Swinhoe's EuroTour 2009/10: 9th February 2010, Roquetas and no real change.

Not raining mind you but there are a lot of dark clouds on the horizon so who knows.
Thinking of a trip up the mountains via car then a walk at the top.

Yesterday I made another batch of my famous vegetable soup, basically includes every vegetable known to man plus various spices and herbs, plus of course a generous cup of red wine. Usually make about a gallon at a time and can last a week.

I don't know what else I may have accidentally put in this time, perhaps too big a shake of the Worcestershire sauce or too heavy handed on the cayenne pepper but this one is a doosy. Had a rather large bowl of it last night and the rumbling started about 10pm.

Anyone of a delicate nature should miss the next few paragraphs.

Well I'm not talking here about the odd “air biscuit” or a bottom burp, I'm talking sheets being ripped.

SWMBO was none to pleased and decided to have an early night informing me to come to bed when I had “settled down”, so it was le Carre`, “The Night Manager” for a couple of hours. Crawled into bed and hoped for the best. Well I can't go into details but when I finally woke up the duvet was on the ceiling and she was mumbling about being cold and could I check if I'd left the gas on.

Lately I've been attending the “early session” at the shower block, that is between 7 and 8 am. You generally find that men of a certain age tend to only need about 5-6 hours sleep and that's it. It's pointless staying in bed, you're awake, your back is aching and there is little else to do, “Sod off! I'm still asleep!” So get cup of tea and down to the block.

Well this morning there was a particular urgency and I didn't bother with the tea. Now the toilet/shower block is quite clean although a little tired but the water is hot and constant, showers are large and then are plenty of them. But my main mission this morning was to get to trap #5 as quickly as possible. It's funny you know, if you stay for any period at a Hotel or B&B, after the first morning you “prefer” a particular table etc. Same with the toilet stall, I like #5, don't know why perhaps it's like you favourite chair at home, you develop your own “bum groove?”

Anyway, gets in and let proceedings take they own course, no effort needed from me. Another thing about the block, when the showers are not running, it's bloody quiet in there. You can actually hear the perforations being torn on the bog roll and how many they are.

How can I describe the following moments? Like “a flock of Starlings taking off?”, “mixing a deck of cards using the Russian shuffle?” “a very mature Mellon falling downstairs?”

I leave you to choose but I could certainly hear gasps of envy from the poor constipated souls in there, gainfully holding the strain bars hoping for any release.

But I was to be undone, discredited as a mere charlatan, an amateur, a boy among men. Someone who obviously must have spent the last evening eating a mixture of gallons of larger, chicken Madras, whole chillies and a very liberal dose of senna pods made his presence known in trap #2. He was awesome! A short run to the trap, the door closing with a bang, the soft sound of trousers hitting the deck then Wooooooooooomph! The last time a sound like that was ever detected on this Earth was probably heard by the Mayor of Hiroshima in 1946, when he said, “WTF was that!” Unfortunately it was also his last words.

I don't know if the whole of the inside of the loo was completely pebble dashed but I bet his arse looked like a plasterers bucket, and the sigh heard from trap #2 was more in remorse than sorrow.
I just shuffled away in disgrace, the walk of shame.

Later in the day we decided to drive up the nearest bit of the Sierra Nevada mountains, all the way up. The last bit was a single tracked road with a sheer drop at one side. At the top it turned out to be a dead end, ending at what looked like a meteorological establishment, so we just had to turn back.