The rain in Spain...

... could be wrung out of my clothes while I was wearing them today. I have been careful not to flaunt the so-far hot and sunny weather on here knowing that it was pants back in the UK, but unfortunately #1 daughter, who flew out to join us last night with her boyfriend, had no such scruples, messaging and facebooking all and sundry to gloat about leaving the rain behind just before stepping on the plane. Karma of course has decreed that she bring the weather with her. As I'd ordered a hire car for her I was looking forward to getting out a bit more (it's becoming mean to expect her younger siblings to heave me up the hill daily in the quest for the strawberry and lime cider I've quickly become addicted to), so today we all squeezed into the car, along with wheelchair and crutches, to take a look at the open-air market in Mahon. The town was packed with people, and I soon tired of being bumped along the cobbled streets, so we decided to stop for a cuppa. At this point the heavens opened, thunder crashed around us, and the steep hill down to the port rapidly turned into a waterfall. A few sensible locals had umbrellas, one resourceful lady worryingly had a clear plastic bag completely over her head and face, but most were scuttling for shelter in plastic flipflops and shorts. By the time we got back to the car I was soaked to the skin, and sitting in a puddle in the chair. My hair, being fine and naturally kinky, some say like its owner, does not cope well with humidity, so after sitting quietly steaming over a bar lunch I am now sporting a wild ginger afro. No SPs today...

Me veo como una rata ahogada con un afro jengibre


Musical interlude here.