iPhone

So, here is the verdict.

Do I like it? Yes.

Why? Er, don't know.

Maybe because I like the Apple OS?

Maybe because I can choose a nice gentle harp sound for the alarm call instead of a horrid shrill BEEP! BEEP!

Maybe because it takes nice pictures (apart from feral cats in the dark).

Maybe because it is intuitively easy to use - well it certainly is if your main computers are also Apple.

The truth is, I didn't need another 'phone. Nor am I into fashionable consumer status symbols.

I don't listen to music - I've never had an ipod, or before that even a CD player. I only bought a walkman type thing so I could listen to Linguaphone cassettes and learn Spanish.

I'm not interested in videos, or scrolling through Youtube looking for funny or interesting vids.

I've certainly no intention of buying a load of applications either.

But simple things please me. I can key in Gibraltar for the weather - on my HP the weather widget doesn't accept Gibraltar, Gibraltar. :(

And I can set all my world clocks up, so I know when friends in America, Canada and Australia are awake/asleep.

Did I pay hundreds of pounds for those small pleasures? No. I paid it for a small computer that I can use on the move, preferably using someone's wifi, but if necessary - at a price - I can use it on roaming. (I don't have wifi at home).

I have yet to plough through the manual and discover what it can do. I have yet to discover what it can do if I jailbreak it. But having paid a fortune for it, I am unlikely to dabble with it.

I should explain that it came factory unlocked. In Spain, Apple is only available with a rip-off Movistar contract. But here in Gib, there are no restrictions, so you can put in whatever sim card you want. Ironically I probably wouldn't have minded a Gibtel contract, as their prices are reasonable. Anything is reasonable compared with Movistar/Telefonica.

And because it is factory unlocked it comes with an Italian manual - Italy being one of the other places in Europe where you can buy them legimately unlocked, rather than cracked.

I could probably work out most of the Italian manual, but I really can't be bothered, so that means I have to peer at the manual on screen or print it off. All 154 pages of it. Perhaps printing off the relevant pages is the way to go.

Oh, it's 3G (8GB) by the way. I'd asked about 16GBs ages ago, but the shop has never got any in. In fact at the time I asked they didn't have any iPhones in stock at all, so I put my name on the 'ring and tell me when you have them' list.

Some three (?) months later, ie last week, I finally got a call. Was I still interested?

Yes, but could I come down and have a look and a play around with it?

Er, no. They were in sealed boxes, they only had a limited number, and they weren't going out on display. Oh, and they would be getting some 3GSs in later if I wanted to wait.

How long?

A couple of weeks.

That seemed highly unlikely to me given that it had taken months to get this latest batch of 3Gs. I should also add that the 3GS is £879 for 16GB, and £999 for 32GB. That seems an excessive amount of money to pay for a 'phone, when I'm not interested in half the features.

Anyway, I was instructed to go and buy it. I'm not sure if it is a belated birthday present or just coincidence that they came into stock a couple of weeks after my birthday. (For what I did get up to on my birthday, read here.) But being a dutiful and obedient sort of partner, I went and bought it. I even bought a case as instructed too. It's quite a nice black one with a clear plastic visor. And there is a sticky thing to go on the screen which I have managed to mess up, hence the somewhat unclear picture of Pippa on the wallpaper through scratched and fuzzy plastic.

More of a review later when I have worked through the manual to see if there is anything else I want to do apart from look at the weather and world clocks.

Holidays

As readers of Pippa's blog may have discovered, we cleared off to the finca for a week's holiday. Given that I don't do any paid work (and very little of any other work), holiday is perhaps not the right word for my week away.

But it was intended to be a week off for my partner who has been working solid for 15 months. He's a decorator. So what better way to spend your holiday? And birthday?



We cleared the garden of all the overgrown stuff, including heavy pruning of some nispero trees, and painted the terrace walls, inside and out - which was long overdue.

Even I was seen to get out a roller and paint brush - haven't picked up a paint brush in years (why bother when married to a decorator) - and never touched a roller before.

Which reminds me - classic boring decorator's joke 'Brush up on your sex life: roll with a painter.' Yawn.

It wasn't all painting and gardening, I did a tiny bit of cleaning. We managed two or three cycle rides, and one geocache. More on that later.

And we ate well, mostly salads, pulses, and marinated pimientos.

So here are few more pix from our birthdays, mostly his. Mine for another post.

Hibiscus


Yellow roses at night (obviously)


Painting the walls


All my very own efforts


Quick stop for a birthday drink


Birthday (his) evening meal on the terrace


Tranquility at night


More painting on my birthday


Birthday (mine) breakfast - oops the tablecloth has been swapped for a dust sheet


Up into the hills for a cache


My original Hal Apple who was becoming rather cantankerous over the week

Mezcla

Or miscellany. Or pot-pourri.

1) I went to Algeciras to catch the fast bus and avoid the roadworks at San Pedro. I also went so I could eat delicious tortilla and have a large glass of Rioja. First mistake. I’ve usually had tortilla with onions, or with peppers and onions, but I’ve not had the plain potato one. It was terrible. Rubbery and tasted like sad custard. The glass was scratched and didn’t seem to have the same huge measure as before.

There was a group of young Americans at the back of the bus who insisted on shouting all the way from Algeciras to Malaga. The problem when people shout in your native language is that you can't miss what they are saying. And it was boring. Of course, they did have competition from the Spanish guy opposite me who seemed to think it was generous of him to play his dance style music loudly for the benefit of the whole bus. If he's going to do that, I think we should be able to put in requests. 'How about a nice piano concerto?' would be mine.

Prices – 3.10€ for tortilla plus wine, 11.25€ from Algeciras to Malaga, 2.05€ from La Linea to Algeciras.

2) The next day, having completed watering the garden, weeding the path, and feeding the chickens plus feeding me – but only with grapefruit juice - by 8am, I decided breakfast was in order. When I arrived in Malaga I went to the railway station cafe – El Yate. This is a good place, no smoking and a good choice of food. One of the few places I have found in Andalucia that offers edible croissants. The trouble was that orange juice, croissants and coffee would have given me a sugar overdose. I spotted some patatas alioli. Potatoes in garlic mayonnaise. I asked if they had a plain salad too – ensalada mixta. Actually it is rather less plain than elsewhere. For 4.50€ it includes beetroot, carrot, egg, olives, tomato, sweetcorn, and loads of lettuce. OK, so half of it is lettuce, but the other bits are good. Then I asked for a glass of wine. So it was breakfast time, but I was eating lunch.

The waiter must have been concerned about this. I obviously didn't do much for the image of solo middle-aged English women. He shot from behind the bar and said (in Spanish) 'I will help you.' Fine by me. He picked up a knife and fork 'For your salad' and plonked them on the plate. He picked up the tray with a flourish and I dutifully followed behind. First the fork fell off. And when it did, the tray wobbled, and then the glass wobbled. Ah Joan Collins – where are you when you are needed? The glass fell. Spectacularly. The contents flew in all directions, and the glass shattered. We proceeded to my table and he slouched off with rather less of a flourish. A new glass of wine was brought and 'Sorry madam'. Hell, it could happen to any of us. Rather him than me though.

Prices – 4.50€ for the salad, 3€ for the tapa, 1.50€ for the glass of wine. A small coffee is 1.20€, orange juice is 2.20€, croissant around 1.50€.

3) On the way back, I finally finished my library book – 'Your Face Tomorrow 1 – Fever and Spear' by Javier Marias. It has taken me two months to read this convoluted novel. It might have been easier to read it in Spanish, it felt so toruous at times. But actually by the time I finished it, I decided I had quite enjoyed it. Anyway, now I can read Paul Theroux's 'The Great Railway Bazaar.' As I've been on some of the trains he mentions, this should be interesting.



4) Shower Kleener. I bought this ages ago because it was ecological and green and etc etc. But I was reading the label the other day and it said something about using it meant you could lengthen the time between cleaning the shower. Haha!! I don't need to buy something to make me drag my feet about cleaning. I can do that one all on my little own.

5) Domestic appliances update – no I haven't forgotten about this. No new bed – we are still sleeping on the floor. The Apple is still in the Apple shop countless weeks later – all tests indicate it may be the hard disk/drive. Yeah right, I may have said that ages ago. The HP All-in-One finally went on its holidays. The Canon Lasetjet is rather nice. Update – hot off the press – the Apple shop finally rang to tell me the problem is the logicboard. This is NOT a cheap fix. Ho hum, what to do? Write off a very expensive computer after two years or throw more money at it?

Gibraltar elections - Europe 2009

So, European elections. We received our polling cards a few weeks ago, and oddly enough, I felt rather excited.

It's one thing choosing not to vote - but it's another not being able to. Living in Spain, even as an EU citizen you still can't vote in all the elections, and at one of the recent ones there was total uproar at some polling stations when foreigners were turned away.

They had been told that turning up with a passport, and being on the local register, would be sufficient. But apparently that wasn't good enough for a few councils, so people entitled to vote were turned away.

Here in Gib life is a lot simpler. We just missed getting on the electoral roll when we first bought the flat, but clearly when the register was updated we were included.

We carefully read through the five lots of information we had received. They were from:

Liberal Democrat - and the Lib Dems included a Gib candidate, Jonathan Stagnetto
Tories
Green Party
UK Independence Party
Katie Hopkins



The Tories and the Lib Dems produced Gib-specific leaflets. The UK Independence Party didn't mention Gibraltar. The Green Party added a sentence that said 'The Green Party supports self-determination for Gibraltar'. Katie Hopkins is apparently 'A west country woman wanting to give a real voice to the Rock'.

Hmm. I looked at the Gibspecific ones. Apparently the fact that Gibraltar's national football team has not achieved UEFA membership is a significant political issue.

I can understand the implications behind that, but I am not going to base my decision on how to vote, on football. In the Tory leaflet, it was the first item, followed by telecommunications, free movement across the border, and MEPs visiting Gib. There was some important information on the back page about the CEPSA refinery. Is football really so important that it deserves to come before free movement of people, health issues, communication, and genuine involvement in the community from politicians?

To all the parties - it would be good to hear more about all the candidates you put up.

To the ones who didn't even mention Gibraltar - you don't get my consideration, let alone my vote.

When we arrived at the polling station, which was amazingly well organised, and very official, we received a ballot paper with 16 choices. Gulp. I only knew about five of them. And I'd immediately dismissed two of those.

I glanced at the first few - British National Party (BNP), Some Christian Praying Fellowship Warm and Friendly Party, and .... the Socialist Labour Party, led by Arthur Scargill. Ah yes, the man who came to fame on the back of the Lofthouse Pit disaster and never looked back. Mr Scargill merits a post in his own right, but this post about an election in Gib will not be about him.

I read down the 16. I walked up to a booth, pulled across the very nice curtain, picked up my pencil and made my choice.

Into the box it went.

As we walked out there was a small but continual stream of people exercising their right to vote for only the second time Gibraltar residents have been eligible to vote in EU elections.

I hope we made a thoughtful and helpful vote. The right to vote is a very important one, however poor the choice of candidates may appear. People have died in the fight for democracy and the right to vote. Many people in the world still do not have that right. They are still struggling to eat and live from day to day. So it annoys the hell out of me when people try and be clever about not voting because they don't agree with any of the politicians who are standing. Neither do I. But if you don't use your vote, one day, you may find you no longer have it.

And last night when I looked at the internet to find the results, it seems the South West and Gibraltar constituency elected three Tories, two UK Independence Party members, and one Lib Dem.

According to the Gibraltar Chronicle, sadly only some 7000 people voted in Gib, out of the 20,000 or so eligible to vote, so at 35%, that was just over a third of the electorate. In contrast, when at the last EU election, the turn-out was nearly 60%, well above the European average.

Gibraltar's voting pattern also reflected the eventual results in the South West and Gibraltar constituency, with the Tories obtaining half the vote. However the rest of our vote differed from the overall results. Here in Gib, the Tories were followed by Labour and Lib Dems at around 18% of the vote each and with a mere 60 votes difference between them.

Of the so-called minor parties, the BNP got 94 votes, and the Christian party got 70. The UK Independence Party only received 100 votes in Gibraltar, and yet two out of the six MEPs for the constituency now come from that party. There were also 185 spoiled ballot papers.

And one other statistic. The electorate of the whole constituency is around four million. That puts Gibraltar's representation at less than 1%. It will be interesting to see how much our new MEPs actually do - or even know - about Gibraltar.

Both the Gib Chronicle and the blog, A Gibo's Tale, here and here have more information on the EU election. Vox also has an interesting article.

The Chron gives the full breakdown of votes.

Geocaching - part 2

So, back at the flat and preparing lunch/tea/a meal. Note to everyone – geocaching is hunger-inducing.

Out of the blue, Partner suddenly says, 'After we've eaten, why don't we go and get that cache you could never find?'

Truth was, I had made plans to do nothing with the rest of the day in a beautifully idle fashion. I thought I had been out, done a bit of walking, got some fresh air, navigated us around, taken photos – what more does a woman need to do?

Partner never offers to go walking on Sunday afternoon/evening. Chance not to be missed. He was obviously determined to find a cache on his first day of geocaching.

We agreed to eat, walk dog, and then climb up the Rock to find the elusive (to me) Devil's Gap cache. And that is what we did.

Just another Gib view


Spring flowers


Traipsing up the track


When we arrived there, we poked around the canons. There were two lads lying on one of them smoking dope. We said 'Hi' and then waited for them to leave.



Partner sat on some cement structure in a martial arts pose. I faffed around with the GPS unit.

We had done our homework and looked at all the photos and read the entries on the geocaching site. We looked at the spot where it was supposed to be hidden. Definitely not there.

I consulted the all-important GPS and suggested Partner look a few feet away. He did. I continued to look in the spot where it was meant to be.

'FOUND IT!!' came the triumphant shout. He proudly displayed the plastic box and we hurried to open it up and look at the treasure trove. We were so excited that I forgot to log in, so technically he was the only one who had found it. He chucked a couple of coins in, and we didn't take anything. Off we skipped down the hill, like two happy kids.

He was right. He had managed to find it.

Partner with treasure


At the weekend we thought we would tackle Sohail Castle in Fuengirola. Not a chance. We couldn't park, you couldn't take dogs, and it was too hot to leave Pippa in the Landy. We did park up not too far away to eat our sarnies, but decided that there were too many people around for one of us to even attempt a cache.

So in the afternoon, after we'd eaten, I decided another hike up to Devil's Gap was called for so I could add my name to the log book. Not a soul around. I took a plastic frog and will put him in Spain somewhere. Oh, and I finally managed to find it without a GPS. After all, not much point taking it when I knew where to look.


The track


Looking down to the Convent


Looking across to Africa

Geocaching - part 1

Well, I have a bit of a confession to make here.

For the last two years, I have cheerfully taken the piss out of people who go geocaching. I had to look up what it was first of course, because I had never heard of it. I mean, why would anyone in their right mind go ferreting about in the undergrowth looking for pots of tacky rubbish masquerading as treasure?

To be specific, I have particularly taken the piss out of one of my internet friends who regularly goes caching. As some readers will know, I even set up a fictional blog to write about his really boring anoraky hobby.

I should give him credit, he's never complained about my endless digs and sarcasm. If he has got fed up - he's never told me. Anyway, this blog is not about him (even if the other one was) it's about ME.

There are a handful of caches here on Gibraltar, so last year - or maybe the year before - I decided to see if I could find them, without using a GPS. After all, one of the reasons I thought it was a very silly hobby, is that it involves buying a consumerist techy gadget. I see no reason why people can't stick to maps and compasses.

So I clambered up the Rock to Devil's Gap. On more than one occasion. In the end I stopped looking for the tat treasure and just enjoyed the walk anyway. I wandered down to Europa Point and couldn't find the treasure there either. Lesson No 1. It is easy enough to get to the location but finding the tat treasure is another matter.

Partner said loftily that he bet he could find the treasure at Devil's Gap - but did he ever come with me? No.

Fast forward somewhat. Partner unexpectedly had the weekend off work and although we initially planned on going back to the finca I thought I would suggest something different. So on Saturday we investigated the - limited - choice of GPS units for sale in Gib. I went back to the computer and looked them all up to decide which would be suitable - and vfm of course.

We then went back to the shop and I prevaricated between two models. Eventually the shop guy said I could take the cheaper one, use it over the weekend and if I wasn't happy, I could go back and upgrade on Monday. Seemed a fair deal to me, so we bought a Garmin GPSmap 60Cx. C for coloured screen and x for memory card - for anyone interested.

Trying out the new kit


There are quite a few caches in nearby Spain, so I took down the details, transferred the co-ordinates to the clever new machine, and Sunday's trip was planned.

After a slight delay at the frontier where the Guarda Civil decided that we looked like a suspicious pair in a scruffy vehicle that clearly was hiding a ton of smuggled cigarettes, and they poked around the Land Rover until they decided they weren't going to find anything, we set off towards Algeciras.

It's a pretty straightforward road but my planned getting-to-know-the-GPS time didn't happen as I was also The Navigator. Given that our Spanish map book seems to have disappeared into the ether, and I didn't know what I was doing with the GPS, all we had to go on were my scribbled-down notes.

Well, they were excellent. The directions, I mean, not my scribbled notes, and we arrived at the gates of Parque Centennial without any problems at all. So next - the treasure hunt.

Entrance to the Parque


Being over-ambitious, we were attempting a multi-cache. This is where you go to different stages to get clues for the final location. Well, I think that's what it is.

The weather was glorious, and after going to the first stage, we just wandered round the park and then explored some ruins.

The first stage, a number of rectangular structures


Looking out across the bay towards Gib


Second World War bunker


Some of the older ruins dating back to the early 1800s


The bay at Getares


The clue to the treasure was that it was hidden under a big stone. Or in Spanish, baja la piedra grande which could also be under the big rock. We aimlessly turned over every stone in sight - there were a lot at the ruins. At this point we hadn't got the final location, so we were grasping at straws, or rather rocks.

I decided we needed to be more systematic and off we went to the second stage to get the final clue. Now, I almost had the final co-ordinates. Eventually I worked out I should have put a zero in front of the last set of numbers. We were set. Or we would be if I could work out how to enter a set of co-ordinates.

The second stage - the tower


So, here we were with our known destination, but I couldn't key it in, so couldn't programme the thing to tell us how to get there. I decided the idiot's way to do this was to keep repeatedly checking our location - I could manage that - and moving a few feet in the relevant direction so that we ended up nearer to the desired spot.

Eventually we got there - but could we find the treasure? Of course not. After half an hour of beating about in the undergrowth, poking into crevices, turning over huge boulders, and generally behaving like all those silly idiots who I had previously mocked mercilessly, we gave up. We don't like giving up, and I was convinced we had the right spot.

Plans for retrieving other caches en route dissolved. To fail once was bad enough, but a second failure would be no fun at all. Tarifa and her beautiful beaches beckoned.

Looking across the beach towards the old port entrance at Tarifa


(More Tarifa pix on Just Landy blog)

Part 2 to follow.....

Apple Sauce?

So, thinking I had run out of domestic appliance disasters and bed hunts to write about - I have a new topic.

My darling expensive all-singing, all-dancing cantankerous Hal is no longer co-operating with me.

Hal, for anyone who doesn't know is my Apple laptop. Technically speaking, he is Hal 2, as Hal (1) is an Apple desktop. Very nice and elegant too, is Hal (1). No horrid towers or awful things like that, just a rather nice looking screen and a keyboard.

Anyway, Hal 2 is a top-of-the-range MacBookPro. With a large screen. Well, he was top-of-the-range when I bought him a couple of years ago. Now he has been outpaced and outremembered, so to speak. He also happens to be the most expensive computer I have ever bought in my life.

I carefully put him to bed on Sunday night, and then fell onto my Thermarest.

On Monday morning, I pressed his little start button. Nothing. I pressed it a couple of times for quite a while. Still nothing. Partner impatiently interfered, and generating all his static electricity that he is always charged with, managed to get a noise out of Hal. Whirr, he went pathetically. And then stopped. (Hal, I mean, not Partner). The black screen glared at us.

His sleep light was on. His sleep light should not be on when he is shut down. Nor should it be on when he is meant to be waking up. Perhaps he is like me and needs all the sleep he can get.

Partner went off to work. His last words were: 'Go and buy a new computer - there will be somewhere open today (Bank Hol), there always is.'

With him out of the way, I carefully took out the install disk, inserted it, and followed all the minimal instructions in the book. Of course, without the computer working, one can't get onto the internet to get useful info.

When I pressed varying combinations of the On key plus, a few others, I heard a second lively whirr. The one where Hal usually springs into life. Nope. He faded again. I turned him off, and he emitted a plaintive whimper. I couldn't get the install disk out either.

I went out to buy a new computer.

Now, while I am not the techiest person in the world, I am pretty fast on computers. I Can. Not. Bear. a slow computer. Or something that hangs and crashes. I have no patience with anything that wastes my time in the world of computers.

I looked in the shop and asked about specifications. I basically wanted an inexpensive model, that looked ok, with as much processor power and memory as possible. I didn't need anything fancy. I already have one of those and he is in big-time sulk mode.

I settled on a dual core HP with 3GB of RAM. It's actually a slightly higher spec than Hal. And to be fair, it does seem fast. Even I can't moan. At least I'm not hitting the keys and waiting five minutes for them to appear on screen.

HP - the sauce?


So I'm relearning Windows. Which seems remarkably like Apple but not as sophisticated. Hal has been despatched to the AppleDoc with no idea of how much he will cost or how long it will take.

More on Clouds.

Pillows

In my indefatigable quest to continue to write about all things domestic, I have turned today to pillows. (Credit for this inspiration goes to another blogging pal - thanks Letty).

Pillows, of course are linked with beds. But fortunately you do not need a bed to buy pillows. The research, drama - and of course, cost - are not as high with pillows as with beds.

Now, in my bed investigations, I discovered that if you are willing to fork out £1500-£2000 for a Tempur latex mattress (well, half latex, the rest is polyurethane), you get free pillows. One each in fact, if you buy a double mattress.

These pillows cost more than £100 each. Yes, that's right. More than £100 for a pillow. Actually at one point, I used not to use pillows. However I digress. Now I use two, more when I am terribly ill and coughing my guts up all night.

Clearly, two free pillows, are worth more than £200 - so that is a significant 'saving'. Isn't it? Well, it's only a saving if you are going to buy the pillows anyway. And I'm sure the cost of the 'free' pillows has been factored into the cost of the mattresses. I wonder if you can have two hundred quid knocked off the price of the mattress if you don't want the pillows?

Now, for anyone who doesn't know, pillows seem to deteriorate rather quickly in warm humid climates. I have no idea how long latex ones last and I have no intention of paying more than £100 for a pillow to find out.

I have bought various synthetic ones in Spain that were OK but not brill. However the other week, I decided to splash out the princely sum of £15.95 on a (washable) microfibre pillow that 'feels like down.' And - indeed it does. I only bought one of course, for me to try, no point wasting my money on one each if they are rubbish. But it isn't rubbish. It is incredibly comfy, and my little head just sinks into it.



I graciously asked Partner if he wanted one too. He sulkily said he thought he might. I went to another shop I had found that was selling the same pillows for £14.90. Always best to save a quid or two where possible.

It was not there. I began to think I had imagined this shop. I wandered up and down the street where I thought it was about three times. Finally - there it was - the door was open and the loveable pillows were inside. It turned out the shop shut for lunch. For two and a half hours.

There was only one pillow on display, but the helpful woman dragged out her stepladder and climbed up to get me another one from the top shelf. I, of course, need two of these delectable pillows so one was for Partner and the other was so that I could have two delicious pillows.

I parted with my money and happily traipsed home with my 'feels like down' pillows.

I generously allowed Partner to have his and I nestled down with two of them.

A couple of days later, I pointed out to him that the idea of having a delicious soft 'feels like down' pillow is to actually have that one on top. He promptly swapped his pillows round and said, in tones of rapture, how wonderful the new pillow was.

Yes dear. Men are so quaint aren't they? I buy you a wonderful soft new pillow and it takes you a couple of days to put it on top. Ha!

Fridge freezers (and a bed update)

Readers of what is rapidly turning into the domestic appliance and bed hunt blog will no doubt be on tenterhooks to hear the latest installment in the saga.

This is about the freezer part of the fridge freezer. Naturally like virtually everything else in the flat it comes from my mother's house so is of a certain age.

I think it was acquired when I was an undergraduate, so that places it well over 20 years old. Ironically the first one we bought - same brand, Electrolux - didn't last ten years.

One rare day, I was busy cleaning ( I think) behind this first fridge freezer of ours and noticed a gaping hole in the back. Part of the metal had just rotted away. Off we trotted to buy a new one. It was an AEG. Not long after we had that - the door seal went. Fortunately, and to my utter surprise, it was still under warranty so we received a shiny new door at no cost. When we sold our last house in the UK, we left that fridge behind, we'd probably only had it five years. We left it because the guy who was buying our house was being persuaded to leave his fridge behind for the purchaser of his flat etc etc. So hell, what's a fridge in a house sale?

Naturally when we bought our house in Spain, a fridge was a priority. It packed up last year - probably due to one of the many power cuts as it wasn't on a surge protector. It had lasted around six years. Although an AEG, the spec wasn't a patch on the one we had in the UK, and it had a pesky plastic water collector at the back that I kept forgetting to empty all the time.

So then we bought a nice new one from the electrical appliances shop down the road that sells seconds. It had a couple of scuff marks on the outside and cost around 260€. It looks very nice and seems perfectly functional. We also splashed out on a surge protector for it (and every other appliance in the house).

Back to the 20+year-old fridge freezer in the flat. Some time ago we noticed that one of the bread rolls was soggy, thought no more about it, except that maybe something had got knocked over when put in before frozen - soup or whatever.

More recently, one of the rolls taken out of the freezer was rock hard. Not frozen - merely stale. How odd we thought, not being the brightest of new pennies.

At the same time, the few items sitting in the freezer (usually a box of burgers and some mince - all vegetarian) seemed to defrost remarkably quickly. In fact they had very little ice, if any, on them and were quite soft.

We decided it was not working at maximum efficiency and I should really defrost it. That huge chunk of ice that forms at the front of the freezer was clearly impeding the door sealing properly. I had this problem with the previous freezer in Spain, and was amazingly efficient at defrosting that one.

So I carefully defrosted the freezer and washed it out. It looked rather nice and I did think perhaps I should have done this before. Eventually I turned it on. Some hours later - nothing. It was cold, but there was no ice forming. Just droplets of water. Perhaps it was taking its time we thought, and left it overnight. I even filled the ice cube container, just to check.



The next morning, still nothing. I was getting rather disappointed here as I was convinced the only reason it wasn't working properly was because it needed defrosting.

Eventually I bit the bullet and turned it off. A new fridge freezer was called for. I looked at those exceedingly flash American-style fridge freezers and worked out it would fit neatly-ish into an alcove in the yet-to-be transformed kitchen.

But I also thought the freezer area was too big for our modest requirements and that it would be far too expensive. We decided cheap and cheerful would win the day on this one.

I tripped off down the street to an electrical appliance shop and looked at fridge freezers. Prices ranged from around £330 to £550. That seemed rather dear compared with our good value second bought in Spain.

I learned that the ones with the little freezer compartments on top (which I rather like) have only one motor. The so-called combi fridge freezers have separate motors.

"What's the advantage of that?" I asked.

Woman in shop clearly thought I was particularly thick (you may also think that after reading how long it took us to work out the freezer was not working), and explained:

"Well, if one motor stops working, you can still use the other part."

"That's exactly what's happened to me, but I'm still having to buy a new one," I said tartly.

I said I would take Partner up there to make the final decision. When I got back home we discussed it. After all, we hardly use the freezer and the fridge is working - so we don't really need a new one that urgently - do we? And they weren't exactly cheap.

We decided the bed hunt would revert to top priority.

"Have you looked up the environmental impact of these latex beds?" asked Partner loftily.

I looked it up and read out some horrific stories of people being affected by disgusting chemicals. I have an annoyingly acute sense of smell and am prone to feeling nauseous even thinking about nasty chemicals. This is the woman who made herself ill by sniffing a few containers of floor cleaner in the supermarket trying to determine which smell I preferred. Partner has sensitive skin, no biological washing powder for him, and is sensitive to a number of obnoxious substances. The Tempur latex bed rapidly fell off the list.

The Thermarests on the floor are really quite comfy when they are blown up regularly. There is just no point rushing these shopping decisions I find.

Beds

Beds, huh. Tried buying one recently?

It seems that the days of well-sprung mattresses have died and one has to factor latex into the hunt.

Latex? I thought that was for gloves that we wear when fixing the Land Rover. And of course, for products made by the London Rubber Company.

It may well be, but it seems it is also a prime component of the latest shiniest mattresses.

Sprung mattresses, my dears, are a thing of the past.

Then of course there are frames, divans, headboards - my head was reeling.

I needed a bed to lie down.

Now, it has to be said, I am a woman who loves her bed. I might happen to have been sleeping on the floor for the past couple of years, but that is only because I have not found the perfect bed.

What I do not want is cheap tat. What I do not want is to walk into a 'shop' to have to look through a catalogue, be told that the cheapest possible bed and mattress is very good, and that I can't even see it before parting with Partner's hard-earned dough. Oh. No.

I do not want to be shown a picture of a metal bed that bears a very uncanny resemblance to the one I spent some time in aged six when I was in hospital for weeks after I had my appendix out. If it looks like a hospital bed in a catalogue, it is bound to look like a hospital bed in real life and I do not want it in my flat, regardless of whether it is very good value for money.

Nor do I want to have a lecture about how the most important thing about my bed is buying fine linen so that it looks expensive. I am not trying to sell either a bed or a flat. It is for sleeping in and the most important thing is that it is comfortable for me to sleep in, or on, or whatever. (Note to saleswoman - I actually do have some rather tasteful bed linen - my bedspread alone cost more than the bed you were trying to sell me).

So, worn out with all that, and after a not too bad night's sleep on the sofa, I wandered off to different furniture suppliers who actually had things in stock. I sat on mattresses. Loads of them. I wasn't quite at the lying down stage. I bounced around on a few relics from the past - mattresses with springs. I sunk into some top-of-the range latex jobs.

I wrinkled my nose at divans. I worried about cleaning underneath them because I wouldn't be able to get the mop or sweeping brush under there. Cleaning may not be one of my favourite past-times but I do like the option of being able to do it. I envisaged a whole pile of Pippa fur gravitating to an unreachable spot far under a divan.

I looked at nice simple frames. I looked at frames with headboards and footboards. I looked at separate headboards. I looked at wood, MDF, and metal. And PU mixes - described as faux leather in the cheap shop the previous day. Why is it that people selling cheaper products are more pretentious?

I really don't care if catalogue purchasing cuts the price by loads of quids. If I am spending half my day or rather, all night, lying on something, I want to know a) what the hell it is going to feel like and b) what it is going to look like.

But this time I had a choice. I could see what I would be buying. I could buy expensive, I could buy cheap, or I could buy somewhere in the middle. I learned about mattresses, which frames were stronger, which frames were solid wood and which were MDF, and how to move beds around (for cleaning, obviously). I did forget to ask which mattresses would be good for sex.

Next step - drag Partner there one day after work and make The Decision.

The dog may be disappointed though......

The Kenwood Chef

At the weekend I broke the Kenwood Chef.

I didn't blow up the motor or anything crucial like that, just managed to destroy a couple of essential plastic bits.

This is yet another of my mother's antiquated but functioning appliances. I am beginning to think these ancient appliances are in far better nick than I am.

Some time ago, I fished it out of its large plastic box where it had sat in storage for some time and decided to use it. The two plastic rings had perished.

As everyone knows, Kenwood Chefs have a plastic ring thing in the bottom, and one in the lid. If you forget to put the one in the bottom - your soup or whatever sprays all over the kitchen.

I rushed down to The Red House in Main Street (note to anyone interested - now closed). Yes, they had a ring for the bottom. No, they had never heard of a ring for the top. I looked at them perplexed. They clearly didn't believe me.

Anyway, the bottom ring was the essential one, so duly bought, I fitted it in, and whizzed up whatever it was, holding tightly onto the lid. Note - although impossible to manage without bottom ring, the top one is not critical.

We'd bought some spares a few years ago in the UK, so on the next trip back to the finca, I brought back the top seal. I considered taking it into The Red House to prove a point, but it seemed like too much effort.

Yesterday I was whizzing up celery soup, all seals in place of course. Zzzzzzzzzzz went the blender. And didn't blend.

I turned it up as you do when things aren't working. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ, it went in an even more angry tone. I turned it off.

I took the blender off the top of the base. I had broken the plastic connector on the bottom of the blender and the plastic connector on the top of the base.


Broken plastic bit from bottom of blender and lid complete with seal


'Those two screws on the base were loose ages ago,' said Partner, rather unhelpfully, in my opinion.

Had either of us screwed them up? Of course not.

Result - one broken Chef. Now to source the bits and find out the damage.

If anyone is interested - I blended the soup using the batidora (don't know what it is called in English).

Photologue

Three euros for a huge piece of potato and onion tortilla, some bread, and a large glass of red wine. (Algeciras bus station)





It's good to live with a professional decorator, even if spending his spare time painting the flat isn't his idea of fun.



Spring flowers.





HMS Argyll, in Gib over the Easter weekend for some minor repairs.





More about HMS Argyll here, courtesy of Gibfocus.

Garrison Library, Gibraltar

Every Friday there is a tour of the Garrison Library, which is a historic research library here in the centre of Gibraltar. In fact it is only about five minutes walk from my home, but I have never organised myself to turn up at the appointed time.

However, the other Friday, I rang up to see if a tour would be taking place, and wandered up the street to the library.

Slightly set back from the leafy street somewhat, there is a side coach entrance that leads into the garden, or a rather formal front entrance. I was greeted by the honorary librarian, Lorna Swift, who ushered me through to the library to meet the other tour member. Oh. A very select tour.

We sat on the chairs and sofas in the downstairs library as Lorna gave us a brief summary of the history of the library.


The far end of the downstairs library.


It was founded in 1793, and it was such a popular move that various officers in Gibraltar immediately donated books, so that there were immediately nearly 500 books available. In addition, the committee had also written to England for another 670 books.

The success of the library meant that it quickly became necessary to look for new premises and the committee recommended building a new library. Work started in 1800, and the building, designed by Captain William Fryers, of the Royal Engineers, was completed in 1804.

Captain Fryers.


Main staircase.


Detail of the staircase.


Potential members had to be approved.


Canon, believed to have been used by Drake off Cadiz.


The Upper Reading Room c 1860.


Telescope in the Upper Reading Room.


Closely linked with the history of the library is the history of the Gibraltar Chronicle. A printing press was shipped out from England and the first edition was published in May 1801. The paper had a worldwide scoop with its story of the victory of the battle of Trafalgar and the death of Nelson, and a copy of this story is on display. The library houses issues of the Chronicle dating back to the first publication.

Copy of the Chronicle announcing the victory at the Battle of Trafalgar - in French and English - in 1805.


The price of newspapers was an expensive item in the library's budget, so the sand glass was used to determine how long members had to read The Times and other newspapers.


Old copies of The Times.


The outside of the library building, the rear patio, which - like the interior - is available for social functions.

Lorna chatting to one of the tour group (he turned up partway through to augment our numbers to three).


Spiral staircase on the rear patio.


Plant flowering in a shady part of the patio.


Abundant orange trees.


The library, from Town Range, at the beginning of the 20th century.


If you are in Gib on a Friday morning, the library is well worth a tour. The tour is free but donations are appreciated.

Photographs with kind permission of the Trustees of the Garrison Library.

library website here

Beans

When stuck for what to eat, beans are always a good choice.

Chilli red beans with rice, and salad.

Refried red beans with flour tortillas, green salad and guacamole.

Sweet and sour red beans with rice - well usually just sour for our taste - and some raw pickle.

Last night we had sour red beans, ie beans with chillis and vinegar - only had balsamic vinegar in the cupboard, but it worked well as it added a slightly sweet flavour without tasting sugary. Couldn't resist chucking in a few more spices though, so it ended up being hot, spicy and sour beans - with rice.

There was a little rice left and a few beans - just right for my lunch today. Except they had been stolen for someone else's breakfast when I was snoozing away.

Top tip (2) - tumble dryers

One of the few downsides of having a large furry dog is that there are large furry piles of dog hair all over the flat.

Living in a warm climate seems to result in a year-round moult. Even when he gets groomed regularly. Well, as regularly as he tolerates.

The throws on his sofa get washed regularly. But inevitably I can't shake all the fur off, so some hairs end up in the washing machine, and then, some end up in the tumble dryer which produces the pleasant aroma of burning dog fur.

Winters may be warm - but they are also wet, and we don't have anywhere undercover to dry the washing, so the 30-year-old tumble dryer from my mother's house has come in surprisingly useful.



It was tumbling away merrily and pumping out the usual slightly acrid smell.

"What's that burning smell?" asked Partner, doing the usual interfering routine.

"It always smells like that. It's dog fur."

Mr Interfering was having none of it.

"It's burning, go and check it," he ordered, despite being nearer than me to the tumbly.

I walked in and smoke was pouring out of the front of the tumble dryer.

I opened the door in horror to stop it and ran out in case it went bang.

It didn't.

Mr Interfering amazingly restrained himself from a smug comment and merely said:

"We need a new one. That can go out tonight."

Some time later he had a flash of inspiration and went to investigate the tumbly.

He came out with a filter thing, rather clogged up with two years worth of dog fur and goodness knows how many years of dust.

If my mother had ever cleaned out the filter I am sure she forgot as she grew older.

"Turn it on again," he ordered.

Why is it always me that has to deal with the dubious electrickery?

I turned it on.

No smoke. Still the left-over burning smell. I agreed to check it out the next day with some proper wet washing.

I did. It worked.

So - when your 30-year-old tumble dryer starts smoking - check out the filter. It could save you forking out for a new tumble dryer. Or maybe I am the only person who didn't even know that tumblies had filters.

Commonwealth Day 2009

Today is Commonwealth Day. In fact this year the Commonwealth celebrates its Diamond Jubilee.

The Commonwealth was established in April in 1949 under the Declaration of London when the heads of state of the UK, Australia, Ceylon, (Sri Lanka) India, New Zealand, Pakistan, and South Africa, and the Canadian secretary of state for foreign affairs reached agreement on the new constitution.

Although the history of the Commonwealth goes back much further, this date marked the beginnings of the modern commonwealth as we know it today, rather than the previous colonial relationship which had emerged from the British Empire.

The meeting in London was triggered by India's desire to adopt a republican form of constitution while still retaining Commonwealth links. The countries concerned agreed that the monarch (King George VI) would be recognised as head of the Commonwealth, and that it was 'a free association .... of independent nations.'

At the same time India removed King George VI as head of state in keeping with its republican aspirations.

After the agreement, the Commonwealth expanded rapidly. Many new nations dropped their colonial status and gained independence, but chose to retain their historic links by joining the Commonwealth. Today the Commonwealth comprises 53 independent states, plus the British Overseas Territories such as Gibraltar.

The head of the Commonwealth is Queen Elizabeth II, who became head when her father died, and she will be attending a special service at Westminster Abbey today.

With nearly two billion people living in the Commonwealth and half of them aged under 25, the theme for this year's message is 'serving a new generation.'



Here in Gibraltar we celebrate with a Bank Holiday, and Chief Minister Peter Caruana has issued his traditional message in keeping with that theme, emphasising the importance of investing in young people for the future of Gibraltar.

Sources: Gibfocus, BBC News, and the Commonwealth web site - which is an excellent source of information here.

Royal Marines exercise their Freedom of the City

Of all the nice wintery days we have here in Gibraltar, it chose to bucket down on the day the Royal Marines marched up Main Street.

Band of the Royal Marines (Scotland)


Royal Marines from Alpha Company, 40 Commando


Veterans from the Royal Marines Association


Given this was the first time since being granted the Freedom of the City that they had exercised it, the weather put a real damper on things.

However it didn't stop people turning out to see them as they rapidly marched from Casemates. They then went to the Convent for a public reception held by the Governor of Gibraltar, Lieutenant General Sir Robert Fulton KBE, who is a Royal Marine.

Guests arriving for the reception at the Convent


The unveiling of the monument at Ocean Village was postponed until the following day - fortunately with much better weather.

The monument with the Royal Marines badge, and the inscription below records the important role of the marines in Gibraltar's history


A close-up of the Royal Marines badge on the monument


Following their visit to Gibraltar the Royal Marines left for the Mediterranean on RFA Mounts Bay to take part in Taurus 09 - a routine deployment of the Royal Navy's Amphibious Task Group.

RFA Mounts Bay


Also moored at The Tower, HMS Blyth, a Sandown class minesweeper, with presumably HMS Ramsey behind. The two ships left Bahrain - after more than two years operational activity - at the end of January for the journey back to Faslane, Scotland.

HMS Blyth


And apart from the weather - there was another less than glorious moment. On the Sunday night, a police officer arrested a Royal Marine for being drunk and disorderly. However the RM then assaulted the police officer, grabbed the officer's baton, and caused injuries to the officer's face and torso.

A taxi driver intervened and the RM was eventually handcuffed when another police officer came to help.

The RM was charge with assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest, and disorderly conduct in a police station. He pleaded guilty to all the charges and was sentenced to one month's imprisonment.

A shameful ending to a weekend of ceremonial events intended to commemorate the close relationship between the Royal Marines and Gibraltar.

Passport numbers - tip for ex-pats

A helpful tip to anyone buying property or contracting services in Spain - eg electricity or telephone - do NOT under any circumstances lose your old passport number.

For example, if you wish to contract Telefonica's ADSL service, ie pay more money over to the company, you will not need to give out a passport number.

However, if you wish to cancel that same service, you WILL need to provide a passport number.

And if you have changed passports in the meantime, you will need to provide the passport number that you originally gave to contract the telephone line in the first place.

Bureaucracy eh? Why am I not surprised that you do not need to provide anything to pay even more money over and yet do need to provide something to cancel a service..........

Much more about this one on Clouds. This is the helpful post - the other is the rant post.

Ocean Village and the Royal Marines

Instead of the usual wander to Rosia and Europa I headed off in the opposition direction to Marina Bay. More commonly called Ocean Village these days with the new investment and development that has sprung up since the original marina was developed.

And it has to be said, since Partner had forgotten to buy bread/there was no bread (choose whichever you think appropriate) in Morrison's, this was also a helpful factor in deciding on the route which co-incidentally went via Morries.

Here are some photos of Ocean Village.

Entrance to the marina


Down the walkway


....Boats...


New casino


One of the (many) new wooden bar/restaurants


And this weekend, the Royal Marines will be visiting Gibraltar to unveil a monument at Ocean Village dedicated to their role in Gibraltar's history.

The Royal Marines' involvement with Gibraltar dates back to 1704 when the English took Gibraltar from the Spanish. (NB to whoever is in charge of the Royal Marines website, I think you should do a history check - the Treaty of Union was 1707, some three years after the storming of Gibraltar, so the reference to the British taking Gibraltar is inaccurate).



The Capture of Gibraltar on 24 July 1704 is one of the Corps' Memorable Dates, as is the Battle of Trafalgar on 21 October 1805.

Although the RM do not carry individual battle honours, their badge does carry the word 'Gibraltar' referring to their role in the first Spanish siege of the Rock, which was also in 1704, shortly after the Spanish had been defeated.



So it is hardly surprising that Gibraltar feels a special affinity for the role of the RM in the Rock's history and in 1996 they were granted the freedom of Gibraltar.

The new monument will be unveiled and dedicated on Saturday morning, followed by a parade in Casemates Square, inspected by the Commandant General Royal Marines, Major General Garry Robison, and the parade will then march up Main Street ending at the Convent.


Sources: Gibfocus, MOD, The Royal Marines, and Wiki.

A long weekend

All the tough macho builders on the firm stamped their tough macho feet and insisted they would not work on Saturday because it was Valentine's Day. Awwww. Bless.

Not only that, but Partner finished early on Friday and announced he was taking Monday too as he was owed some lieu time. We decided to spend the weekend at the finca.

But on Saturday morning, it did not seem like an auspicious start.

The weather was cloudy and gloomy.

I woke up fretting about the smashed window and wondered whether it would shatter on the journey.

Partner mentioned that he had thought about boarding it up because he was worried about the Guardia Civil not letting us through the border. They have been known to turn people back with a cracked number plate so badly cracked glass could be a real loser depending on the officer and the day.

He went down to sort that out. The worst that could happen was that we would get turned round.

We packed up and he took the dog down. I did all the last-minute checks. I read a shitty email from someone which didn't exactly help. When I got there he was fiddling about with the passenger door. The lock was playing up.

I began to think we were destined not to go. He sorted it. We set off and flew through the border.

As we travelled up the coast, the sun came out.

We arrived at the finca which looked really pretty with the winter jasmine coming into bloom and the margueritey type things in flower.

I checked the post. No bill from the electricity company as usual. I groaned. Another half day in the nearby town to sit around waiting to get a print out of the bill would be called for. I plugged in my router from Gib to see if it worked. It did - apart from the fact that it wouldn't connect to the internet. By which I mean, it came on, the ethernet connection worked, the ADSL was working but could I hell reach the internet.

I cooked tea and went to bed frustrated.

On Sunday we had agreed to go cycling. This was A Big Event because I hadn't been back on the bike since the Cat-Chasing Monster pulled me over two years ago and I damaged my arm/wrist/fingers. My grip was non-existent for ages and I couldn't have changed gear or pull on the brakes to save my life (literally).

But it although it was sunny, it was also cold. We agreed to take the Cat-Chasing Monster for a walk down the beach instead.

Snow on our local peak


Cocks of the roost


By the time we got back the sun had warmed everything up and there was no wind. It was now - or who knew when.

I put on posh cycling gear complete with padded arse, on the principle that even if I couldn't do the part I could at least look it.

Off we went, both wobbling down the street. No traffic at the crossroads fortunately as I wasn't up to indicating. Shot round onto the old railroad track and bounced up and down.

"I've forgotten how to change gear," I called.

"Just try and you'll work it out."

I did. The chainwheel came off.

We had an argument and put the chainwheel back.

"Don't get ahead of me," I said.

"OK," he replied. And shot off, but waited for me at the bridge. At this point, I had managed to get enough balance to start indicating with left arm, and assertively moving into middle of road. Feeling good.

We followed a couple of very brown cyclists (from the nudist camp site at a guess) down the no-entry side road - de rigeur in Spain for cyclists.

"We'll go to Trini's," I called to Partner.

"OK."

He shot off again. He shot past Trini's and into the distance. Where the hell was he going?

The veg shop that doesn't open on Sundays? One of the bars? (not going in the direction of the one we had planned on going to). Down the promenade past the sailing club? Who knew.

I went wearily went down to the bar. Not there. I went back to Trini's wondering if it had finally computed where we were meeting. Nope. Back to the bar - and then I saw him in front of me. I whistled a couple of times but he was clearly deaf to the world.

When I got to the roundabout he had disappeared again. Damn. I cycled down to the promenade to see if I could spot him. Pring pring went my phone. I pulled in and took it out of my back pocket (not being clever enough to continue cycling and carry out such a complicated manoeuvre).

It stopped ringing. I rang him back. No answer. I clicked the phone shut. Two missed calls. He'd rung me from each of his phones. I rang the second one. We finally made contact.

I looked round - couldn't say anyone walking past with 'British' tattoed on their forehead that I might offend. I felt free to say what I thought.

"YOU STUPID FUCKING GIT!" I shouted. "I'll see you at the bar. NOW."

I shut the phone quickly as the excitement of so much activity was sure to deplete the battery. Sure enough, it started beeping, and the bateria baja sign came up.

We met at the bar and went off immediately to the correct veg shop, and then back to the bar to catch up on the latest gossip news. We spent a pleasant hour or so sitting in the sun and cycled happily back.

Stopping on the bridge - river in full flow due to the mountain snow


Cheerful cyclist


First outing in so long had gone well. I had that great rush that you get from exercise and didn't feel particularly whacked. We sat on the terrace in the sun while I prepared lunch. After a siesta we had artichoke salad. I had used all the food up, and we had an early night.

In the morning, we packed up, tidied round, I pruned some of the overgrowing plants, showered - and locked up. Just before we left, the postie arrived with the missing electricity bill. A good end to the weekend. We had a super drive back and felt really chilled out after the break.