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The View from the Veranda Here's a bit of a test for you. It is Valentine's Day tomorrow and because of this I want you to ask yourself how long you and our partner have been together. If, like me, you haven't got a clue then might I suggest you are happy in your relationship. I say this because if you have to think about it then it just hasn't occurred to you, and therefore is not an issue. This little test came up in conversation when Edna and I were out with another couple. We've been friendly for a while and Edna and her friend often take trips to the Habaneras Centre together just so the impoverished shop keepers can put their kids through college on my pension. We were chatting away when the subject of Valentine's came up. The chap had actually had a brain wave 30 odd years ago because, although it had cost him an arm and a leg to get married on the 14 February, he never forgets his anniversary. He has combined the most romantic day in the calendar with the most romantic day in his marriage. He is a genius. This bloke forked out a small fortune to get married on Valentine's Day. Just mention the 'M' word to anyone from a florist to a driver and all of a sudden what was just a bunch of flowers or a lift becomes a bouquet costing four times as much and a chauffer driven limousine ride that puts the price of a seat on the shuttle into perspective. He knew what he was doing though. He took every hit in the wallet like a trooper because he knew, that for the rest of his life, he would never, ever forget his wedding anniversary. I think that he is an inspiration to us all because it gets better. The money he forked out on the wedding has more than been recouped over the years because he combines Valentine's with his anniversary thus saving himself a second bunch of flowers, another gift and another expensive meal by candle light. His wife thinks he's a bit of a romantic fool and a hero too so he just wins on all fronts. I think he's brilliant, his wife loves him and he never forgets the two most important dates in a relationship. He is so safe it's not true. And even he can't remember exactly how long they've been married so he's happy to boot. Makes you sick really. My original point was that if you are happy in a relationship then you have no idea how long it's been going on. What's the point of counting the days? I have to work it out using our kid's ages and the World Cup in 1966. I definitely remember the World Cup and I know exactly where I was and how old our kids were and how long after we were married to when they were born. And no I'm not going to tell you. If you get the response to your question, "Four years, seven months, three weeks, two days and twenty minutes (give or take whether you count the first drink or the first kiss)" then it sounds more like a sentence than a loving, caring relationship. You may be one of these people who has a head for dates and the passage of time. If you are then I apologise. When you get a list of years, months and weeks it sounds like somebody's 'chuff chart'. It's what we used to call our time left to do in the Army before you were de-mobbed. We'd count the days down to our release and that's what it sounds like. So my advice is to take a moment to forget. It's not often you get told to forget things, unless you've recently witnessed a crime. My advice is to forget about the passage of time. How long you've been together doesn't really matter does it? The fact that you are still together and are still celebrating that fact should be enough. I want you to now hand the paper to your partners and point this article out to them. I am also available as a character witness at your divorce trial if it doesn't do the trick and you've forgotten to get the card, book the table and the only flowers you could lay your hands on at the last minute were from next door's front garden. You have until tomorrow and then you are on your own. |
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Cooking and Baking I enjoy cooking. Bringing together raw ingredients and blending them to create a tasty dish for family and friends to enjoy is a rewarding experience. I was chatting to a delightful, young lady last week who professed to be a good cook, and she invited me round to her apartment for a good natter and a bite to eat. After all, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, although some more enlightened women, who have been beaten to a bloody pulp by a violent partner, know that a kitchen knife thrust into the body in an upwards direction below the breastbone, is a lot quicker. Starter; Heinz tomato soup. Main course; pizza, but knowing my fondness for pineapple, the kind, caring, sweet, little angel had taken the time and trouble to add a few slices atop my Carrypoor, three in a pack for less than two euros, Pizza Margarita, to give me something to savour. Sweet; tinned fruit with chocolate ice cream. I must confess, I enjoyed every mouthful, and her company was a delight. God bless her, she is in her early twenties, she is 'into' older men, and she thinks I'm sexy like 'House;' perhaps I should dress badly, stop shaving for a few days, acquire a thyroid problem to make my eyes bulge like Hugh Laurie, then adopt a limp and walk with a stick and look even more sexy, eh? Apparently, I make her 'larf,' I'm 'funeee,' really 'koooooell' and not a 'boring, out of touch old fart' like her Dad, who is ten years younger than me. She did everything she could to make me feel welcome and succeeded, but cooking is not, "Remove the cardboard pack, pierce the clear, plastic cover, and place in the microwave on full heat until nuked to perfection. Stand well back, and if you're skin starts to peel, stop howling and step further away from the faulty oven, cretin." As food manufacturers churn out endless production lines of convenient, ready cooked, simply reheat, fast foods, we are in danger of losing the ability to cook and bake. I am very fortunate that at the age of eighty three, my sweet old Mum is still around, cooks each day, and bakes on a weekly basis. There are not many men in their fifties who, when they return to the womb, continue to enjoy meat and two veg lunches, home made sponges, seriously delicious, iced, mincemeat pies which are ten times more succulent than anything Señor Kipling could ever produce, and gooey, chocolate covered cakes made from Rice Crispies and Corn Flakes. A 'Mummy's Boy?' You're dead right, and you're only jealous! If you are the emotional sort, look away now. One day she handed me her secret recipe for making those delicious Rice Crispies cakes, and said that she hoped I would carry on the tradition after she had 'gone,' and continue making them for myself each week. I'll give you a second to compose yourself and wipe away the tears, while I do the same. All better now? It took a lot of self control not to post the sale of the recipe on Ebay to the highest bidder that very day. Actually, I could easily make them, though not nearly as tasty, but after she has 'gone,' there is about as much chance of me making cakes on a weekly basis as there is of me becoming Alcalde in the forthcoming elections, and I would love to stand as an independent candidate and represent the non Spanish speaking residents of Torrevieja. I wonder if the two main political parties are fielding non Spanish candidates. My mother is highly skilled in the kitchen, she has patience in abundance, a deft hand, the knack for producing the goods, and all the time in the world to devote to one of her passions; in all probability, my only pastel delight after she herself has been stuck in the oven on 'ashes to ashes' setting and sent to meet her baker in the sky, will be a packet of twenty magdalenas for a euro from 'Little,' with a bit of jam stuck inside to make them taste less like a bath sponge. Speaking of sponges, were you aware that the sponge which you use to wash your dishes contains more germs than the average toilet seat? The scientists who came up with that one obviously have not seen the stains on a toilet seat in a disco bar behind Burger King at two in the morning on a weekend. According to the boffins, if you wet the sponge, then stick it in the microwave for two minutes on nuke setting, it kills ninety nine percent of the bacteria clinging to it. Alternatively, do what I did. As soon as I found this out, I donned a pair of asbestos gloves and a safety suit, grabbed a pair of tongs, and used them to pick up the sponge which I had been using for the last six weeks, and threw it in the bin, then took a fresh one from the pack under the sink. Manufacturers are making it so easy for us not to cook, and if we are not careful, in a couple of generations, pre-packed, heat it up food and ready made cakes will be the only option. If you buy a nice pair of chicken titties from the supermarket, you can cook them with tomatoes, onion, peppers, fresh vegetables, and cover them in a mouth-watering, wine sauce. If you take a packet of supermarket, frozen, chicken slices in breadcrumbs out of the tightly packed freezer, what do you get? For a start, very little chicken; according to the ingredients on the box, less than one third is chicken. The remainder is water, fat additives, seagull droppings, feathers, seaweed, sawdust, sand, metal shavings and production line workers' snot. Maybe now would be a good time to check the Spanish/English translation programme on my computer; it could be faulty. Living alone, I have a problem in the supermarket; I do not want to buy a prepacked bag containing two dozen bananas; I realise that two dozen bananas will only last the average Danny de Vito family a day here on the Costa, but the same pack would last me a week, and I would have to throw half of them away by the time the week was up, because they would have turned to mush. Why don't Carrypoor and Murky Donna sell loose fruit and vegetables, so that I can select decent ones, and leave the bruised, battered and foul smelling examples, which always seem to sneak into a multi pack, to one side? Is all this talk about food making you hungry? I think I'll open a can of Heinz Beans, and bung them in the microwave with a slice of cheddar cheese mixed in. It's my favourite bedtime snack, and it's so quick and easy to do! |
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Spend a night in a haunted house When I was a child, there was a haunted house at the end of our road. In fact, I think there was a haunted house at the end of all my friends' roads. The criteria then for being haunted were very simple. House must look spooky. House must have an overgrown garden. Cracked/boarded up windows always help. House must be abandoned. Rumours of someone having died in the house? Even better. The thought of being "dared" to knock on the door, peer in the window, or even step foot in the garden of some of those eerie edifices instilled terror in my eight year old heart. Even when I got older (and with the bravado only an eleven year old with her little sister watching can possess) knocking on the door and running away got my terrified heart racing and my adrenaline running high. It seemed that only in films and on TV did kids our age actually go through the trauma of spending a night in a haunted house. Be it for a club initiation or a teenage shagfest, were American movie parents the only ones who didn't question when their offspring deemed to stay out all night? Since holy war would break loose if I was in before the clock finished striking nine (half seven on a school night!) I was never in the position to spend a night in a shrieking shack, but could always square my shoulders and say, "Well, I would if I was allowed, of course." Now that I am a grown up and responsible (ahem) adult who answers to no one but herself, I wonder to myself, would I actually do it. With no one but my husband to question my whereabouts, would I pack a torch, a sleeping bag and make for the nearest spooky building, just to prove that I could? I'm not too sure. I'm the kind of person that watches "Most Haunted" from behind a cushion and if I'm unfortunate enough to have stumbled upon a horror movie on TV (as I would rarely voluntarily subject myself to such masochism) I have to spend the rest of the night avoiding looking out any windows, in any mirrors and leaving the bathroom door ajar, just in case. What would I bring? Thinking back to the Ghostbusters movies, I must prepare for my quest properly. I'm sure that a proton pack that actually works would be out of the question, but you may be surprised (I was) that there is a plethora of ghost hunting equipment available out there. Firstly, I will apparently need an "EMF meter". This little gizmo (a snip at €140) is used by professional ghosthunters to detect paranormal activity. Failing that, a compass can also pick up on electromagnetic forces. It will generally react to an abnormal electrical stimulus and will give me a basic indication if something is amiss. If I really want to splash out, I could go for the "air ion counter" (€500). Apparently, ghosts create a lot of positive ions because of the amounts of electromagnetic energy they give off. Some ghosthunters believe that ghosts affect barometric pressure, so it might be more cost effective to steal the old barometer from my granny's wall (it has pointed to 'rain' for the last 27 years) and bring that with me instead. Candles and matches are also advised as essentials. Apparently ghosts can actually drain equipment energy and leave you in the dark (eek!) A tape recorder will not only record my own screams of terror, but will also pick up on any electronic voice phenomenon (ghosts having a chat). According to www.paranormality.com, a first aid kit is also a must. How reassuring. There are all sorts of other gadgets available such as humidity gauges, motion detectors and dousing rods. One of the most important (if you believe everything you see on "Most Haunted") seems to be night vision equipment. These scopes (ranging from €200 to €4000) will allow you to see in the dark and often come with adaptors which allow them to be attached to camcorders. Where would I go? I had thought about going back to my childhood nemesis, but I don't think 24 Roselawn Walk sounds terrifying enough anymore. I would need somewhere more authentically haunted. Thanks to the wonders of the internet, I don't even have to do any organising. I can simply click onto a ghost travel agency website and book myself on a haunted trip. Here are some of what is available in the coming months… Constitution Club, Staffordshire: 03 March 2007 STG£99, 8pm - 6am It is said that the club hosts a poltergeist who has a tendency to hide items and it has been seen to move glasses off the bar at alarming speeds, right in front of the staff! The main staircase has seen a grey imposing figure hiding in the shadows and also has been seen floating down the stairs. Feelings of anger and suppression are also felt around this area. Unexplained temperature drops have been reported in many areas. Southsea Castle, Portsmouth: 17 March 2007 STG£99, 8pm - 6am As far as paranormal activity goes, there have been a number of reports over the years. It is said that there is a white lady that has been seen walking in the castle, her identity not really known. Previous investigations have resulted in investigators being pushed by an unseen entity and strange scratching noises have been heard. Newhaven Fort, East Sussex: 31 March 2007 STG£99, 8pm - 6am Reports of the supernatural are all over the fort, with many sightings seen in a tunnel leading to the beach. Staff and visitors in this area have felt a presence close by. The sounds of soldiers' boots have been heard marching through the corridors and various rooms and even air-raid sirens have been heard. Tales of a ghostly drummer boy haunt the coastline and one mystery around the fort is that of Lord Lucan. From his disappearance in November 1974 his car was found abandoned at Newhaven. The police made a search of the fort and the tunnels, he has never been found dead or alive. Dudley Castle, West Midlands: 21 April 2007 STG£99, 8pm - 6am The Castle has regular sightings and reports of paranormal activity. This includes the ghost of a drummer boy seen walking the outer defences, the Cluniac monks from the Priory of St. James seen in the Bailey area, unexplained paranormal activity around Harry Hatchet's cottage, apparition of a witch seen hanging, a "Grey Lady" is said to haunt the grounds, the menacing presence of a black Monk is often felt and occasionally seen, reports of poltergeist activity and much more. Despite hours searching the internet, I couldn't find listings of any prominent haunted houses in Spain. The most haunted cities in Europe seem to be Prague, Dublin, London, Paris, Venice and Edinburgh. All of these cities offer haunted tours to visitors as well as information on local ghost sites. Haunted tourism is a big business in the US and is growing in the UK, thanks to shows like "Most Haunted" and "Ghost Hunters." Maybe Spain just doesn't have any ghosts? The question still remains though, would I spend the night in a haunted house? I would, but not alone. I would go as part of a team (as organized in some of the above excursions) but I wouldn't dream of sitting in a dark room waiting for a ghost to make contact. For days beforehand, the anticipation would kill me. If I did manage to hear any strange noises or witness any weird anomalies, I would run a mile. My grandmother lived in a haunted house for a number of years during her childhood and will calmly relay stories of visitors being thrown from beds, doors mysteriously opening and closing and other strange phenomena. A second cousin used to see "The White Lady" when he was in his cot and a first cousin of mine used to often say, "Mammy, there's the black man again," (words I dreaded to hear when I babysat him years ago). My husband also lived in a haunted house in rural Ireland (although he wasn't told it was haunted until years later). His dad locked the house one night before going to bed, only to be awoken in the wee hours by footsteps in the hall below. He came down the stairs to a wide open door and a goat in the hallway. The goat, as you may know, is a symbol very strongly associated with witchcraft. In that same house, visitors have witnessed doors opening and closing before their eyes and the sound of heavy footsteps. The family moved soon after these strange experiences but local legend has it that a young girl died in childbirth next to the river which runs right past the house. Locals believe that her spirit and that of her child are still roaming the area. Most local towns and villages have a proper haunted house (as opposed to the overactive childish imagination type) and plenty of stories to go with it. Spending a night in one would definitely be an experience which you would (hopefully) live to talk about for years to come. So go on, master your childhood demons and spend the night in a haunted house. Perhaps you already have? If you have had a haunted house or ghostly experience, don't wait until Halloween to share it - tell us your story. Call Aoife on 618873406 or email office@coastrider.net A Leddy |