Am I Too Old For Sausage Jokes ?

Oh to Hell with it, when I get too old to make sausage gags, then it's probably time to nail me in. Until then, may I introduce you all to my large, long and very spicy sausage ? Thank you, I'm here all week.

The Chorizo (and PLEASE pronounce the 'z' as a 'th' sound or I shall spank your collective bottoms until they're red raw) is the Spanish delicacy that I love the most. Oh sure they have cured ham that can be so sublime that it melts on your tongue like sherbet. They also sell rice that is so delicious that a plate of that and virtually nothing else is a terrific Sunday lunch. But the real star of the kitchen over here is this pork and paprika sausage. Versatile in ways I can't even mention (yes, that's another sausage gag) this is a phenomenal ingredient that all cooks should try. 

You can eat it raw, fry it, put it in stocks or soups or even bung it in a rice dish for an extra kick of flavour. But there is one way above all others, for all fans of the big red Iberian sausage, that is supreme above the others. The reason I mention it now ? Well because I've had it for dinner just now and I'd forgotten just how damn good it was. The dish is called 'chorizo con vino' (sausage with wine) and you merely require a chorizo sausage (see photo), some red wine and a large crusty baguette. Slice the sausage and fry it for a few minutes until cooked, then pour in a glass of red wine, and allow it to reduce for 2-3 minutes. Then empty the whole lot into a small dish, and eat whilst piping hot. And don't forget to mop up the juice with the bread.

This is normally served as a tapas (i.e. a small dish to be served with several others) and so it's not a meal in itself. But as a starter or combined with something else it's pretty hard to beat. Oh, and of course you simply must drink a lot of red wine as you eat it. Now it's at its best in a street cafe on a balmy night in August, but I expect it'll still work pretty well in a semi-detached maisonette in Chingford. So have a go please, and then you can truly say that you've had my hot dripping sausage in your mouths.

Too much ? Okay, I'll stop there.  

I Know What You're Thinking, Namely : Do I Look Like This Yet ?

Well, in a very simple and unequivocal word...no. However I am making progress. A few months back I declared my intention to have a 6 pack by the age of forty (which I will reach in a little over 6 months). At the time I said it I was only partially serious and I didn't really believe I could do it. But things right now aren't looking too bad. Now, I shall never look like the loaf of bread on the left, firstly because I don't actually live at the gym, and secondly because I can't afford steroids (joke, I wouldn't take them if I could).

Having said all that, I am now starting to see lines on my abdomen. They aren't wrinkles or stretch marks, and they aren't a gouge cut out of me by tight elastic on my pants (underpants for the U.S. contingent). I've looked into this carefully, and they do appear to be muscles. Now of course finding muscles there is a bit like digging up a Roman pot. At first you just see some disturbance in the soil, you take out a brush and painstakingly fiddle with it and eventually a piece of crockery emerges. This is the same with a body that has endured years of fast food, zero exercise and way too much beer. It's easy to forget that muscles even exist down there. But I suppose they must otherwise my limbs wouldn't move.

So, September may be a way off yet, but I'm starting to feel as if I may be able to get somewhere near my target. Of course it helps that in summer I'll be swimming loads and generally cavorting around. I'm still not sure whether I'll get close enough to actually post a photo of my gut, and in any event modesty may prevent this. You'll note that virtually no photos of me appear on this site, and there is a reason for this. I HATE having my picture taken and I HATE seeing the results. The only photo of me that I have put on here is from a distance and my face is obscured by sunglasses, and if you are a masochist you may view it here.

But, I just thought I'd update you on the progress of this thrilling race against time. I'm off beer, drinking very little wine, eating fruit and veg and drinking lots of water. This is on.

Pretty City - Part 7

You know how I'm always banging on about going to the opera ? Of course you do. Well last time I was there I took this photo of the main auditorium, and I'd forgotten to post it. Seeing as it's a quiet day here in Gotham, I thought I'd pop it up now. And I reckoned that maybe you needed a break from posts about porn and penises.

I Have Something Of A Confession To Make...

...namely, I'm really not that fond of porn.

I know that it's now cool and socially acceptable to enjoy pornography. Women now watch it too, and it's no longer the preserve of seedy men in stained clothing. We have, if you like, reclaimed televised sex. And that's fine in a way. After all, beneath our nice clothes, mortgages and bank accounts, we are all animals really. Mammals in fact, and mammals require sex on a constant basis. Even if they were born in England. 

In fact I suspect that if we were to throw off our modern social affectations, then all of society could quickly degenerate into one giant orgy. I can tell you all for a fact that men do most things as a circuitous way of getting sex. Jobs, money, fame, status blah blah. We only think of whether the girls will like us better now. We're as shallow as puddles, all of us.

Having said that, sex still seems to be a concern for some. The British have a long and proud history of being embarrassed about it, and wasn't it John Ashcroft  in the U.S. who covered up the naked breasts of a statue in D.C. in order that it wouldn't incite sexual lewdness ? What did he think, that grown men would drop their trousers in front of it and start pleasuring themselves  ? So no, sex itself is just dandy, and in our rather stressful and over complicated age, perhaps it should be mandatory on a daily basis. Perhaps rather than breaking for coffee, tea or a cigarette, we should all take a sex break and go off to a convenient cubicle with a colleague/partner. Ah, what a world that would be and when you came back you'd actually get some work done.

But rather than that, we have decided to film other people doing it and watch that instead, which, if you think about it, is pretty weird to start with. Other animals don't do this. You can't imagine a pack of cats cracking open a few cans of milk and sitting around a grainy video watching two other cats doing it with cheesy music playing in the background, can you ? And this is my first point, that porn reduces sex to a spectator sport when surely the whole idea is to have a go oneself ?

Secondly there are the production values. Maybe it's time for porn to be expensively made, properly written and acted by A-listers. Then you'd get queues round the block wouldn't you ? The credit crunch could be wiped out in a single afternoon. But instead we get shaky sets, a constant soundtrack of bad 80's pop music (why, is sex no good without a crap CD on ?), and acting so bad that I wonder if these people can actually speak properly in real life. And for those of you who say, who cares, well I do. I'm much more able to believe that this man really is a plumber, and that he really has come to look at her pipes, if it is sold to me better.

Thirdly the men are bum ugly. The women never are of course, but why are the men such seedy, ugly tosspots ? Is this to give hope to other seedy ugly tosspots ? If women watch, surely they should have stuff to look at too ? And why are there so many mullet haircuts and nasty beards involved ? Of course I realise that the men are selected for the length of their dongs, as opposed to their sartorial know how, but would it be too much to ask for a hairdresser to be involved too ?

But fourthly, and the real reason I dislike porn, is that I find it to be rather sinister. It's the same reason I would or could never go to a strip club, in that I would be able to feel the exploitation oozing out of the walls. I realise that a lot of women have been made rich by porn, but an awful lot more men have been. Women have been exploited for sex since the dawn of time, and porn is just the latest example. They are the focus of the films, and they are the recipients of most of the 'acts' involved.  The men are ugly because they are secondary and unimportant. The women are beautiful because they are at the centre of this generally male driven fantasy. But of course, what they do is real.

To me, it's all rather grotesque. Look at the dead eyes of the performers, and the mechanical way they go through their routine. I'm half expecting the screen to turn red, the men to spout horns from their heads, and for flames to lick around the edges of the set. You have to admit that it's all rather macabre and that the women are more victims than equal willing partners. The woman usually has to sleep with her boss for a raise, or to pay a bill with sex, or is otherwise in a position of weakness that she must resolve by being exploited for sex.

This isn't true of all porn, but it covers way way too much, especially the nasty internet variety that is recorded on cheap video cameras and posted on horrible tacky sites. So this is really why I don't like it. I feel sorry for the women, sorry that they have to do this for a living and sorry that we live in a society that tolerates it. Am I being too prissy, or a spoilsport ? You tell me, but for these reasons porn doesn't get me off. It's as simple as that. If on the other hand we can get some equality into the piece, proper staging and decent actors involved, then I'll be much more inclined to watch it. But I maintain that it'll still be bizarre that we're watching other people do something that we could so easily be doing ourselves. 

Does Anyone Really Give An Arse About The Oscars ?

I can't stand awards shows. They are so intensely meaningless and yet they proliferate like rabbits. There are now so many of them that they have all become interchangeable, and it seems that half the year is taken up with them. The 'Brits' the other night are a perfect example of pointlessness. Duffy won big despite the fact that she seems to have only one song and all the charisma of a plank of wood. 

Yet this stamp of approval by some unknown group of voters now means that she'll be lauded like a goddess. And so it goes on through the Baftas, Comedy awards, Grammys and so on. Shameless public displays of masturbation by industries already so spoilt that it's a wonder we don't turn our backs on them completely.

But tomorrow, the biggest and most pompous awards show of all, the Academy Awards takes place in Hollywood.  I think we can blame the Oscars for the slew of cheap imitators we now need to put up with. The showbiz world has looked on in envy and fancied a bit of the action. And the world's press will be falling over themselves to report on the ceremony as if it's a major world event. But the truth is it's like a giant hamburger. It all seems important at the time but is pretty instantly forgotten. Can you remember who won all the major awards last year, cos I'm buggered if I can and I'm a serious film buff.

I used to care who won, and then one day I realised that actually, I didn't. The films I like either will or won't get something, but it makes no odds to me. In a world where 'Dances With Wolves' beats 'Goodfellas' to Best Picture I can't take any of it seriously. 

Of course I shall watch the highlights the next day, mainly to fast forward to the funny bits. But  I shall skip the tedious speeches about 'the art of film', the never ending medley of Best Songs, and the stilted delivery of the script by supposedly the best actors in the world. I also don't give a flying toss if the British do well either. The British press collectively urinate when we win something and you'll see that awful overused headline once more 'The Brits are Coming'. Oh piss off. Good films should win, it doesn't matter where they were made. 

But frankly, winning doesn't mean a thing. Kevin Costner won best Director before Scorsese and Spielberg did. Chicago won Best Picture. 'Citizen Kane' only won for screenplay. And most criminal of all, Alfred Hitchcock never won a damn thing. Point made ?

I'm Being Rogered !!

Perhaps I shouldn't tell you this about myself, but I'm currently engaged in a full 'watch through' of all 22 Bond movies, in order. I've been at it for a while, on and off in odd moments. This week I finally reached a period that I've long been looking forward to, Roger Moore.

Anyone who says that Roger was a bad Bond needs to see me afterwards. Rog was perfect for the 70's, that era of decadence mixed with 'Carry On' humour. Oh sure it's all a long way from Daniel Craig's current 'come and have a try if you think you're hard enough' Bond, but that doesn't make it bad. In particular the first three films Moore did, namely 'Live and Let Die', 'The Man With The Golden Gun' and 'The Spy Who Loved Me' are highlights of the series.

Anyway, I have 'Golden Gun' to start next and I'm looking forward to it immensely. There's Britt Ekland in a bikini, Herve Villechaize as 'Nick Nack' and the god-like Christopher Lee as Scaramanga. Does it really get any better than that ? And as Bond says to Solitaire when she asks if there's time for a quick one, "Absolutely, after all there's no point in going off half cocked !" (imagine a raised eyebrow at this point).

Are You Having A Bubble ?

Now I've often complained about the behaviour of some of the men at my swimming pool. If it isn't the overwhelming desire they seem to have for displaying their genitals to all and sundry then it's their propensity to invade one's lane and proceed as if they are the only one in it. Either way, my gym would be much better if only I and women were allowed to join.

But today a fellow produced something that not only took the biscuit but also the biscuit tin, tea tray and paper napkins. This guy came into the pool area, and then started to go through an elaborate warm up routine. This involved stretching, bending, grimacing and general posing in his unattractively tight swimming trunks. This performance continued for about 20 minutes and had a general air of 'yes you're right, I am an adonis, and you may look upon me'.

Obviously I kept an eye on him as I was hoping he would slip and fall and generally hurt himself. He didn't, sadly, nor did he get attacked by a passing bat. But, even odder than that, at the end of his tortuous display, he took his towel, walked back into the changing rooms and was never seen again. Without, in case I didn't make it clear, without actually entering the water. Now, either he unexpectedly ran out of time (not surprising considering the never-ending poncing about he was engaged in) or he had come all the way to the pool and changed into his costume just to show us all how great he was. If it were the latter, then given that the only woman present was about 65, you wonder what he hoped to achieve by it. But it only goes to show that there really is no limit to tossery.

N.B. The title refers to the popular phrase in cockney rhyming slang: 'Are you having a bubble bath - laugh'. In American you might say: 'Are you kidding/shitting me'. 

N.N.B. The word tossery is an invention, but is based on the popular British insult of 'Tosser' which is to be used to describe someone who has a great deal of sex, but always alone.

The Wrestler (2008) : Review

I don't do many reviews these days, and that's for two reasons. Firstly, every time a big film comes out, the world, his wife and his nephew Mervyn all do a review straightaway (and they are generally all the same). Secondly the dubious quality of cinema these days usually means that I rarely watch something worth getting too excited about. Most modern movies are cynical money making machines, doggedly aimed at a certain demographic and ultimately shallow and formulaic.

I'm also disappointed at the number of promising young film makers who have some success and immediately sell out and make mainstream stuff of varying quality. Bryan Singer and Chris Nolan launched their careers with 'The Usual Suspects' and 'Memento' respectively, two of the best indie films ever made. But then when the big studios came calling they opted to make 'Superman' and 'Batman' and that seems a shame to me. What stuff would they have come up with had they remained in the smaller and infinitely more imaginative world of indie film ? And yes I know that the new 'Batman' films are very popular and I admire them greatly, but in a way I still prefer the Tim Burton versions and feel that Nolan would be much more exciting if he were working on smaller, more unusual stuff. Maybe that's just me.

One director who has stayed true to his values is Darren Aronofsky. No doubt he's been offered franchise films, but up to now he hasn't succumbed. Instead he's made 4 fascinating movies of varying themes, the latest of which is 'The Wrestler'. I saw his previous effort 'The Fountain' recently and it is almost deliberately uncommercial, weird wonderful and extremely bold. If you are open minded about film you should really give it a try, even if you find it a failure it is still an interesting experiment. But if you like a set beginning, middle and ending then avoid it like the plague.

But 'The Wrestler' is more conventional and concerns Mickey Rourke's 'Randy The Ram', a rapidly fading wrestling star who is short of cash and whose body is falling apart at the seams. I've never been a particular fan of Rourke who more often than not has come across as brash and preening in his work. But here, he is vulnerable, multi-layered and brilliant. He should win the Oscar this year and I think he will. Throwing himself into the role physically and emotionally he proves once and for all that he is a really good actor after all. Marisa Tomei is also favourite for the Oscar in her category as a 40 something lap dancer who is also seeing her best days fade into the distance.

Both Rourke (56) and Tomei (44) do their own stunts (wrestling and stripping respectively) and both completely convince. There are no body doubles or stunt people used, so the battered flesh on display is theirs and that adds to the piece enormously. To be fair though both are in amazing shape. Rourke's physique is perfect for the orange skinned, over pumped wrestler and Tomei has a body that most 18 year olds would be jealous of. But best of all the film is always honest and unflinching and in so doing draws you in completely.

I find it odd that the movie is not nominated for Best Picture or Best Director. It is a better film than 'Frost/Nixon' and 'Benjamin Button', and Aronofsky really needs to be rewarded for sticking to his guns and continuing to do his own thing. It's rare indeed to see such a good film these days and I feel that inevitably not enough people will see it. We live in times where cinema is usually inferior to TV, so it's good to see evidence that there are still people out there who aren't looking for a super hero series to direct and who are prepared to stick their necks out for good quality scripts. Films like this are the result.

Gratuitous Nudity

I think I should state two things at the outset, one this is a naked photo of the gorgeous Jessica Alba, and two there is no connection between her and this post. What this does mean however is that I'll get lots of hits from dubious men who want this photo for 'purely research purposes'. The fact that that 'research' concerns a jar of hand cream and a locked door is not something I want to think about. But you'd be amazed how many times a simply keyword or picture attracts the world's seediest men from under their respective stones.

Anyway, I'm here to tell you that I'm still around, but currently otherwise engaged, hence the current lack of posting. Not only that but I haven't felt that inspired lately and I've been involved more and more in paying work. This is nice and allows me to look at my bank account without the aid of a piece of smoked glass. It also gets me out of the house, onto the street and into the wonderful hustle and bustle of Valencia. The sun is now starting to come out and stay out, and this means the shades are being dusted off, and I'm looking in my wardrobe and realising how few T-shirts I have. Soon it will be time to start stripping off in public again, and thus I need to up the ante at the gym and start hurting all day.

But I have seen some stuff (inevitably). Last night brought 'The Reader' and another marvellous Kate Winslett performance. You may think this an odd choice for Valentine's night, but I absolutely refuse to watch rom-coms, and I'm fascinated by the war, as most Europeans tend to be. The film is very good indeed, although I've seen some rather snooty reviews suggesting it is too slow and not as clever as it thinks it is. Well first off, the pacing is fine. True it doesn't move quickly but so what, in the 70's all movies chugged along like this and everyone said they were great. Some of us actually have attention spans. And as for the intellectual side, well the film isn't as essay. It's a fairly simple tale about a romance/friendship between two people against the backdrop of war. And for me it works very well, and is touching and sensitive. I rather fancy that the critics are a bunch of cretins, more concerned with their own agendas than an objective review. So what's new.

Otherwise I continue to eat, drink and be merry. Last night I drank champagne, and now I am paying for it. But I also did a nice meal which went down quite well. Today being Sunday, I will go to the mother-in-law's for a traditional Sunday er, meatball. But it will be great, and inevitably there will be more wine there. I'll also get to see my niece and nephew, both of whom are cute and great fun. So, all is well in the Med. And there will be more idiotic postings this week, so you can all look forward to those.

Phew, It's Okay, The Banks have Said Sorry...

Well, that's it then, presumably the financial crisis is over. I say that because the leading banks in the U.K. have apologised for the complete balls up they've made of the economy. This will now right wrongs, repair damage and save the sinking ship will it ? Er.........well no. In fact by my calculations, this move will MAKE NO DIFFERENCE AT ALL. People are still losing their homes, businesses and jobs, and the U.K.'s recession is forecast to one of the deepest of all. So why did they bother saying sorry do you think ?

Perhaps people anxiously waiting for  bailiffs to come round and repossess their homes or seize their possessions will derive some comfort from these words ? Well no, they'll probably be too busy wondering where their children will sleep tonight. Maybe those who find themselves out of jobs, will take time out of their frantic job hunting in order to forgive the banks then ? I doubt it somewhat. Of course there's always the possibility that they want our sympathy, but if that's the case, the appalling judgement that has caused this disaster clearly hasn't improved. That would be like a crocodile asking forgiveness for eating your granny.

You see, what these people don't seem to be able to fathom, is that we don't want their apologies, we want their heads on a spike. The top four men at RBS shared earnings of £7m between them last year, so lads, excuse us if our forgiveness is a little short in supply. You aren't losing your jobs, or your houses are you ? And I don't see any moves to forthwith suspend all the repossession actions going through the courts either. In any other business their particular brand of incompetence would warrant dismissal at the very least, but it seems if you run a bank you can expect billions of pounds of public money to fall into your lap so you can pay everyone their bonus.

Oh and one of the justifications for paying these vast sums, is that you can't keep good people if you don't pay them. Really ? What good people are you referring to, and if you have such specimens, why weren't they running the company for all these years ? Oh I see, the 'good' people you refer to, are in fact, yourselves aren't they ? And God forbid the horror if you all left your jobs, what would we all do without you ? You see boys, not only does an apology at this stage seem far too late and hopelessly inadequate, but you can't eat or pay your mortgage with it. But let's face it, what could you possibly know about that ?  

The Dangers Of A Fully Loaded Penis

I saw an article the other day about the tensions created between men and women by the, let's say, inaccurate aiming of our urinary excretion devices. Apparently many problems are created in households by the male's inability to direct the flow, and the female's exasperation with having to clean up afterwards.

But there are certain things a woman can never understand. The penis is not a precision instrument. It does not come with instructions, any form of tap or a sniper rifle scope. The control of said device is thus something of a hit and miss affair, quite literally in this case. This concept is best illustrated by going into the garden and getting the hose, holding it loosely and then turning it on full blast. This is very much akin to the experience a man goes through, every time he empties his bladder, only on a (slightly) larger scale. Having said all that men also have the ability to tidy up afterwards. We aren't cats marking their territory or skunks spraying as a defence mechanism.

So I can see arguments on both sides. But if I'm totally honest, men are probably the culpable ones here. Oh and by the way, most men don't even wash their hands after going to the toilet (either number) and that really is disgusting. I was once in a fancy restaurant in London, and I could hear someone in a cubicle, and it sounded like he was being tortured in there. When he emerged, complete in chef's whites, he then proceeded to leave the toilet without even a glance at the sinks. I've never forgotten that, and as you can imagine I left the rest of my meal. Yuk.

It's Not A F****** Sooty Mobile !!!

One of the most memorable moments of my childhood, was having these very words screamed at me by a very angry little boy. Let me explain. Sooty (yellow chap on the left), is a popular children's character in the U.K.. He is in fact a glove puppet and consorts with (amongst others) a panda named Sue, and the infinitely cooler Sweep, who is a dog that speaks like a kazoo (actually, I think it is a kazoo).

Anyway, Sooty was a big part of my upbringing, both when I was small and loved it up to the time when I was getting too old for it and found it all amusing in an 'ironic' way. Sooty travelled around in a white van with a panel cut out of the side for him to appear in, this was the 'Sooty mobile'. At school we all thought this funny, but what we found funnier still was that one of the boys at school had the same van, or at least his Dad did (same difference by our standards).

And thus, being the charmers we were, we never failed to mention it when we saw him. I once pushed it too far in the playground and he responded with the line that appears in the title of the post. And I must say, that despite being the recipient of well delivered and vehemently passionate put down that got me laughed at rather a lot, I didn't really mind. The way he said it was funny, and I laughed along with all the others. Suffice to say I never teased him about that again. But since that day it's been my standard riposte when being pushed too far. The fact that only I understand what I mean is neither here nor there. 

The reason I mention it now ? Simple, I just heard the music from the legendary 'Sooty Show' and thought I'd share this with you. Wish I hadn't ? The damage is already done.

Saturday Night Film Fun

And I'm sure if the lady pictured featured more often, films really would be fun. But I've seen some stuff lately, mainly the Oscar fodder that is doing the rounds, and I thought I'd weigh in on what I've managed to see.

Benjamin Button - Now this is being described as Forest Gump with A-Levels. I wouldn't know because I've never been able to sit through more than 10 minutes of Gump without wanting to poke my eyes out with hot skewers. Button on the other hand didn't provoke the same reaction. I found it to be a charming little fable, with very good work from Pitt and Blanchett. And all the nerdy fan boys who tell you that David Fincher has sold out need to go wash their hair, get out of their bedrooms and go and meet a real life woman.

Revolutionary Road - You know what, I've never been that convinced by Di Caprio. I keep hearing what a great actor he is but I never quite get it. First off he looks about 12, even now, and that puts me off a bit. Even in his later roles, in great films such as The Departed, I still don't quite buy him. But after this film I'm starting to warm to him. He plays the frustrated husband of Kate Winslett, and he is torn between the life of adventure she craves and the safety and comfort zone of what he already has. The film is pretty tough stuff, and the ending is bleak to say the least. But what must be mentioned here is Winslett's remarkable performance as the suburban wife who sees her dreams dying right in front of her. She should have been Oscar nommed for this film, not The Reader as she gives as good a performance as you'll ever see on screen.

Frost/Nixon - Love Michael Sheen, and love 70's U.S. politics. This is the story of the supposedly lightweight comedian turned talk show host David Frost getting an interview with disgraced U.S. President Richard Nixon. It's talky yes, but also fascinating. It's true you don't buy into it emotionally, but it's a snapshot of an intriguing media event that turned into something rather more than that.

Slumdog Millionaire - Smashing little film and easily the freshest and best of the Oscar nominated films I've seen so far.  Danny Boyle takes his camera onto the streets of Mumbai and comes up with the best film you'll have seen in years. This just needs to be seen, and by all rights should win Best Picture on Oscar night.

So there we are, a positive spew of my unwanted opinions. Anyway, for what it's worth, that's my official 'chipping in'.

Pretty Country - Part 1

Now, if I'm honest, I've been a bit hard on England in this blog. That's mainly due to my frustration at the way it's being run these days. Once a great land, currently being turned into a large faceless shopping mall, England is for better or worse my country. People ask me where my loyalties lie, simple. My home is Spain, but my heart is in England. And just to prove I love the old place really, here is a lovely piccie of Norfolk at dawn. I grew up there, and it's one of the nicest parts of the country. It's also the only part of it that I'd be prepared to live in if I ever went back. So here it is, in all it's glory. Lovely, but bugger me it looks cold doesn't it ?

I've Arrived In The Land Of Coffee

For those of you joining the show late, I work as an English teacher in Spain. My main client is a large law firm smack bang in the middle of the city. This is ideal because I worked as a lawyer for 15 years, and thus I get to combine my two main skills in the endless pursuit of a crust.

But also, going out to work again after such a long layoff is essential for my sanity. When I get up in the morning and I have a class to give, I feel a buzz. I have a proper purpose, and life feels good. I've never been bothered about being rich or famous or important. For me, I just want to have something to get excited about. Naturally one must earn money, but I'm not interested in excess, I just want enough for the life I aspire to, and it's fairly modest.

And so now I'm back in the world of very early starts, commuting on crowded trains and that old adrenaline rush of working for a living. And I didn't realise how much I'd missed it. A life of leisure inevitably becomes excruciating. If you have no real purpose, there's no need to even get out of bed in the morning. That's why I suspect so many lottery winners go back to work after a year, because they're bored with the task of filling their days with time killers. I'm still only part-time, but am working hard to get more classes. But when I do work, it feels really good.

And I feel even more valid because I have adopted the ritual of going into the coffee shop next door to the firm where I teach. And we're talking about an old school coffee shop here. I've said before that there is no visible British presence in Valencia, and that's dead on. They don't speak English here, and if you don't like it, bugger off to Benidorm. So, this coffee shop is smoke-filled, and stuffed to the gills with locals during the working day. Business people congregate there, drink hard alcohol, eat tapas, laugh loudly and talk animatedly about work. Hardcore stuff.

Now, I am the most obvious foreigner you could ever imagine. I'm 6 foot 2, blond and have green eyes. I look more viking than anything else, and it's so obvious I'm not from Spain that they might as well sound a siren when I walk into a bar or cafe. I've gotten used to being stared at wherever I go, and what I used to find annoying I now find quite nice. I'm something different here, an exotic specimen, and that's actually quite good in a way

But you can imagine the first time I walked into this cafe can't you ? Stared at, speaking in English to my colleague and positively glowing with foreignness. Well, I can report that I've been going in there like clockwork for about 4 weeks and on Wednesday I realised that I'd been accepted. As soon as I walked in the barman said hello to me and started to prepare the milky coffee that I always order, without me having to say a word. He brought it over, smiled warmly and took my money. And when I left he said goodbye to me.

Now this may all seem like a very tiny detail, but when you're trying to fit in to a new culture, especially one that is as seemingly impenetrable as that of the Spanish, these little moments are important, a sign that you're doing it right, and that they are prepared to tolerate you, perhaps even be your friend. And you know what, there are times when I feel more at home here than I ever did in England, and this was one of them.

In a Break From My Normal Laziness...

...I've entered a writing competition. Usually I don't go in for them for two reasons: 1. Laziness (see above) and 2. I don't like writing 250 words about my kettle or something equally obscure. However my colleague Mr. Soanes went in for one which has a futuristic bent, and I was inspired enough to have a go. My entry can be found here and if you read it let me know what you think (so long as you don't bombard me with abuse, threaten my safety and come to the house to throw small paper balls at me).

I think that John's entry ('Brittle') is very good, and can be found on the same site so read that too if you're going there. The premise is to write something set in London in 2058 and where there is constant rain and the statues grow. Pretty freaky, but then it was put on by the Tate Modern, so be grateful you don't have to invent your own language or wear a hat made out of sponge as you write. The prize is getting it read out by an actor, but that's not really what attracted me to it. I don't have any illusions that I might win, but it was good practice and I rather enjoyed doing it. Maybe I'll do more of the same, if so I'll bore you all with it here.

In other news I'm out of tea, and am just off out to try and get some. Wish me luck.