cubicle is occupied. But eventually a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door wont lock. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long and you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook if there was one, but there isn't so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, yank down your pants and assume "the position". In this position your ageing, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You would love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "the position".
To take your mind off your trembling thighs for a moment you reach for the toilet paper dispenser and your worst nightmare it's empty, the toilet roll dispenser is empty. You hover looking around in the hope there's a new roll behind you no such luck. Your thighs start to shake more. Then you remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday the one that's still in your handbag, which is now burning your neck & shoulders with the weight. So you contort your arm into a very unnatural position and start to fumble around in the deep dark depths of your handbag for that small crumpled used tissue no bigger than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes your cubicle door and because the latch doesn't work the door hits your head, which is bent forward from you holding your bag around your neck while you are rummaging for that used tissue, the door takes you by surprise and you start to lose your balance and topple backwards. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach to push the door shut and drop the precious, tiny, crumpled tissue you had only just managed to retrieve with your index finger into an 'unknown' puddle on the floor.
If that isn't enough you lose your balance all together, or just give up and... sit down ... directly onto the TOILET SEAT. Yes, - it's wet! You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your thighs and bottom have made contact with every imaginable germ and life form that lives on the uncovered seat.
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of cold water like a fire hose into the bowl which causes a spray of fine mist that completely covers your bum and runs downs your legs along with all the various life forms and down into your dishevelled pants which have now dropped to your ankles with your hems soaking up that puddle from the floor. The flush seems to suck everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.
At this point you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe your self with a piece of gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You cannot figure out how to operate the tap, so run your hands underneath it grateful for the two drops of water there and around the basin itself. You go to the towel dispenser past the line of women still waiting, where of course there are no paper towels so you move onto the hand blower, which yes you've guessed it that doesn't work either! You're no longer able to smile politely to the women, but there's an unspoken understanding between you all. A kind soul at the very end of the line of women points out that you have a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. Where was that when you NEEDED IT??? You yank the paper from your shoe, plonk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "here, you just might need this". As you exit you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your handbag hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with public loos. It also helps explain to the men why it really does take us women so long and it also answers that commonly asked question why do women always go to the loos in pairs? It's so your friend can hold the door, hang onto your bag and pass you tissue under the door!
Wednesday 17th February.
Well didn't manage any pancakes yesterday as it being shove Tuesday and all, so it was Lidl to get some water and saw a games compendium for €16 so we bought it. Also took a risk with the rain and walked into town to get some black pepper, yes it's getting that desperate. That evening we played draughts and SWMBO played like a complete novice, it was really quite pathetic.
Tonight it's going to be Ludo followed by pick a stick, I know, you can hardly contain yourself can you?
Tricia decided not to do the washing yesterday, although it did turn out to be a good drying day later on, she would leave it until today. Well today and last night was and is continual downpour with a odd thunder and lightning, can't see my underpants getting any cleaner than they are, today.
Now all the electric is out. Could have something to do with reversed polarity so I stuck in my “ reversed polarity” plug set, got the trip “un triped” and Robert is your Auntie's brother.
Now I've never been one for complaining about the food etc. being different in Spain but I have to draw the line at tea. I've always liked Red Label, usually from Sainsburys but that running out, mainly because for some obscure reason SWMBO has gone off the Herbal teas and is now drinking mine. I've tried the Lord Nelson breakfast tea and it's bloody terrible. There is a English store in town called, you'll never believe it, Arkrites, typical British humour I think. So it's round there this afternoon to get some fresh supplies, I hope.
11:35 am, stop press!
The sun is out! Washing day! Yippee!
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