Giles Brown
OH yes, it’s that time of year again.
The traditional passing of winter into spring has several tell tale signs. The lengthening of the days. The first blossoms appearing on the trees. And up at the Casita the first cold of the year.
Many of you may sniff (or indeed sniffle) at the mention of catching a cold at this time of year, but there is something comforting in the misery of the communal cold. As you know, once someone in your place of work gets it, you are bound to get it eventually. (Our lovely and talented designer Ana is putting on a brave face as I write this)
If you are a parent with small children you may start to believe that your little darlings kindergarten isn’t so much a place of pre-school learning and more a bio-hazard weapons testing facility, such is is the frequency that they come home with something. Nits, chicken pox, and what is euphemistically referred to as ‘runny tummy’.
At a recent BBQ up at the Casita with friends with kids, I was quietly appalled at the list of infections that they have had to put up with, thanking the feline gods above that the worst that I have to put up with is the occasional de-ticking session with the cats. If I can catch them.
Mind you, I have noticed that the one thing the Spanish love is a good illness. I’m not talking about the British compo culture type of illness, where various scrotes claim thousands in benefits and are then shopped when the neighbour videos them doing somersaults on the trampoline in the back garden.
I’m talking Spanish illness where the afflicted (and they are alway women) complain about their illnesses but stoically carry on, normally due to the blessings of the Virgin etc.
Get a small group of Spanish women together and within minutes they will be trying to outdo each other with tales of prolonged births, mystery illnesses which seem to have no cure ad nauseum. It’s very much like a medical version of Top Trumps.
If you are bedridden for a couple of days with a cold, you may well find yourself watching one of the dreaded Spanish afternoon television shows that air daily. They will normally have panels of experts having full on rows about which bullfighter has done what to which soap star.
One of the sections of the show is bound to be medical, where a sympathetic TV doctor fields phone ins. Once again you can expect a call from a Dolores or Maria, who has been bedridden for decades, her only source of pleasure being to watch the show. The entire audience then ohhhhhs and ahhhhhs in sympathy.
My advice is to take two (large G&Ts) and call me in the morning….
