Shopping. I hate it. With an absolute passion. I have shopophobia or whatever it is called. Alternatively perhaps I am the archetypal Yorkshire person and just don’t like spending money. More likely both.
Along with hating shopping, I am also useless at washing clothes. I can just about manage to handwash a few scarves and delicate pullovers, but otherwise everything gets chucked in the machine on a 40 wash.
The problem of course, is that dirty stains never get treated, so stay in the clothes. Whereupon my ‘clean’ ie washed clothes don’t look spotless.
Being the lucky companion to two dogs, my clothes also get covered in dogs’ hairs. On top of that, when Little Snowy decides I am a better toy than his dog toys, he rips holes in my pullovers. Luckily my arms are still intact to date.
Podencos have the most bizarre teeth. He has two evil incisors on the top, but underneath, the same two are set horizontally. And once these eight teeth clamp down, neatly interlocking with each other, there is no way to retrieve articles of clothing without ending up with a hole.
I have four sets of leggings (yes, I know they are so 80s and such a terrible fashion statement, but not being short or fat, they aren’t that bad on me) and they are all in holes. Every single pair. I can’t blame them all on the Podenco as they were in holes before we got him, but he certainly hasn’t improved the situation. And I have a pair of grey faded jeans and a pair of black cords for funerals or interviews. That’s as smart as I get. They were the last pair of trousers that I bought some three years ago maybe? Can’t remember.
The finish is wearing off my synthetic boots. Good style but poor quality which is a nuisance. I would pay more for better quality that lasts longer. Penny wise pound foolish and all that.
A pair of boots in a shop window caught my eye. I could buy new boots and stop looking like the local tramp or bagwoman. In I boldly went. Flat heels, good. Synthetic, very good. Where were they made? No label of origin in the boot on display. I looked at some of the other products. China. Ethical dilemma.
Did madam want to sit down and try them on? No madam didn’t have any money, well not enough money (ie £20 I’d only gone to the post office to buy a stamp). Madam could use a card. Madam didn’t have her card with her either.
I decided to go home and get the twenty quid. On the way home I looked in a couple of clothes shops for leggings or decent trousers. So long as they weren’t made in China. I found some. Cambodia, Egypt and Bangladesh. Not much better than China in terms of régimes, but China is the one that annoys me at the moment, so I’ll accept the others as less worse.
I bought THREE pairs of trousers. I hope I don’t have to go through that excruciating experience for years.
And the boots? I mentioned them to Partner. ‘China,’ he said with a quizzical look on his face. I didn’t buy the boots.
Meanwhile poor little piggy wigs seem to be making it on the blog circuit.
A vegan blogger posted up a vid where a piglet is fed into a machine and comes out as sausage. It’s a spoof because the piglet just drops through a hole in the machine and is produced alive at the end. So no-one needs to worry about the fact that their sausages are made out of pigs.
Um. Double standards or what? People want to eat sausages without knowing they come from pigs?
And – what are you really eating?
Here is an extract from another blog. Link to full post here.
Today, The Humane Society of the United States released horrifying hidden-camera video footage of pigs being fed diarrhea and the ground up intestines of their own piglets at a factory farm in Kentucky – Iron Maiden Hog Farm.
Although the practice of feeding pig guts and shit to other pigs is common on industrial farms across the country, it is illegal under state law.
Seriously, that is so sick. And you could be too. Remember BSE anyone?
And nearer to home, a Spanish resident blogged about the annual pig killing in her part of Spain. Also illegal in the way the pigs were killed. The post included photos which apparently weren’t the worst ones.
The only thing I can say is that at least she isn’t a hypocrite and was willing to go and watch the happy slaughter of lots of pigs and then partake in the blood and guts afterwards before then getting her share of said dead pig/s.
Why make this into a spectacle? A village event? What is so glorious about killing defenceless pigs in front of a village full of people. I can’t imagine the fear those animals faced before they were killed. And to revel in it??
I’ve lived in Spain for more than twelve years. I live in a campo village and all my neighbours are Spanish. We don’t have quaint customs like that. Or more to the point, we don’t have illegal customs like that, because as the blogger pointed out, killing a pig with a knife is now illegal, but hey let’s all trot along to the latest village festival because it’s such fun yes?
This was, without a doubt the most disgusting, offensive and revolting post I have read this year. OK, it’s only two months in, but I doubt it can be capped. Utterly vile. Glorification of killing defenceless animals in an illegal manner? Join the Michael Vick club.
The idea that this sort of event is ‘real Spain’ and they are ‘real people’ is just outdated. My Spain is no more or no less real than anyone else’s. Pink’s Sotogrande mansion is just as real as my small finca in La Axarquía. But we all need to move with the times and bull-fighting and pig-slaughtering in an illegal fashion because of ‘tradition’ and as a spectacle are an anachronism.
Years ago, I worked in the Lake District in the UK. People who moved there complained about the nuclear power station at Sellafield (previously Windscale but renamed because of yes! a bit of a problem). Locals didn’t like the protests against Sellafield as it provided jobs. Incomers were told if they moved to the Lakes, they should accept the status quo.
Well, I don’t. Accepting the status quo is the most ridiculous reason for justifying extremely poor behaviour whether against animals or people.
Since living in Spain, I’ve noticed three types of expats.
1) There are the ones who congregate in the ex-pat communities and don’t want to learn Spanish, ‘Why should we? they’re all wogs anyway’ – or words to that effect.
2) There are the ones who embrace everything Spanish, ignore anyone of their own nationality and proclaim that everything appalling about Spain is just cultural and historical. Wonderful frozen tapas reheated in the microwave. The relaxed mañana syndrome when you wait days to get anything done. Such fresh veg (covered in Agent Orange) etc etc. These people clamour to be part of the local life and to be so accepted immediately.
3) And then there’s me. Yeah, it’s a nice place, that’s why I’m here. I’m in the middle. I don’t rush to be part of every village event, I don’t need to. My neighbours aren’t just the ones in the street. They are all around the village and in the campo. We don’t do the bar. We don’t need to do it to meet people. It’s not an exciting life so I can never tell you about killing animals in my village, just boring old religious pilgrimages. Although I would rather see that than dead pigs.
Cute (alive) pigs. For now.
The virgin goes off to sea.
Boring as hell. Just repairing the wall with the advice of José.
Rescue dogs thrown out in Spain. A little respect for life wouldn’t go amiss.