What is it with Germans? There are four sinks at the shower block for doing dishes. Of course, I could have done them in the van but the hassle of driving to the motorhome service point each morning to get rid of all the waste water makes that a bit pointless. Besides which, the sites hot water is free!
At the washing point were two Germans, happily washing away, each with a large pile of dishes and each taking up two sinks. Despite seeing me waiting they continued, leisurely chatting to each other, using one sink to wash and the adjoining sink to drain. Totally oblivious to the fact I was waiting. It's behaviour like this that causes wars. Selfish gypsy German bastards! I'll mention it to my German friend in Dusseldorf. Of course, she'll claim they are Bavarian and the Bavarians are quite different from normal Germans.
Eventually one of the 'Bavarian' Germans finished and I quickly got my breakfast pots washed. I'm quite impressed with my new non stick camping saucepans. They are actually non stick and this mornings scrambled eggs just dropped off the inside. I wonder how long that'll last?
It was only after wandering around the site that you could see how bad the winds last night actually were. A number of trees had broken branches and there appeared to be quite a bit of damage. An elderly English couple I'd been speaking to appeared worst affected. A huge branch off the adjoining pine tree had fallen on their awning and wind break and wrecked both, it did also leave about a dozen pine cones and together with the smell of myrrh was very Christmassy, albeit in a not too Christmassy for them way.
They were in the process of clearing up and I stopped to have a chat. Annie, the English lady had a black eye and a rather nasty gash above it. "What happened" I enquired "Oh, don't ask" she replied.
Given that Christmas is historically a period of domestic violence, I didn't ask.
I suspect that she'd been hit upon the head by the falling branch rather than beaten by her husband Tim, but I didn't pursue it. Best not too!
Today, being Christmas Day and all that, the swimming pool is closed. I'm not sure why, it's not as if it's manned with a strapping Spanish lifeguard or anything. The majority of time I've been swimming, I've been the only one on the pool. I'm now feeling a bit guilty having missed swimming yesterday due to my alcohol induced fragile disposition. Hopefully tomorrow I can continue my quest for a body like Tom Daly.
Surprisingly the bar is closed too. It was actually closed last night, Christmas Eve. Not that drinking alcohol was the top of my 'things to do' agenda last night. Strange, the cleaners are out, the bins are being emptied three times a day as usual but the bar and the pool are closed!
Although I didn't feel nearly as bad as I did yesterday morning, I still felt in need of a bit of fresh air so decided to take myself off to the beach and a walk by the sea's edge. Spending only a few minutes there I decided it was a bad idea. Although the rain had ceased, on the shoreline the wind was blowing strongly off a sea that looked more like the irish sea in the depths of winter than the Mediterranean. Within minutes I was soaked. Giving that up as a bad job I headed back to the site. A hot shower and start preparing the Christmas lunch.
So much for the hot shower, it's those fucking Germans again! Used all the hot water! Tepid at best, I did think, think hard about coming back later. Bugger, I decided, if I can live with the monks in the in the Kathmandu valley, for four months, with no running, never mind hot water, I can put up with this. Head down and in!
Once spruced up, complete with shave, it was back to the van and Christmas lunch. My turkey crown turned out to be chicken (a big fucker!) it had been thawing since early this morning. Veg prepped, paxo balls rolled and it's all in that little oven. Jesus, there's a lot going on in there! Better facilities than the 'unit' in the middle of the South Australian desert two years ago where I cooked a full turkey dinner with all the trimmings.
I even made my own Yorkshire puddings! Complete with onions and herbs. Iceland in town did actually sell aunt Bessie's but I resisted. To be fair, they weren't my best, although better than those in the south Australian desset. There I'd bought a 'pancake mix' , thinking it was the same difference, added onion and herbs and when I tasted it, it was sweet.. While this was the real McCoy, I did cook it in a small frying pan like a pancake,
Two hours later, bingo. A dinner fit for a king. A bottle of white was opened, for the gravy of course. By the time dinner was served I was about 7 on the Richter scale of sloshedness. It tasted all the better.
Now, I'm not a greedy boy but those melamine camping plates are too small for a 'fuck off' Christmas lunch. Out comes the matching serving platter. Good enough for me!
A small bottle of fizz, half a bottle of red and that's me done, replete and happy.
The kite runner on DVD, a buffet plate of bits and at 9:30 I'm in my bed. At 12:30 I'm wide awake and eating again, what is it about Christmas that brings out the glutton?
Can't say I'm not glad it's over for another year. Happy Christmas, Joyaux Noël, Feliz Navidad everyone.
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Location:Cabopino - Calahonda - Spain
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