La Pasión Española

I am overwhelmed by passion

fruit

The flowers look as though they were created for the cover of a 1950's Sci-Fi comic

 

I bought the seeds from a funny looking geezer with tentacle eyes down the market the year before last. He said the plant “bleedin' well loves the climate down here on earth”

I hope to be making Passion Fruit Bellini's later with a view to the stars

 

Death In The Afternoon

Everybody Dies. Some sooner than others. I went to the funeral of a friend yesterday. I will miss him. It was an incredible send off. I hope he would have been proud of us.

So here he is alive again, a few seconds in the life of a life well lived.

Night Mayor!

One of the many good things so far this year has been not having to vote for any of the bastards in the UK. However I did vote this Sunday at the local Spanish elections and we are now Socialist, that's all well and good but I refuse to ever wear open-toe sandals.

The newly elected mayor came jauntily up to me after his inauguration and with a gleeful grin boasted:
“I dressed up as your wife at the Carnaval.”
I believe this to be good omen.

 

 

All the World’s a Stage …


  1. … And all the men and women merely players;

    They have their exits and their entrances …

… and many of them are destined to watch on from the Restricted View seats, or are paid poorly as butt doubles for Noel Edmonds and the like, Thanks Shakey.

Carnival or “Carnaval” is happening in Cadiz as I write this. Why the F#%% am I telling you this? Well, last year my wife and I were parodied for 20 mins by a mind bending performance of men dressed as us, flesh curdling stuff. To add an element of LSD 'ism I joined them when they played all the bars in town over the weekend. I thought I was one of them.

Here is a minute of the opening few verses with subtitles, thanks for video and translation by Clare Lloyd.

Here's a selection of disturbing images. I was confused, even days later. Reality is stronger than any drug.

I am the one with the bottle, or am I?

 

 

Paco De Lucia

On the 25th of February a local man walked into a bar. I was propping up the counter. He was holding a guitar. “I need to sell my guitar,” he said in Spanish. The barman, who is a lovely friend of mine and a great flamenco guitar player tried it and nodded in approval at the price, so I bought it on the spot.

There was however another reason I felt compelled to buy it. The TV news in the bar had just announced the sudden death of Flamenco Guitar Revouloutionary Paco De Lucia. I had hoped to see him this year. The two incidents, be they coincidental or not, have since led me on an exploration into this complex soulful music. Here's a snap of it in the studio I am building.

There are a couple The Doors in the background

Song written and performed by Paco and I think he looks great too.

Sleeping Policeman?

On the way home I mistook these car seats for cops on a surveillance mission, then deduced that they had probably sneaked off down to the pub instead. Waiting for crime to happen is a bit of a bore around here.

 

Forkandles

The other day I was watching the two Ronnie's Sketch that involves a series of misunderstandings encountered tiptoeing through the treacherous territory of duplicitous words, or words that when are put together make ambiguous meanings eg: Ronnie B asks Ronne C for Fork Handles and this is interpreted as Four Candles, and carries on like this through a series of same joke over and over, this sounds academically a bit shit but it made me laugh quite a lot. So, I tried to explain all this in Spanish … I think I got through, as now one nice chap uses the phrase Forkandles all the time regardless of the situation and we both find it amusing, and I no longer know why.

I don't suppose I'lll ever unravel the subtle word play of Andalusian humour. Anyway this package came this morning.

 

I found a unicorn amongst the acorns

I was staggering back from a heavy bout of luncheon yesterday when in the clearing appeared a unicorn, minus horn. The flora and fawna were looking pretty psychedelic at that moment in time due to my penchant for Tio Pepe Sherry mixture. The phone somehow captured it. I think this animal was sleeping as it did not budge when I shouted at it, can they die standing up? They're like mammal tables really.

A Spot The Horse competition for the soberly impaired

 

Cava Communist

This morning I decided to treat my hangover to a treat. I decided to give my frazzled mind the breakfast of titans and frustrated underachieving military dictators, Champagne. Alas, it was a bit too pricey, so I got few bottles of Cava instead. After a few sips I decided to lift the Curfew, and go on the razzle.

 

NEVER MIND THE PIG LEGS

For the casual observer, if that you be, this shabby chic photograph of two pig feet in my living room may hold no value whatsoever, but to those of you who may have an eye for fine detail it will be unavoidably be drawn to the awareness of a highlighted black dot. What the fuck is it you ask your well trained eye? I shall tell you. It is a spider. Not that interesting, and out of focus to boot you say? True, but this spider is literally hanging by a thread, from the ceiling, mmmnnnnn a bit dull you may grunt? BUT Sirs and Ladies this spider is by all accounts a Dead Spider. Yes, DEAD LEGS BORIS on a thread. Was it going up or coming down? We shall never know, perhaps it was attempting a corner, we shall not know even after the Coroner has left. Was it a suicide? Was it hoist with its own petard, or did it run out of yarn? Poor fucker swinging in the breeze like that. Feel a bit bad about taking the photograph now. Pondering the plight of the pigs.