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So, with great pomp and circumstance, the wonderful day arrived! Our house was ready. It had been a Herculean task but at last it was over. I’d gone down to the local market and bought myself a pair of those official blue trousers that the Spanish wear when working. I definitely looked the part now! Armed with brush, roller and around ten buckets of white, plastic paint, I’d assaulted the walls and ceilings with gusto. After the first two hours I realized the enormity of the task ahead and felt myself spiraling into a deep depression. This was going to take forever!
Well, it had. Night after night I’d toil. I’d go to school all day and teach- then, after a quick bite to eat, I’d wander to the house, dreading what was to come, to tackle another wall. It was cold and lonely in those featureless rooms, and sometimes I would question whether it was really worth it. But, as I worked, a transformation slowly began to occur. What had been quite a small and dark place actually began to turn into a bright and airy townhouse. The kitchen had been fitted and it was looking very fine. The furniture had also begun to arrive and little things, like lights and plugs and pictures suddenly lent the whole atmosphere a much more welcoming feel. It was becoming a home!
How I hate ceilings! It was these damned things that I’d leave until last. Yes, I know what you’re all saying, I should have done them first…but oh the misery the thought of them would give me! Craned and strained neck muscles, screaming triceps, gritted, ground teeth…I hate ceilings more than anything else! They just seemed to go on forever! And the quality of paint didn’t help – it varied from shop to shop, leaving me sometimes with the harrowing realization that I would have to apply a second coat! Maybe even a third! I’d often find myself cruising through various department stores, snatching up the latest bargain – buy twenty-five litres for the price of fifteen! Then, with gleaming eyes and sweating palms, I’d rip open the lid with eager anticipation, apply the brush, only to find, to my dismay, that the paint was the consistency of milk – skimmed milk! False economy, as always. But the amount of paint I was using was rising at an alarming rate. I’d been warned it would take at least fifteen of those large buckets…but the walls just seemed to drink it all up! Those gray, roughly skimmed surfaces were like enormous pieces of blotting paper – and I hadn’t even begun to consider the exterior!
By now it was March and the Sun had returned with a renewed intensity. I found that at the weekends I could only really work up until about ten or eleven in the morning. I’d start at around eight when it was still quite chilly, but as soon as that golden orb climbed up from behind the mountains, the temperature would instantly soar! The roof terrace was a Suntrap, affording virtually no shade whatsoever and the paint dried almost as soon as I applied it. I would drag myself back to our rented house, stand under the shower, then collapse into a heap on the sofa wondering if any of it would ever end.
Then the glorious day came. The final lick of paint and it was done! I remember standing back, a smug smile of satisfaction on my face, congratulating myself on a job well done! Be-spattered in white paint, my blue work trousers no longer blue, my hair (what there is of it) no longer brown…lost in an ocean of white. A world of white. White. My smile slowly began to fade. So much white! Featureless, sterile, clinical! Should I have varied the tones, perhaps a shade of green, or a rustic terracotta…my usual self-doubt returned and I suddenly began to perhaps my race to finish had clouded my judgment… only time, I supposed, would tell.
A slight diversion, if I may, which will go someway to illustrate just how much bad fortune continues to follow me! With the Christmas Day festivities of 2008 just put to rest, I am reminded that last Christmas Eve our electricity failed. What followed was a mad rush to try and find an electrician who could come out and restore the power. Imagine the horror of not having power for the Day itself! As I write this, the news is of thousands of people across the north of England who have been cut off due to problems with gas supplies. Hopefully their Christmas was saved. Thanks to one of my neighbours, who is English and who spoke excellent Spanish, an electrician was found and the necessary repairs made. A faulty light in the bathroom had fused everything, but finding that fault took well over two hours!
Now, the reason I’m recalling this is because of what happened this Christmas Eve. Everything was set, preparations made, and the hosue was filled with the buzz of anticicpation for what was to follow. My eldest daughter had returned to us for the Christmas holiday, bringing with her a new boyfriend! Now, I’m not going to regale you with the details at this moment, that might happen at a later date, but it was wonderful to have her back home. Everyone was very eager, especially our two dogs who had become caught up with the eletric atmosphere and were as high as kites! When our fox-terrier escaped and ran into the street, barking and doing summerdsaults (which he is want to do!) nobody thought anything of it! Even when he didn’t come back; despite my demands that he return inside, he simply stood there, that mischeievous grin on his face, feet splayed, waiting to continue the game. As I took a step towards him,he laughed out loud hysterically and ran off. This was not too worrying as our village is quiet and animals of all types seem to be able to roam without danger. However, as the day progressed and he failed to return, we began to worry. I should say that this is not the first time he had done this. He is a cosumate escape artiste and has always returned some hours later, perky and proud of his adventures! But not this time. By eleven at night,with my youngest safely tucked up in bed and stocking waiting, I was out on my bike, scouring the steets, searching for my escaped dog. I visited parts of town I’d never seen before – well, to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t see that much! Street lights gave off a low, sickly yellow glow, and my own headlights were proving to be sadly inadequate in cutting through the gloom. I’d stop and wait, listening for any distant bark that might offer me some hope that he was out there. But nothing.
By now the whole family was out. My middle daughter stayed at home, telephone at hand,whilst the rest of us patrolled. Terrible thoughts began to invade our minds. What if he was trapped inside a derelict building, or had stumbled into a pit in one of the many paused new-builds? Perhaps he had gone down to the river and,having crossed to the far bank,had lost his way? Or possibly he had wandered into the woods, become disorientated, or even been taken in by a well-meaning citizen? Then, most terrible of all,as my eldest so eloquentely put it, ‘He might have been shot by a farmer!’ Some words of comfort at such a stressful time.
Nothing. No sight nor sound. The night was pressing. We went to the church and celebrated the Day, then a final frantic search.Visions of him lying somewhere, wounded perhaps, cold and miserable, hungry and alone, marred our hopes for the Day to follow. We all felt miserable and depressed.
We finally stumbled into bed. It was something like two-thirty in the morning. My youngest would be up at the crack of dawn. Not a happy thought. But then, at around four, came the scraping at the door. He was back! Ragged,filthy, looking very pleased with himself, but unharmed! How he drank from his bowl, as if he hadn’t seen water for days! And the next day, as we celebrated, he slept. Throughout the whole day. What tales he could tell us, we will never know. Perhaps next time I’ll follow him,secretly, and disocver where it is that he goes? Or perhaps not, because hopefully, there won’t be a next time! But then again, this is my life we’re talking about here – and that means it probably will happen again, only worse!
And a quick post-script! New Year. Last year, very little in the way of celebrations, but this year the stops were pulled out! Bags of grapes, champagne, party-bags, all wrapped up in a wonderful, party atmosphere, served with a topping of delightful fireworks! Well done and many thanks to our village organisers, and a very happy 2009 to you all!
