Nerd Allert

My mum called me a nerd. Literally, in English: a NERD. Whatever next?! We were talking on the phone yesterday –chipping in for some CEO’s trip to the Bahamas– about how a big chunk of my social life is virtual these days. I move around a lot. Making friends takes time. So, as a result, i’ve come to depend more and more on my online network. It works out well for me: i’m part of several discussion groups, online communities and language exchanges. I tutor English, review books and have a gig as agony aunt. I enjoy it. But combine this with a home based profession and the result is that i often don’t make it out of the house until 6pm. And this is September, a glorious month in this part of the world, and i live right next to the sea.

You have to do something about this, my mother said, because you’re fast becoming a nerd. Wha..?! I managed, before collapsing into a fit of giggles. Well, like that Nokia commercial, she said (i know, yet another Nokia plug. How do i get paid for this?). You know the one where herds of pale, sun deprived, white socked nerds finally make it out of their houses thanks to the N80 WiFi?

I had to admit she had a point. Early this morning, i went for my first walk along the shore, feet in the water. It was the best antidote to white socks i could think of…

Snap!

Have you ever wondered about ending up in other people’s holiday snaps? Because you do, inevitably, especially in tourist spots. I was roaming around the Boqueria yesterday, in search of a late lunch –4.30pm still counting as lunchtime in these parts. People snapping away left, right and centre, and you have to figure you’re an extra in at least half a dozen holiday makers’ shots. So you end up between the sticky pages of someone else’s album, being passed around the coffee table along with a plate of biscuits and the milk. Or, more likely and even worse, on a desktop as part of a screensaver slide show. And who’s that? Someone might ask. Oh, no one, the reply would be. But wait till you see the size of the lobsters!

My Grandfather’s Thighs

Yesterday, I couldn’t help but think of my grandfather’s thighs. I was walking along the shore when a jogger passed me, wearing a pair of significantly shorter shorts than he usually wears. Not that I’d ever seen the man before, but the stretch of skin from his knees to the edge of his black shorts was startlingly white compared to the beach bronzed rest of him. Just like my grandfather’s thighs used to be…

He and my grandmother lived in the South of Portugal, and he was never out of his khaki shorts. Except when he went for a swim. On those rare occasions, he’d come out of the house wearing 70s patterned swimming trunks in different shades of green –in all those years, I never saw him in other trunks. His body was as dark as a local, his stomach generous, his legs skinny and, from the knee up to the waist, the palest milky white. I can still picture him standing at the edge of the pool. He’d wet his chest –ostensibly to ward off a heart attack, but also to make me laugh. It was our inside joke– and swim without moving his legs, letting his arms do all the work. And I used to watch, fascinated by how fluorescent his legs looked underwater.

Climax

I’m out on my trusted balcony and someone downstairs is trying his mightiest to wriggle his car into a micro mini spot. The final bars of ‘Nessun Dorma’ come floating out of his open window and I have goosebumps as I watch –that tune gets me every time…

Then another car comes screeching down the road, blasting ‘Volare’ and singing along at full volume. Talk about an anti climax…

Kamikaze Convention

It’s dusk and giant flocks of birds –my knowledge of fauna’s not the best, as you know, so if you’re hoping to find out exactly what kind of birds, I can’t help you– keep swooping down into the mini forest across the road. Out for a night time stroll and some conversation like the rest of the Spanish population. The way in which they’re swooping, though, is what’s making me write this down. They make like they’re circumnavigating the forest, then suddenly change direction and dive straight down into the trees like a bunch of bungee jumpers minus the rope. And afterwards, they sit around chatting up a storm. I can just imagine: did you see that dive, mate? Sheer brilliance, I tell you…