The joy of a mince pie

This week has been a general blur of homesickness and a numb posterior from constantly sitting at my desk, and is generally best glossed over, but it has been studded with a few highlights worth sharing.

One day I came home, deflated and dreaming of Wakefield (as unlikely as that seems!), to find a parcel on my sitting room table. Intrigued, I sat on my bed and ripped through the protective plastic packaging and parcel tape. And my heart burst. A simple but beautifully wrapped box, bearing the message “Simple pleasure No.1: Receiving packages in the post”.

I was so moved that for a while I just sat and stared at it. I knew already by this point who it was from – and I knew that it would contain something special – but for that moment it was more than enough just to stroke the silky soft yellow ribbon. Eventually, I pulled at the bow, disrobing the box of its decoration. Inside was padded with white and gold tissue paper, and on the top was “Simple pleasure No. 2: Greetings from friends oversees” – a festive card in a vibrant red envelope, to remind me of friendship and finding simple pleasures in challenging times. Beneath this I uncovered a Tupperware tied up with purple ribbon, bearing the message “ Simple pleasure No.3: The smells and tastes of Christmas time”. Surely not? To my knowledge, the only people I had conveyed my yearning for mince pies to were my parents… and this parcel wasn’t a parental gift. And yet there they were, tucked away in baking parchment, three perfect mince pies. Setting them to one side, I went on to find “Simple pleasure No.4: a steaming mug of hot chocolate on a cold day” and “Simple pleasure No. 5: a bit of me-time” – two sachets of instant hot chocolate (which, unbeknownst to the gifter, is impossible to find here) and a packet of face mask. I sat and let the kindness wash over me. I had reached the bottom of the box, and I was still surprised at the existence of the box itself, let alone its contents. After a while I made the move to re-pack the box (so that I might have the pleasure of uncovering it all again when the mince pie craving hit), and I noticed one final, very flat item nestled underneath a final layer of tissue paper. “Simple pleasure No.6: Songs that transport you to somewhere you once were (or someone you once were)”: a mix-tape… or a mix-CD, at any rate, with 17 songs, some of which I knew, some of which I was unfamiliar with.

So guess what I had for breakfast today? I indulged in music and my first mince pie of the season. And I really lived them both. I took my time and sat and listened to the music, letting it take me over, letting the lyrics have meaning to me, letting the melodies flow in through my ears. Morsels of rich, crumbly, buttery shortcrust melted on my tongue. I felt the juicy burst of the raisins between my front teeth and the mellow nutty bite of the chopped almonds on my back teeth. I isolated the soft citrus tang of candied peel , and revelled in the gloriously familiar, distinctive Christmas sugar and spice of the thick enveloping syrup.

In all my mince-pie eating years, never have I experienced a mince pie so wholly. Thank you, Catherine.

One of my own simple pleasures of the week was coming out of work to find the sky on fire. I’ll steal a line from the first track of the mix-tape – and incidentally one of my favourite ever songs – “Waterloo Sunset” by The Kinks: “as long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset, I am in paradise”.

The other important event of my week was the company Christmas party. I had been looking forward to it for some time. However, pre-Christmas is an unfortunate time to party here, as it is the busiest week of the year, and so on the day I discovered that all the British team except myself had pulled their plans to go, as had the Spanish woman who I work closest with. It was not without apprehension, therefore, that I set out in my appropriately festive gold dress. Were it not for the fact that I had already paid and I wasn’t about to waste 25€, I might not have gone. I’m glad I did though, because as it turned out, I had a really good time. I was adopted by the two girls who work in finance who I often eat my breakfast with at work, and by their friends who work in another office who I had never met before. It was so lovely to be sitting on a table of young women for once! I understood most of the conversations that went on, and even managed to contribute now and then. Those nearest to me made an effort to get me talking, and complemented me on my Spanish despite my stilted speech. There was one point when I got very confused, because everybody suddenly got up and started singing a random song about Christmas Eve… but I just looked bemused and laughed and clapped along with the rhythm! And the food… oh the food! We began eating at 9:30pm and didn’t finish until 1am! Tapas dish after tapas dish came out: slices of rich manchego cheese with raisins; tiny slivers of salty, high quality cured ham; tomato bruscetta; ham, cheese and potato croquettes with sweet onion chutney; smoked salmon wrapped in sweet pancakes with soured cream and jalepeno chillies (sounds bizarre, but tasted amazing!); garlic prawns; lightly battered cod and alioli in a rich tomato sauce; pork medallions and sautéed potatoes in a red wine sauce… and then the desserts – tapas sized portions of caramel flan, chocolate brownie, tiramisu and fresh fruit. I had been intending to stay for a drink, but I hadn’t anticipated that the eating would last for so long, and unlike most, I had to work the following day (Saturday), so really I left before the party even started (it lasted until 7am…), but I left well-fed and content.

And the advent calendar… I know the question you’re all asking: has he come yet?? Let’s see shall we?

On Monday 12^th, we had a steaming mug of lemsip and a lie-in.

On Tuesday 13^th, we had a beautiful white swan with a long neck, gliding on a pond.

On Wednesday 14^th, we had a freshly baked lebkuchen with wafts of Christmas spice.

On Thursday 15^th, we fell to our knees in adoration, because LO – HE CAME AMONG US!!!

On Friday 16^th, we had a round robin (there was a definite bird theme this week).

On Saturday 17^th, we had a big golden shiny bell chiming.

And finally, on Sunday 18^th, we had a bunch of parsnips.

As next weekend is Christmas and I will be making the most of every second that I’m at home, I’m taking a week’s holiday from blogging. But fear not, faithful readers, I shall be back before you know it! Have a very merry Christmas full of happiness and good food and good friends.

As they say here, “felices fiestas”!

Hasta luego.

Death by ice cream

Whether the post-mortem would have found the death to have been caused by hypothermia or hyperglycaemia is doubtful. What is certain is that after two minutes of woozily wandering over my half-eaten hazelnut ice cream, the fly died. Had I not already had my fill of my mountainous dessert, I would have considered it a tragedy. Luckily for me (though, I appreciate, not for the fly), aided by a stomach full of pizza and pud I was able to see the funny side.

I was dining with one of my employers from the UK, who had flown out to see me and to review my progress here so far. That afternoon we walked and talked and dined and laughed like loons at a dead fly, attracting odd looks from the waiter. The following day brought my review… which was positive in every way. I’m fulfilling and exceeding their expectations, and their only criticisms of me were my lack of self-confidence and that I undersell myself. So I guess that’s something to work on. My worry though is that there’s a very fine line between confidence and arrogance… and while I would love to be able to act with more confidence, I can think of few character traits I despise less than arrogance.

This week has been a very bitty kind of a week. We’re into our most busy period of the year at work – the countdown to the Christmas rush in the supermarkets – so work is fairly intense. And yet this week there were two bank holidays here in Spain, and so although I worked both of them (with slightly shorter hours than a regular day), most of the Spaniards completely disappeared on Tuesday and Thursday, leaving the office strangely quiet. The first holiday was 6^th December – Spanish Constitution Day. When Franco died in 1975 after his dictatorship of 36 years, a new constitution was needed. This constitution was approved in December 1978 by an enormous 88% of the population, and this is what is celebrated once a year. Except that there are no celebrations to speak of… it’s just that everything closes. The same can be said of 8^th December, except that this fiesta is religious rather than political – the feast of the Immaculate Conception. Apparently Seville is the place to be on 8^th December, with big dances and singing and street parties. Anyway, the place to be definitely wasn’t where I live! I’ve heard it said that Christmas officially begins here on December 8^th (I suppose it makes sense for it to be the day that Jesus was supposedly conceived) but there are still few signs of it here. Just a few sparse street decorations:

I had a few lovely moments out walking this week. There are a certain few characters (other oddballs who feel the urge to get up and out at 6:30am!) who I see every day – a little old man with a flat cap and twinkly eyes who I pass twice, saying once hello and once goodbye; an even older man with a voice like gravel who is always plugged into music; a woman whose age I can’t gauge because she cycles past in a white raincoat, a scarf around her mouth and a white cowboy hat on her head (she always makes me giggle)… and then another old man, with whom I would normally share greetings. This week, however, he came towards me as if to talk to me, and proceeded to do so with a smile and a thick Murcian accent and a heavy smoker’s rasp. I didn’t understand a word, and so, smiling and apologising, I told him so, and that I was English. He smiled back and said, slower (but still in Spanish) “you’re lovely. You make me smile”. How lovely is that?! I didn’t see him the following morning… but as I finished work early that afternoon I went down to the sea to catch a few afternoon rays, and he cycled past me and waved. He doesn’t just get a smile now, he gets a full grin.

Things have been looking up a bit at work too, mostly because I’ve started taking my lunch with me. Not many people do it, but there are four or five Spaniards who do, and so I’ve started to get to know them a little better. Of course, this also means that I get a good 45minutes of solid Spanish listening in too, and occasionally I’ve even been able to join in. One of them is a Pole who came to Spain without a word of Spanish six years ago and she’s now fluent, so she’s very sympathetic to my position! I’ve even made progress at the gym, in the form of a garrulous 14-year old Hungarian who speaks perfect Spanish and goes to my dance class. AND a few members of the cool crowd (yes, it’s like at school, there’s a cool crowd – they’re the weight-lifting, lycra-donning, slightly intimidating thirtysomethings) asked timid old me if I was going to their Christmas Party. Unfortunately I can’t – it’d be a great way to get to know people – but it’s the same night as my work Christmas do… but more on that next weekend!!!

My linguistic skills also got an outing this week in the form of a trip to the doctors as an interpreter for a Lithuanian colleague (not that I was translating into Lithuanian… now that really would have been impressive!!) and his 3-year old son. So I’m now much more proficient in talking about ear and throat infections, high temperatures, antibiotics and ibuprofen. And I’ve learned – after literally hours of fruitlessly trawling the area for a pharmacy that would serve us past 8pm – that Spain has designated “emergency chemists”. They look as if they’re all boarded up and closed… but they have a little grille in the wall like this one:

You ring the bell and speak over the intercom, and the little box opens underneath it. You put in your prescription and it closes again. A couple of minutes later it opens again and the voice tells you how much you owe. You put money in the box, it closes, and then opens again with your medicine and your change in a plastic bag. Fascinating stuff! I also learned my first word of Lithuanian that evening – lektuvas . It means aeroplane. It might be useful one day, you never know…

And finally, the bit you’ve all been waiting for – the advent calendar!! So….

… on Sunday 4^th there was a choir girl with a flickering candle.

… on Monday 5^th there was a fluffy sheep.

… on Tuesday 6^th there was a snowflake and a rainbow.

… on Wednesday 7^th there was an overworked Christmas elf.

… on Thursday 8^th there was a sequinned bauble.

… on Friday 9^th there was wishful thinking with a steaming Christmas pudding with a sprig of holly on top.

… on Saturday 10^th there was a warm-hearted camel.

… and on Sunday 11^th there was a fruity-nosed snowman.

But still no sign of the duck! Although today I did see a real life flamingo wading in a salt marsh, so maybe that makes up for it…?

Hasta Luego.

Anyone fancy a “lard-o”? Thought not…

On Sunday I went to Murcia for breakfast. Murcia is the capital of the region where I live, and given as it’s a good 45 minute drive, this did seem a little excessive. But it wasn’t my idea, and I wasn’t driving, so my colleague and I set off towards a range of extinct volcanic mountains, which can be seen from all around where I live because the rest of the land is so flat. We drove up and up and up, and then we coasted down, and it was wonderful to watch the countryside change. My first impressions of Murcia itself were dim. It seemed run-down, poor, and lacking in life. Until we wandered into the city centre, when suddenly there was architecture to enjoy, shops which weren’t boarded up (albeit not open on a Sunday), a valiant late-November attempt at street café culture, a flea-market and a rather bizarre motorcycle ralley in memory of road traffic accident victims!



After an orange juice and a custard-filled croissant we hit the road again – it being Sunday there was little to do there – but I resolved that I would return one sunny Saturday in the new year and explore a little more thoroughly.

It’s been a rollercoaster week for my language abilities. There have been moments of near despair (ironically including my inability to pronounce “don’t despair” in Spanish), when I’ve wondered how I am ever going to achieve a decent level of fluency over the next four months, which is my ultimate goal. For days I couldn’t work up the courage to say anything to anyone at the gym, but on Thursday I knew I had to bite the bullet – I’d challenged myself to talk, after all! So in the changing rooms I asked an unintimidating soul from my Body Combat class what a particular word used frequently in the class meant – it turned out to be “breath”. Hardly a conversation to win hoards of friends with… but it was definitely a start. And at dancing this evening I managed to splurt a few inane words out (in context, of course!). My biggest victory, however, came out of the blue at work. I was sitting in the tiny office kitchen with four colleagues. When this happens, I can usually follow most of the conversation if I concentrate really hard, but I can’t join in until they slow down for me. This time was no exception. But then… I made a joke!! And suddenly my colleagues were laughing, partially in pure surprise, but mostly at my joke, and not at me! The funny thing to me though was not the joke itself, but the fact that I wasn’t even aware that I knew the word that was the crux of the joke (deaf – sordo)… I hadn’t planned to make a joke at all, it just jumped out of my mouth like a jack-in-the-box. I was the most surprised out of everybody!

On the topic of work, which has been busy but nothing to write home about, I got some new gear – look! I’m now the proud owner of a company-branded “bump cap”, which must only have resulted from a baseball cap and a hard-hat being allowed to mate, and a rather fetching high-vis jacket. I’m not quite sure I need them in the office… but hopefully this is a sign of future ventures into the unknown (or the pack-house…).

I would just like to take a minute here to put one supposition to rest. Spain – even in the south – is not hot in the winter. Warmer than the UK, yes. Hot, no. In the early mornings I can frequently see my breath in front of me, and even though it supposedly warms up to around 17 degrees at siesta time, there is almost always a biting wind here. Also, the buildings are designed to be cool in the summer months. Unfortunately they’re even cooler in the winter! I spend most of the time at work wearing a fleece!

And so here we are – Advent has begun, and the inevitable helter-skelter towards Christmas. Not that you’d know it here. No Christmas songs on the radio or in shops. No obvious festive signs in the streets, like our garish fairy lights. In the office, just a couple of little Father Christmases perched on the computers, placed there by some unusually festive spirit.

Even the supermarkets have only one low-key table display each of marzipan delights and chocolates and dried fruits and nuts. It certainly makes a difference from seeing Lindt Reindeers since September back home... and it's quite refreshing in a way, but I'd rather like a little more Christmas cheer! I suppose it comes of Spain still being a strongly catholic country.

So far, I’ve been introduced to one Spanish Christmas delicacy – the mantecado. This is much like the shortbread of the UK, although with a coarser consistency. The one I tried was heart-shaped and lightly flavoured with almonds, and sprinkled with cinnamon sugar, but I haven’t experienced enough of them to know whether these are standard characteristics or not! Anyway, it was thoroughly enjoyable… until I decided to look up what “manteca” meant… and found out it meant “lard”. Mmmmmm -“lard-os”. It has such an appealing ring to it, don’t you think? I’d rather be blissfully unaware!

The Spanish don’t do Advent calendars. I was surprised… in Germany they were everywhere – I even found a herbal tea advent calendar there!! But here, no. One of my British colleagues brought a chocolate one with him, and we’ve allocated one day to everybody who works full-time in the office… the cause of much excitement and confusion. One senior colleague sent me a very sincere email asking, given as his date was a Sunday, whether the window should be opened the day before, or the day after, or whether he had to come in that Sunday in order to do it correctly! My family does advent calendars. More specifically, we do one advent calendar between us wherever we are in the world, and we have done now for many years. Here’s how it works. We each draw 24 different sized boxes on a piece of paper, and number them.

And we take it in turns to declare – by text or email – what is “behind the window” for the day. The image then gets drawn in, and so over Advent the page slowly fills up, and at the end we get all four of them together and have a laugh about our attempts. There’s only one rule: behind one of the windows must be a rubber duck. He typically appears around 20^th December (to keep the anticipation flowing), but you never know. He could arrive tomorrow!

On 1^st December 2011, we had a “glittering angel’s harp”:

On 2^nd December 2011, we had a “starry starry night full of magic and mystery”:

And on 3^rd December 2011, we had “a robin in a palm tree” (no prizes for guessing whose turn THAT was!):

But the big question still remains: when will the rubber duck come?!

Celery and Salsa

My flatmate supervises the celery harvests out here in Spain, and one day this week he invited me out with him to survey his “rigs”. I wasn’t entirely sure what this involved, other than it would surely be out of the office and into the field… so naturally I jumped at the offer. A rig, as it turns out, is a mobile contraption which appears to sail slowly along the field (in reality of course it has wheels, but they’re hidden by the crop), and in which work a team of harvesters. So, claggy, rich soil clinging to my boots, we tramped over already decimated celery plants in the wake of the rig in question, the air rich with the smell of celeriac roasting in the oven. My flatmate cut a celery plant for me and showed me how to look for signs of a bad crop and to look out for a whitish mould on the plants, which he warned me not to touch as it would provoke a rash. He told me that although the inner stalks would probably still be safe to eat, they would have a nasty taste. We hopped up the ladder as the rig was still moving – it felt like being aboard a ship - and I saw men cutting the celery under the rig, putting it on a conveyer belt at field-level. It then came up to the workers in the rig itself – about 12 in total - where they sorted it and piled it up and wrapped it ready for the supermarket shelves. These packets were placed into crates which were piled up and labelled ready for the warehouse. My flatmate showed me to question weight and quality of the products, and to check that health and safety rules were being adhered to. It was an interesting experience, and it was so wonderful to be outside and in the field… and I’ve since nabbed myself a copy of the “Celery Harvest Manual 2011” – a weighty tome of everything you would ever want to know about celery – for a little light bedtime reading. But anyway, I can’t complain. No doubt my time for the field will come, even if not in Spain! And I really don’t have the shoes for it out here, so maybe it’s just as well – I’ve made a proper old mess of my only pair of boots!!

So what is it that I do? Obviously for reasons of company confidentiality, I can’t give too much away, but now that I understand my role a little better, I can give you an idea. My working day starts at about 8:45 a.m., finishing at 7 p.m., with a 90 minute lunch break thrown in, and I’m in the office for 99% of that time. In the mornings I liase with hauliers and the depot that we send most of our produce to in the UK to try to make sure that the depot is prepared for the arrival of the lorries, and knows if there are delays. I also chase up any problems with discrepancies between what product was allegedly loaded here in Spain, and what actually arrived in the UK. This means liasing with various colleagues in the UK and in the despatch department here, staring at a lot of documents and dates and product codes, and trying to make sense of it all. It also means logging everything in Excel spreadsheets. In the afternoons I’m in charge of processing orders from the national customers in Spain, making sure the hauliers and warehouses know how many pallets of goods are needed at which supermarket depot and when. It’s very much an admin role. Though I know it’s not what I want to do eventually, I’m certainly learning a lot! And Christmas is our peak time, so the next month is set to get ever more hectic. I’ll be very ready for a holiday when it finally comes. 25 days to go….!

My gym-going is working out quite well. I went back to my crazy weight lifting class…

... and although I still didn’t say any more than “hola”, some of the others clearly recognised me from last week. Besides, it makes me feel strangely powerful. Maybe by the time I get to my next placement, this will be me....

I hope not, though!! That would be a little scary!!! I have also been twice now to a latin dance class – a bit of salsa, a bit of chachacha, a bit of folk dance, and that was really good fun. Everybody was smiley and laughing, and because a lot of the dancing is partner work, it should be easier to talk… although I’ve discovered that I don’t know what to talk about! Any ideas…? The only guy I managed to talk to properly was a pest-controller from Bradford (!!) - but as we were the only Brits in the class, I feel it doesn’t really count. I want to feel confident talking to the Spaniards. My challenge for next week: say something more than just pleasantries, even if only to one person.

On a Sunday morning jaunt with a couple of colleagues, I ended up driving down La Manga. If you don’t know what La Manga is, it’s a holiday destination, favoured by all from the rich and famous to the common man. It’s a thin spit of land, about half a kilometre across, reaching out into the Mediterranean Sea. It has one road leading down the spine of the spit, and this road is flanked with hotels that have seen better days, and shops selling touristy tat. On the other side of the buildings are beaches. The sea to the west is the Mar Menor, which is effectively a sea lagoon. It has no tides, and is connected to the Med by the smallest of channels. Because of this it is warmer than the Med, but also semi-stagnant to the point of being reasonably revolting. To the east is the Med itself, and these beaches, probably littered with tourist litter during the summer months, had a liberal November scattering of small jellyfish when I ventured onto them. Apologies to anybody who has been to La Manga and enjoyed it, but I just don’t see the attraction.

And speaking of lack of attraction, I saw the lead singer of 70’s band The Saxons sing this weekend. I had never heard of the Saxons, although apparently my mum saw them when she was in 6th form. Anyway, he was singularly unattractive, and fairly out of tune. He lives here apparently, and is well known here for his thrusting his tight trousers drunkenly at women, and for being stoned. So that’s this week’s claim to fame.

I’m looking forward to this week, and the beginning of Advent. Partially because this means beginning my advent calendar… my family has a rather curious tradition with advent calendars… all will be revealed next week! But also because I hope I will begin to experience Christmas from a Spanish perspective. I don’t know why, but I expect there to be obvious – and interesting - differences between December in the UK and in Spain. I know very little about Spanish traditions at present, so as I learn, I’ll let you know. Hasta luego!

Half a pig’s ear is better than a full one

I decided that an element of my unhappiness of the past week was born of inactivity and lack of fresh air – oh the joys of the office job! So in the spirit of proactivity –in every sense possible – I inserted two novelties into my Hispanic adventure.

First, I joined a little Spanish gym full of little Spanish people (seriously, I was the tallest person at the class I went to… I’m not tall!!). This was mostly to give me something active to do in the evenings if sitting at home didn’t appeal, and I thought that maybe if I went to a few classes I might meet some friendly non-work-related people. So I gamely walked into the first class I came across. There were 7 other, fairly normal looking women in the room, so I figured I’d be okay. And then the barbell weights came out… An hour of squats and lunges and bicep curls and various other weighty moves later, and I came out feeling surprisingly light. I tried talking to a couple of the women, but as soon as I opened my mouth I got the “oh-you’re-foreign-that’s-too-much-like-hard-work” look. I decided to try again next week. The following day I was feeling the burn, and the day after that, and the day after that... As I said, I’m going to try again next week!

Second, I started going for early morning walks along the seafront. It’s dark when I leave the house at 6:30, but as I reach the sea, the sky is just lightening on the horizon and as I walk I watch the colours change, minute by minute. The wind’s in my hair, the air’s fresh from the night, and the birds are just beginning to sing. It’s calm. It’s just me and the sea (and the road sweepers, but they don’t quite fit the romantic picture). At one point there’s a fleet of boats moored, and they silhouette beautifully against the dawn, and a few times now I’ve seen herons fishing at the water’s edge.

Around 7 o clock, other people begin to appear. It’s always the same people – old Spanish men with friendly, crinkly eyes. And they make eye contact and smile and say good morning. Of course, I don’t know them, but I’m beginning to feel like I do, just because they’re familiar faces in a still unfamiliar place. The sleazy men are clearly still in bed – I feel safer walking at this time than I feel at any other time of day.

The week had a pretty awful start – I was finding everything overwhelming – the language, the job, the culture… it was all too much and I was imploding from the disorientation of being out of every comfort zone I have. But slowly it began to get better. Emails from friends and family proved a welcome diversion, and a phonecall from my employer in the UK helped me to put things into perspective. An hour or so speaking Spanglish with a colleague made me laugh, and I realised that I haven’t laughed much recently. But it’s amazing (and hilarious) how no Spanish people seem to be able to pronounce “crisps”. Always criPSPS. Always!! It’s like every French person pronounces “law” as “low”, and Germans pronouce “clothes” as “clotheses”. Plus, the bar tender gave us free, freshly made popcorn with our drinks – bonus! AND I managed to parallel park…once…

Added to that, I had a few small breakthroughs at work. Tasks which last week seemed impossible now seem just difficult. I even had a mini phone-related triumph. I’m terrified of speaking Spanish on the phone, and until now have made a complete pig’s ear of every phone conversation I’ve tried to have. This week the phone got thrust at me and eventually I managed to get the required information out of the haulier without him giving up on me half-way through. It was still painful – and still half a pig’s ear – but it was more of a sprain than a full on dislocation.

So yes, my bruised self-confidence is on the mend. It’s entering into that fascinating yellowy-purple stage of bruise when you just have to stare at it because you can’t believe your own skin can be that colour, and you get the urge to poke it to see if it still hurts as much as it did when it was blue. Or maybe that’s just me. In any case, I leave you with the words of wisdom that sum up my turning point, emailed to me by a family friend:

“Don’t underestimate the enormity of what you’ve achieved this year. You are in the world of work for the first time, in a foreign country, using an unfamiliar language away from family and friends! That’s a tall order!”.

Yes, it is a tall order. But I can deliver it, and if I can deliver it with my head held high, then the fading bruises will soon be forgotten.

Lonely and inept… thank goodness for lettuces!

Look at my Lollo Rosso!! It landed in the office 2 hours after being picked in the field, and it was free, and it’s such a good-looking lettuce, and all this combined to lift my spirits. Guess what I had for lunch today!

But why do my spirits need lifting? The turbulent landing that my plane made into the airport presaged the emotions of my first night back. I was happy to be going to work the following day, but socially I wobbled. Despite the amicability of my flatmates, I didn’t feel at ease at “home”; didn’t feel I could sit and read a book without somehow being judged for it. This triggered the realisation that I haven’t yet any friends here – I haven’t met anybody “like me”, whether British or Spanish. There’s nobody who I’ve clicked with. At work I’ve felt very much the “new English girl”, lacking in skill, experience and words, and outside work… I just don’t know where to look. I was pretty down.

But then I pulled myself together. Told myself to relax, and go with the flow. Told myself that things would get easier socially, one way or another. Told myself that this was just the shock of coming back to Spain after such a sociable week in the UK. Told myself it was all good and character building. Told myself above all to throw my efforts into my work and learning Spanish – 6 months isn’t long, and I’ve so much to learn.

And learn I have, this week. There have been times when I’ve felt that so much is expected of me that my head can’t take it. Wednesday lunchtime found me taking refuge in the toilet with a few frustrated tears. I didn’t understand the pallet-scanning processes that were being explained to me, and so how could I hope to solve the pallet-scanning problems that I was charged with? And once again I pulled myself together. And eventually I began to understand, and by Saturday lunchtime I was getting there. Not perfect, and not even close to perfect, but passable. The founder of the company I’m working for was known for saying “’that’ll do’ wont do”. But for now, passable will do for me.

A lot of colleagues from the UK headquarters were over in Spain this week for a “Growers’ Meeting”. This means that there has been a certain expectation to socialise with my colleagues. Although I’ve felt out of place with them – they have all been with the company for a long time, know each other well, are predominantly male and much older than me – they’ve treated me well, and it has been interesting to meet some of the more important company bods. And it goes without saying that I’ve been well fed, courtesy of company credit cards. Last night we ended up in a fancy fish restaurant (followed by my first –brief- experience of clubbing in Spain, and clubbing with non-students. I’d still prefer a book and a cuppa!). I dread to think how much it all cost, and I never thought I’d hear the argument “it’s on the celery account today” – “No, it’s the leafy salad account’s turn!”. I also never thought I’d come across quartered boiled eggs in a soup (not at the posh restaurant, I hasten to add, although a beautiful piece of baked mullet did come accompanied by fried eggs on toast!). And yet both of them really happened.

On the subject of strange things, I met my first praying mantis this week – look!

I hope it got away before the car it was playing on drove off. My boss told me there was a big green splat on the ground when he left work that evening, but I didn’t believe him - it was dark when he left, so there’s still hope. Did you know that female praying mantises have a tendency to eat their mates after mating? Feminism taken to the extreme?

I also saw a robin in a palm tree, which pleased me immensely, mostly because the words fit to the metre of the punchline of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”. I’m considering rewriting the song to fit a Spanish theme. So it is that little things have got me smiling this week. The simplest thing to make me happy? This grass, shining in the sun.

Here in Murcia, grass this green generally only exists on well watered golf courses (a source of strong political contention in the area: should water be conserved for agriculture – the backbone of the region – or does the tourism of the golf courses merit the same claim on this limited resource?). This, however, was growing wild amid the beige dust, and so a smile grew with it.