Good evening. Well, here we all are
again, with another instalment of An English Fool Abroad with his Sketchbook.
It was gone midnight when I finally went to bed last night, so I wasn’t
surprised when I didn’t wake up until 7:30. Well, that’s not strictly true. I
woke up at three, fell asleep again, and then woke up at half past seven, after
a strange dream in which Lewis Hamilton and Geoffrey Chaucer were riding on the
backs of ostriches, chasing me while shouting “Give us a penguin!”. Maybe that
sin alcohol lager I had last night was more sinful than sin.
Anyway, it was another day when I
didn’t feel quite with it for quite a while after I got up, and couldn’t really
get myself going until about ten o’clock. Same as yesterday, I took John down
to the Rekreo for a coffee and a sin alcohol. Believe it or not, that’s meant
to be John in today’s first sketch. I can only apologise. It looks like a
person, which is something, but it just doesn’t look like John. Coming back to
the Rekreo, I don’t know what we did to upset the landlord yesterday, but it
was very noticeable that today there was no free biscuit with our coffees, and
no free bowl of peanuts with our cervezas. Now, okay, I don’t particularly like
peanuts, but that’s not really the point. I did miss our usual Sunday car boot
sale and full English brekkie, which has become a much cherished family ritual.
Nothing worthy of note happened
between returning back to the casa, and leaving for Sunday lunch. Sunday lunch when
I’m staying with Jen and John usually means a visit to the Las Palmeras in
Crevillent. I have to say that the atmosphere of the place really didn’t miss
the raucous hen party from the last time I visited. Apparently there’s been a
change of management, and certainly this seemed apparent in the Sunday menu. I
had the lasagne as a starter, and I have to say that it was so delicious and so
plentiful that I could only view the rest of the meal with complete detachment.
Oh, yes, I ate it, of course. Well, I know how to do my duty towards Albion and
St. George.
I only drove on the wrong side of the
road once on the way back to the casa, which is something of a new personal
record. It was gone two o’clock, but I still hadn’t gone out specifically with
the intention of making a sketch. No point going out in the middle of siesta
time, though, For one thing, it’s just too hot. So I waited until about 4pm,
then borrowed the Smart and set off. Target for today was the nearby town of
Dolores. Incidentally, is there anybody else who, whenever they hear the name
Dolores, instantly thinks of the name “The Great Ernesto”? No, didn’t think so.
If you’re desperate to know where that comes from, have a look at the footnote
at the end. You’ll be very disappointed, I’m sure.
Dolores is not that large, with a
population of about 7,000, but it has much more of a town feel than San Isidro,
and it’s pretty handy for the beach at La Marina (named in honour of Troy Tempest’s girlfriend in Stingray, I
believe). I’ve been to Dolores quite a few times before, and what I remembered
about it was that it has a very nice town square, and a rather lovely 18th
century church. Very true. Unfortunately, once again it’s a rather lovely 18th
century church hemmed in by buildings on three sides, and a town square full of
trees whose canopies obscures a decent view. Still, I found a bench in the
square, and at least made a sketch of the gorgeous baroque porch. Even between
5 – 6 pm the heat was still pretty fierce, but the breeze kept blowing droplets
of water from the fountain behind me onto my bald spot, which was very welcome.
My neck caught a touch of the sun judging by the feel of it at the moment. My
legs, even though they were out in the sunshine, didn’t. My head, face and arms
do eventually go through a range of hues until they reach a sort of light
brown. My legs, though, don’t. They only come in two colours – a blue-tinged
white most of the time, and lobster pink the rest of it. There’s no inbetween,
and they never get past lobster pink. I think it’s because I was bequeathed my
skin colouring by celtic ancestors who also thought
that sufficient melanin would be a sinful extravagance.
Joking aside though, I did enjoy the
drive again. As with yesterday, that’s no reflection on Jen and John at all,
it’s just fun to get out and explore a bit , or as close as I’m ever going to
get to exploring. And I’ll be honest, there are far worse places to be and
things to be doing than sitting in the July sunshine on a bench in Dolores,
sketching a church door. It takes all sorts, doesn’t it?
Well, that’s almost it for the
weekend, dearly beloved. I’m not sure what Jen and John’s plans are for
tomorrow, so I’ll wait and see before making up my mind about what I’m going to
sketch tomorrow. During the week ahead it would be nice to get into Alicante,
or Elche, or Murcia, or all three again, but we’ll wait and let Fate take it’s
course. Hope that you enjoyed your weekend too.
* In
the late 80s, Dick Clement and Ian LeFrenais, who wrote Porridge, amongst other
things, wrote the screenplay for a film called “Water”, which starred Micheal
Caine as the British Governor of a forgotten Caribbean outpost called Cascara.
Dolores was the name of his dissatisfied wife, played by Brenda Vaccaro. At one
point she informs a guest that she was once a part of the magical act “The
Great Ernesto and Dolores”. Well, when we first had a video recorder, we didn’t
have many tapes which weren’t the kids’ Disney tapes, and “Beverly Hills Cop”
(get the **** outta here!) and “Water”
tended to get played to death. So the first time we ever visited Jen and
John in Spain, some 12 years ago, they took us into Dolores, and both Mary and
I turned to each other and said “The Great Ernesto and Dolores!”, and I’m
afraid that every time I so much as think of the name since then, I think of
the Great Ernesto. There – said you’d be disappointed.
No comments:
Post a Comment