Frank and Barbie

Unexpectedly roped into building a barbeque with many instructions in Latvian, Hungarian and other assorted languages to accompany the bulging bag of nuts, bolts and washers. Time taken? First break after placing three legs on only to discover you are supposed to put twiddley bits for holding plate on first. Unscrew legs. Screw legs back on, third one will not. Lunch break, cooked a fish that I bought on the way back from bike ride. So incredibly disgusting I threw it out and had a tuna sandwich instead. It is now five o'clock. The barbeque is finished. So am I and Alice who used to be Frank is coming for a barbeque in two hours.
I have a very challenging week coming up. The Spanish health service is excellent but unfortunately means I am reminded every two years to turn up for routine X-ray. Alice has hers on Monday, me on Thursday (I'll miss the group, blast). I have been in both the prostrate clinic and lady X-ray  clinic with Alice as moral support. No, no, not at all...I am in the waiting room. But I did go into a consult once as she was very worried. Did I mention the consultant asked which one of us was the patient? Of course I did. I'm still smarting with being mistaken for a bloke.

Red dog

They are beating each other up in the bars because there is a new law that forbids people to smoke in bars, outside schools and hospitals, lbiraries, public buildings and playgrounds. This includes the entire small town outside. There are a lot of joders and mierdas mingling with the sound of slamming doors.

The people who bought the house that backs onto the garden have moved their monster barbeque from under their spare room window (bright eh?)...and where is it now? Being cemented onto the back of our garden wall with the chimney peeping over so we can share their summer smoke. I am surrounded by morons. Excuse me while I take a cab out a window.