It´s really all that is required
that little spark, like a rainbow crossing no mans land between reality and fiction, adding colour, depth, a strand of belief, swaying in the sirocco.
Maybe a short circuit, where the wrong wire was attached, blue,red brown, green did you say?
Boom.
Enough crazy for one day.
Not very big indeed quite small, an explosion in the surrounding sea. La Palma has sedate temptations, sensations, streets of persuasion, but it is not Ibiza.
I share this rock with an indeterminate number of bananas and some 80,000 assorted human souls, the numbers ebb and flow with the tides of a surrounding atlantic.
As I write, we are blighted with the world wide virus, although like any we have fortunate, natural barriers against this maurading plague, thus victim numbers are thankfully low. Another tragedy, is the forest fire which, it seems, has become a biannual experience, sometimes malevolent behaviour, sometimes idiot sourced. With these two un invited guests, people lose literally everything. I considered for a moment, the plague in London followed by the great fire, which if historians are to be believed cauterised the disease..could there be a biblical link here?
Of course the U S of A has the same problems, on a grander scale, everythings bigger in land of the mmmm ...free. Or so I was told.
Hot today, and of course the breeze just the recipe to encourage the flames ever closer, the church bell clangs its warning, the police sirens call us to flee...leave everything, save yourselves.
And we may have to.
For cousin Fiona and other readers.
Sitting in my little office surrounded by out of date technology struggling with painfully slow processors useful only for scanning the worlds radio stations...tech moving faster than me …..although might not be difficult these days.
Confinement, self isolating and self education the excuse for staying, well just staying.
Meanwhile I was wondering how many times a broadcaster or visiting studio guest could say YOU KNOW in the short and clearly precious time window of the BBC. So I thought perhaps a little counting excercise was in order .
YOU KNOW.
But sadly dear readers arithmetic has never been my strong point YOU KNOW so thus after the divesting of socks and shoes I ran out of digits. Therefore the sum total of YOU KNOW´S (I felt the need to use the oft abandoned apostrophy) could not be calculated.
YOU KNOW
No matter, It seems literacy is no longer a requirement for English speakers
DID YOU KNOW?
Was it theft of intelect? Robbing a nation of individuality and subjecting the population to soap opera misery, like a drug, which once hooked it becomes almost impossible to break free, a very subtle intelectual theft.
Sadly there are many, it seems, believe this rubbish is real, to be discussed post mortem by checkout girls with little else to occupy the cerebral vacum of once promising minds.
Consider if you will, the likliehood of a conspiracy, a brain washing technique where the Rovers Return, or is it the Nags Head, becomes pivotal to existence.
Those whom subscribe to Red Top truth are similarly sucked in, being unable to think outside the propogana machines fostered, and propogated by governments of the priveledged.
We expect it in other countries but not in England. But it does happen, you just have not noticed.
Not in England.
Había una reunión entre algunos principales de la lengua española con el motivo de salvar el idioma, antes de su desaparecer.
Después de la reunión, Adán Adjetivo y Victor Verbo se fue a un bar en el centro del pueblo.
“Vamos a emborracharnos tío,” dijo Victor Verbo
“Buen idea.” responde Adán
Una noche de tequila y limón sigue, y con tiempo, el barman, Carlos Condicional Compuesto, usando el imperativo dice, “¡Salgan! !Fuera de aquí¡”
“Vale, vale tranqui” dijo Victor Verbo, quien ahora, tenía dificultades de caminar.
“Coño, la acera se mueve.” Observó Adán Adjetivo. “La ultima copa tiene la culpa.” Y se cayó.
“Exactamente, la ultima cerveza, siempre, pero no importa, conozco un bar clandestino, donde podemos hablar en el gerundio, vamos, venga.
“¿El gerundio? No puede ser, esta prohibido.”
“Si, así es, pero, en este bar todo esta permitido.” dijo Victor, con una sonrisa conspiradora.
Mientras. al otro lado de la calle, la maestra esta parado bajo una farola, buscando respuestas, como siempre, pero no hay, y una triste lagrima, moja su bonita cara.
Los dos vagabundos del idioma, totalmente borracho, (borracho a tope) tropezó en la noche, preparado para hablar en el gerundio, y con ningún idea que los orejas de la policía oficial de la lengua castellano están escuchando, observando.
Continuará ..Español con errores ...un producción por el escoces errante.
The sun continues to shine on La Palma, here in Canary island number 6 or should that be 7? Someone really should consider a better system of island identification, well consider Santa Cruz de La Palma, Santa Cruz de Tenerife, andnaturally La Palma is in the province of Tenerife..even the postal service gets confused. Gran Canaria, is in the province of, wait for it, Las Palmas, I think.
Around my easterly side of the chestnut shaped island which I call home there are a host of , well villages? San Simon is a typical example of maybe one house and a dog. OK perhaps some cats and a goat or so. So this is the countryside or campo if you prefer.
There are a couple of fair sized towns, the capital Santa Cruz has a couple of not so skyscrapers, as has Los Llanos on the sunny west , over the mountain and not so far away.
You can easily drive around in a day, stopping for lunch and dinner, not forgetting of course that most important meal of anyones day… breakfast.
Tourism? Oh yes tourism..mainly walking or senderismo if you prefer, as there are a whole network of trails and for the most part sign posted each with a story to tell.
If its kiss me quick karaoke...go to the neighbouring Tenerife, it may just be too quiet for you on La Isla Bonita.
But it will do for me.
Bon voyage...
An evening of tranquillity, after a day of , well, hostility, with a scorching sun melting hearts and minds.
The wind seldom deserted its post, blowing almost constantly this way and that as if searching for a destination as yet undecided., playing assist to the burgeoning weed population of daises and dandelions.
Visiting tourism, easily identified by peeling skin and jingoism, stumbled across the cobbled streets searching for that bulls eye of authenticity, but missed, settling for second best in the giant screen world of karaoke autocue...
A masquerade of happiness.
