Born to be Wild

Been too busy running in and out of the chicken shed to make sure the new cockerel is not being victimised by the chickens.

They’re a tough pair.

Anyway, walking up the track with the dog, who does partner see, but the Easy Rider boys.

They were on the quad today. When we first came here they used to ride round on Harley Davidson look-alikes.

Juan who-gave-us-the-cockerel with his mate or his relative or whoever he is. They all look the same. And they all look like Dennis Hopper.

And when they go on the bikes – or the quad, they still ride round with the flowing moustaches and no crash helmets.

I don’t think they are in the market for a Ford Cougar.

Change of image

Damn. The dog’s blog was looking better than mine. Probably because he is more photogenic.

Anyway of change of look was called for so I spent a happy couple of hours fiddling with every template available.

I really must must go and learn (X)HTML and every code under the sun.

So if there are no posts that’s what I’m doing.

There will be something on Pippa’s dog blog though as he’s grown quite fond of his blog.

What day is it?

No it’s not a trick question but sometimes the answer isn’t so easy.

I did hear – anecdotally not from personal experience – that this question along with date, month and year, are some of the questions used to assess whether someone is suffering from dementia.

It is the typical sort of question that someone who works in an office would think is relevant. That’s when your life is full of diaries, appointments and on-screen calendars with pop-up reminders that you invariably ignore.

In fact, you start to realise that it doesn’t matter what day it is. If you go to work round here you invariably go six days out of seven. As long as you can count to six and you take the next day off that’s all that matters. Or you might work seven days a week.

Anyway today is Tuesday. I know this because the Butane man comes around about 9am tooting his horn. So if you want a bottle of gas you leave yours outside and he changes it for you. Nobody is going to nick off with it because it is far too heavy.

Yesterday was Monday because the veg man came in the afternoon. Tomorrow is the only weekday when no-one comes so it is Wednesday. On Thursday the veg man comes again, and on Friday a different veg man comes (Friday veg man). Friday-man comes early, about 9am, and he toots his horn very loudly and then yells out “Twenty duros, everything for 20 duros.”

Duros, note, not Euros. He is living in the past and has never changed his call. Just as well because if he called out the real prices no-one would ever go out to buy his veg. He is dearer than Monday/Thursday man.

So the logic goes – “Who comes today?” – and then you work out what day it is. Easy really. Apart from when the veg man doesn’t come because of bad weather, or holidays, or some domestic incident, or you don’t go out for anything.

You could look at the calendar, we have a couple of nice free ones from some animal feed suppliers. The Nagsa one is particularly stunning with great photos of Spain. But if you don’t know what day yesterday was or tomorrow is, the calendar won’t be much use.

The computer is though. I think one of the most useful and best-used of all the features on my singing, dancing, recording, calculating brain of the house is the day on the top right of the screen. So I can always cheat these days and nip in and look at the computer.

Aching muscles

Well, that says it all really. After all my contortions lying on my back and raising the desk in the air with my legs so that I could screw the adjustable legs down at the bottom (the desk’s – not mine), I am now in agony.

A 50km cycle ride against the wind would have been easier with less after-effects.

Still the desk is at a better height, although it takes me some time to sit down at the moment. I never did have very good quads.

An hour forward

The clocks might be but I am certainly at least an hour behind. Regardless of what time I go to bed or get up, I am walking round like a zombie. And all this just for an hour’s daylight in the evening. I would rather have it in the morning anyway. Zzzzzzzzzz

Ergonomics

Yesterday helpful partner turned into The Welder and Grinder, so I decided to do something equally useful and raise the height of my desk. On my very own.

By a strange quirk of fate – probably called genetics – I have a long back. I also have long legs, but the back is apparently disproportionately long. To be perfect I should have longer legs – in which case I would be even taller than I am now, I’d be looking down on Naomi Campbell. Or I suppose I could have a shorter back which would be more sensible.

If you saw me in the street you would probably think I was tall and skinny with long legs, which is what most people think, rather than the apparent freak of nature I just appear to have described.

Is this fascinating description of my anatomy relevant? Of course. Particularly when sitting at a desk.

I spent many years sitting at a desk in front of a keyboard. Originally it was using typewriters. Harder on the fingers and slower, but easier on the eyes. After some years I started to get back aches and pains in my leg. No this is not going to be a boring post about my aches and pains.

Someone from occupational health came round and said I needed a different chair, but apart from that, everything in the office was fine. Computer, desk etc. So I got a new chair, and it was a bit more comfortable but not a lot.

Then I borrowed a colleague’s chair. It was one she had bought herself (work would never buy anything like that, hah!), one of those where you appear to be kneeling but it actually pushes you into a good posture position. And that helped a bit too.

A bit later on, work decided to run a one-day course on this very subject. So being a right-on colleague, a good union member, and a senior manager as well, I thought I would set an example and volunteer for the course.

I say one day. To me a one-day course starts say at 9am, probably finishes at 5pm, and you might get half an hour or 45 mins lunch break. This was one of those that started at 9.30, finished at 3pm, had countless coffee breaks and nearly an hour for lunch, and went at the pace of the slowest. In fact, it could all have been condensed into two hours between 9-11am. But the trainer wouldn’t have been paid for a day.

So when we had finished this course I was then expected to be qualified to wander round the building assessing my colleagues’ working environment. On the basis of this minimal course, I certainly wouldn’t have put my own workplace health in my hands, let alone consider myself capable of commenting on someone else’s working conditions.

Imagine if someone took a claim through their union or a solicitor against work. “Who assessed you?” “Oh, she did.” “And what are her qualifications?” “Oh, a one-day in-house course, total time spent learning about workplace environmental assessment no more than four hours.”

No, I decided that was not a good idea. As did one of the secretaries for the same reason. I was even less impressed when later on management decided to change the furniture and I ended up with a lower desk. Not being of standard size, I didn’t find a standard desk too useful.

So I spent a good few hours yesterday raising my desk. It had got lowered when we moved and until I started this blog I hadn’t used the computer much so hadn’t noticed it was too low.

First I cleared everything off the desk. I may be impractical but I’m not totally stupid.

But I am weak and feeble about things like this so I managed to raise four out of five legs, and only got one minor injury, but I was stuffed on one of the back ones. And being an idiot at this sort of thing, I had left the most difficult one until the end. Yes, the corner that has an extra shelf added on top, so has all the weight.

After trying to be so independent, I had to accept help from The Welder and Grinder, who of course fixed it in two seconds. In fact what had taken me hours, with countless rests or distractions, he would probably have done in five or ten minutes.

And then I went totally overboard and mopped the floor. Wow, what a productive day.

I don’t think I’ll take up welding or grinding just yet though.

Dogs

What are dogs like?

Every morning ours comes in to wake us up for his early morning walk. Usually between 6.30 and 7am. Sometimes a little earlier, rarely later.

If The Early Morning Dog Walker (ie him not me – this is Men’s Work) is feeling idle he tells Pipps to go away and come back in ten minutes.

Pipps trudges out, sighs, and flops loudly on the kitchen floor – where he can see the clock on the wall.

He waits the prescribed 10 minutes (obviously, watching the clock), and then comes in. Occasionally it’s nine minutes.

There is no peace after that. He either runs in and out loudly, swinging his large tail around wildly and creating a nasty cold draught, or he sits at the side of the bed, battering The Early Morning Dog Walker with his huge feet.

Then there are a few loud stretches, a few HRRRMMMPHs, and some more running in and out. He is a loud dog in the morning, and we haven’t even got on to breakfast time yet.

Anyway, I thought I’d have one over on the little monkey last night, so I didn’t put the kitchen clock forward. I calculated that if I put it forward and he saw the clock, and came in at his usual 6.30am, that would be like 5.30am, which is a little too early for a Sunday. So I left it, thinking we wouldn’t get a real lie-in, but we wouldn’t be woken up at silly hours either.

Oh no. Pipps wasn’t having a bar of that. He came in at quarter to six, ie real time quarter to seven. His normal time. He might as well have said, “Come on, I know the clocks have gone forward – who do you think you are kidding?”

I thought it was bad enough having a dog that could tell the time. But one who knows when the clocks go forward?

Edit – Pippa now has his own blog – so if you want to read any more about him please have a look.

Drop out, chill out, and – lose out?

Is that true? I can’t decide.

It is some years since I left work and the biggest shock to the system is the change in the internet over those years. And how much everyone has moved on while I have been trying to chill out and relax.

I was on full-time internet access at work before, but I had dial-up at home – and tried not to do it very often. Dial-up was a pain. I sat there watching stuff loading, hanging, and then cutting off. The pounds signs were multiplying in front of my eyes as I thought of my escalating ‘phone bill. For nothing – a broken connection.

Now, domestic broadband is normal. Most people that I know in the UK have a blog or a website, or both. And know how to write (X)HTML, and understand all the other technicalities that I am seriously struggling with right now.

I have to say the lure of endless olive groves here in Spain and the simple life was pretty strong. No consumerism. No commuting in and out of work and having to be in an office for up to 12 hours a day. Or being on-call outside the office. Or working unsociable hours.

But I do not have that simple life in the olive groves. Fortunately I don’t have the office life either. I now have a strange mix of lives. A small semi-detached house in a tranquil coastal village within easy reach of a town and a provincial capital. Perhaps I have always really been a city girl.

And reluctantly I have had to buy a new computer. And a printer. And connect to the internet again. So I have rejoined the world. Or at least the virtual one.

I have had some excellent times over the last few years without worrying about any of this. Now I am trying to catch up. But it is quite scary how fast things move when you aren’t watching them.

What happens in Spain when you don’t use surge protectors

When we first came to Spain we rented the villa from hell.

One of its attractions was that we could store all our worldly goods in the large garage underneath – and not have to pay storage costs.

So the removers soon turned up with our goodies. One of the first things I did was unpack the computer as I was sick of writing to people by hand. My handwriting is so bad they were probably equally as sick of it as I was.

All went well and I sat happily in front of the computer composing long letters to people I would never see again. Actually I have seen some of them, surprisingly.

One day, I turned on the computer, and got nothing. Like nothing. The screen tried to flicker into action but the box underneath (before towers were invented – or boxes were turned on end depending on your point of view) refused point blank to play.

After a few days of this, I figured it was not a temporary blip. We had met, purely by chance, a Spanish guy with a computer shop so took it to him.

Apparently the processor was stuffed and because the computer was so old (this is my nice IBM PS/1 bought in the early 90s) he couldn’t find anything to fit inside, so the only option was to attach something outside the box.

“Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” says me dubiously.

“No of course not, just try and avoid touching it.”

Which is exactly what I’ve done ever since. And it still works, although it has no internet connection and now lacks a printer that can connect through ports rather than USBs. Nor was it expensive, so I do not feel ripped off.

Why did it stop working? Because we had two weeks of appalling rain, some storms and some power cuts. And we knew stuff all about surge protectors. Helpful (sic) woman acting as rental agent didn’t bother advising us about surge protectors although was fast enough to mention them when we said we had a problem.

So, don’t ignore advice about surge protectors.

We, or rather Helpful Partner, invariably asks people if they have them when the conversation turns to computers. When they say no, he promptly recommends they go and buy one (or more) immediately.

And do they? No.

And do their nice shiny computers go bust? Yes.

Out of three people who have ignored his advice, two have had to go out and buy new computers. In fact, one of those had only just bought a new computer. So for her that was two computers in weeks. For what? The cost of a surge protector at seven euros, or idleness, or it-won’t-happen-to-me? Oh, and the third (lucky?) person had to pay an expensive repair bill.

Do these people all have surge protectors now? I actually don’t know becuse it sounds a bit too much like rubbing their nose in it to ask again.

So, I will say again. If you have a computer and you are reading this in Spain or another country where power cuts are a way of life, buy a surge protector.

Unless you want an excuse to buy a new computer.

Working in Spain

I was offered a job last year. It was legit as far as I know.

I answered an advert in an English newspaper based over here, and sent my CV. It was for a job I had done before, for many years. The next day I was asked to go for an interview.

It was a part-time job, which suited me fine, although when they rang me about the interview, it also turned out to be temporary, ie for a few months which wasn’t mentioned in the advert. It was – in my view – not well paid, but it was a job.

Anyway off I went. The interview was pretty minimalist, and there was a bit of a test.

I’d expected the test, but couldn’t really work myself up enough to treat it too seriously. Unfair, because if I’d been the interviewer I would have done exactly the same thing. It’s a good way to weed out the dross. I went through it half-heartedly and then sat there fiddling around with a Sudoku puzzle waiting for them to come back.

This sounds arrogant and blasé. I had done this job for years. I was – and still am – good at it. It was a written test, and in any exam, I’ve always been hyper, so my writing was not good, although I didn’t do the test badly. And I also knew they would get loads of people applying for this sort of job with no experience, and who wouldn’t know where to start with the test, let alone the job.

They had someone else to see that week, but they would definitely let me know that week. And did they? Well I didn’t hear from them so I figured it had bitten the dust.

Two weeks after the interview they condescended to ring me back. Did I want it? Well, I’d think about it and let them know. Well when? In a couple of days – my partner’s not here. Can you manage tomorrow lunchtime? I’ll try.

So I rang back the next day at 1pm ish (reasonable lunchtime compromise between English and Spanish hours I thought) intending to accept but with a few questions. The woman who had interviewed me was on the ‘phone to someone else. Did she ring back? No, her colleague did – late afternoon – and helpfully told me they worked split shifts which had never been mentioned.

This job was advertised as a part-time job. Then it turned out to be three months temporary contract.

At the interview it was then holiday cover for three months, and out of those three months there was only nine days actual work. And no mention of shifts.

The next day when they rang back the Welsh rottweiler answered, as I was out, well, out of reach of the ‘phone, ie in the bath and the mobile was on charge. My latest view was that I would take it – for the money obviously, and because I thought it would be interesting.

But no split shifts, and I wanted something in writing, and a no-smoking office. Spain brought in a no-smoking at work law last year, but when I had asked the colleague about this on the ‘phone she paused before answering.

You can imagine people having the odd tab. I’ve worked in enough offices with smokers never to do it again.

I’ve had decent money jobs and never been pi$$ed around like that.

They didn’t ring me again. I didn’t ring them again either. So, no, I didn’t take it.

They’ve advertised for staff since. For the same job, allied jobs, and also for head of department. I quite fancied head of department. But no, fingers burnt once.

After all, I didn’t even get my travel expenses.

Neanderthal Man

I’m writing this listening to a one-hit wonder. I thought.

Flashback to Kate’s teenage years, on holiday on the east coast of Yorkshire and taken to pub by parents (to drink non-alcoholic shandy I hasten to add).

For some strange reason, the only record anyone wanted to listen to was Neanderthal Man, by Hotlegs (who?). LOUD. VERY LOUD.

And for the benefit of anyone under 40 reading this (I doubt it) – pubs used to have machines with old vinyl records in. You put some money in, eg one shilling, two shillings, 5p, 10p, depending on the year, and got 1,2,4, or 5 plays. Bit of a cheek really – pubs charged you for beer and then charged you to listen to music. Although if you were lucky you got to listen to music of your own choice.

Back to the story. In this particular pub, after a few token gestures at other music, I don’t know, say T. Rex or whatever else was around, on came Neanderthal Man. Not once, or twice, but on permanent repeat. Every single time we went. The effect was that of a total brainwash. Even my parents, haters of all things pop, eventually decided they liked it, they even put money into the juke-box and played it. And then – they went out and bought it for me.

Fast forward a few years. Well, more than 20. Make that more than 30.

I still play it now. It’s the same vinyl single. Dance to it and sing to it happily. Until today. I looked it up on YouTube.and a good reproduction of the song. It’s 10cc before they were 10cc. I hate 10cc. I have always hated 10cc.

I have read this again and I haven’t got this loud enough. I really dislike 10cc – almost as much as Elton John – in fact, I always have done, and I still do. Tuneless slop IMHO.

And I have spent more than 20 years telling Unmusical Partner (who likes 10cc) what a crap band they are and always have been.

I don’t really know what else to say. Apart from Hotlegs is not 10cc?

Today I got on my bike

It’s a bit of a pain when it’s windy.

Did you know the Costa del Sol used to be called the Costa del Viento before some marketing person got their hands on tourism?

Or so I read in a book in the days before broadband access. And for anyone who doesn’t speak Spanish – that’s sunny coast, and windy coast.

It’s normally always sunny, even when it’s windy. But when it’s windy most Spaniards stay inside. So do the rest of us, especially if we wear contact lenses.

Anyway, if you find that miracle window of opportunity, you can get out on the bike when there is a nice breeze, rather than a full gale blowing dust devils in your face.

And normally the motorists are ok too. Especially as they now have to leave a two metre gap when they go past a cyclist.

Of course in my village they don’t know that. That’s because half of them don’t read, don’t have a driving licence, don’t have insurance, so certainly have no idea the law has changed.

Fortunately, because of all of the above, they don’t drive fast either.

I cycled down the street to the crossroads and followed a car left onto the main road through the village. As usual there was some typical Spanish delay, so there was suddenly a three-car traffic jam.

There was nothing coming the other way so I indicated to turn left and started overtaking them. One of the motorists also twigged there was nothing coming the other way, so he did the same thing (although he wasn’t turning left). Without indicating. Into exactly the same path I was taking.

Had this guy not seen me? Despite the fact that he was driving down the main street and I had pulled out behind him when everything was clear? Do cyclists not exist?

For all I know his eyesight may well be poor. People round here don’t buy glasses lightly. My neighbour uses her husband’s glasses when she wants to sew. Obviously not for reading because she can’t. This guy may not even know how bad his eyesight is. Or his driving.

Sometimes assertive cycling means getting out of the way. And taking slight consolation in shouting helpful suggestions in loud English at blind motorists.