Mother checks the beach safety regulations

A small part of me had been starting to believe the adventures with Mother had ceased. Apparently not, however, as a brief afternoon beach stroll nearly ended in a Baywatch scene.

Realising we hadn't eaten all day we walked to a beach bar (serving Spanish food... and therefore a mistake in itself). Yes, of course, Mother caused a little fuss; showing her strong distaste to... well, everything actually. I will say now that it may appear from past blog posts that we are dining all the time. This is not actually the case; the small compensatory factor of Spanish eateries is that you can order very little and not waste money. Although this can also be extremely frustrating when you're ravenous and your waiter brings you a tiny fish draped over an olive.

Already being a little tetchy with an empty stomach at 3pm, Mother became very disturbed by the bratty Barbie beside us - and her useless parents. Obviously Mother took it upon herself to reprimand the child her own way (facial contortions and growling in close proximity). Almost an hour after ordering our food, Mother summons one of the flustered waiters and taps her invisible watch; "forever! Waiting forever!" and gestures spinning clock hands. I shan't even begin writing about the disappointment of food that then arrived.

Walking back along the beach we come across a lone man of around 60 laying face down in the shoreline. The rest of the beach is simply stepping around him but not Mother. "Oh my GOD! Is he dead?!" I tried to assure her he was fine, probably taking an afternoon nap. Mother was not convinced. She decided she would take this opportunity to judge the ability of the lifeguards. I am still unsure whether this was for general safety checks or simply an excuse to be closer to the young and fit Spanish boys.

The latter, it appears.

As Mother approaches the lifeguards, she swiftly deters them away from the four teenage girls surrounding them. Not even attempting to speak Spanish, Mother frantically points to the poor man on the shoreline. He follows her gaze and all of a sudden, at literal speed of light, the lifeguard turns into a superhero and grabs his first aid kit and whistle, runs AS FAST AS I HAVE EVER SEEN towards the 'scene'. The second lifeguard has now climbed down from the top of the lifeguard tower and is powering along the beach. He's blowing his whistle to attract the attention of the lifeguards at the other end of the beach, shouting at the bathers to give some space. The entire beach is up on their feet, staring at the exciting drama they´re expecting to unfold. However, as the lifeguards approach the man, we see him lift his head from the ground, highly confused. A few moments later, the two lifeguards retreat and are walking back towards us. The beach has returned to their business. Everyone a little deflated, including Mother.

"He was only ah-sleeping"

Another disruption caused and we await the next.

xoxo
Charlotte-Elizabeth

Mini-video from London :) a few clips xoxo

Being a civilized citizen. Not Mother's strong point.

Mother's incapability to behave as a sane member of society has returned. I shall take a trip down memory lane for those of you who are new to this story. I don't believe it's a popular one.

Several summers ago (I must have been about ten), Mother is trailing through Marks & Spencers with me in her fabulous sarong (bought from our then-recent holiday to Hawaii) and a skimpy vest. As we are on the escalators, Mother's sarong gets caught in  between the mechanisms. This is HIGHLY unfortunate. All of a sudden Mother's sarong is whipped off, exposing a scantily-clad parent perched on the escalators of M&S, shrieking at me in a raging attempt to get me to rescue her delicate sarong from the stairs that are about to guzzle it. There is zero concern about Mothers state (knickers and vest in the middle of a busy store). Obviously, the security guards hear Mother's panic and run to assistance... with towels and blankets to resurrect her dignity. Mother did not want this and began shoving these two men away; "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! SAVE MY SARONG! SAVE MY SARONG! QUICK! IT'S FROM HAWAII!"
 - Do any of you remember the magazine 'Mizz'??? Pre-teen mag? Well, as it happens, I sent this story into the 'embarrassing stories' column and it was published! Entitled; 'It's all gone sarong'... I found this highly amusing. Mother was mortified.

So, back to 2014. We seem to have had a similar situation. I should mention that similar mishaps have occured before, I have simply been lucky enough to not be present. Not quite such luck last week though.

Waltzing into the DIY store (yawn) and Mother is in her element. A few minutes later and Mother emerges from the ladies room...

A few paces into the store and a heavily embarrassed woman has hobbled up behind us. For some reason she has crouched down to an uncomfortable level and is prodding at Mother's skirt. Oh.

"Uhhmm, sorry... I just... Umm.. You seem to have... your skirt is... sort of... I think you may have accidentally... Just... Can I just... Let me... Ummmm..... sorry..."

Absolutely marvelous. Mother has peered down behind her and discovered she's managed to tuck her gloriously-vivid, sequined, lace, tweed skirt into her not-so-glorious knickers. As I turn around, I spot the two security guards giggling into their radios. The customer service team has huddled together; watching intently. Other shoppers are looking rather afraid, actually. They shuffle past. As much as the woman may have been trying to help deter any attention, I actually think she may have attracted it. With her strange crouch and red face.

Mother, however, is unperturbed. She makes a slothful wave at her skirt in hopes that the two items will become detached. She thanks the poor woman and proceeds to make very little effort to complete the un-tuck. Clearly, I must take over. I must save any dignity left. I shamble Mother into the curtains department and restore her skirt to an appropriate length.

I apologise to anyone who now has a vivid image of the scenario. I can assure you, I have made an accurate recount.

I will do a full check before Mother addresses the public in future.

xoxo

"Expectation is the root of all heartache" - William Shakespeare

Being the perfectionist that Mother is doesn't always constitute a successful outcome. Proven strongly the other night when we decided to eat out post-shopping. Considering our choices have now narrowed down to approximately two eateries within a twenty mile radius, we were heading towards the American diner at the mall when suddenly Mother stops. She's spotted the waiter. The waiter that has been chatting her up for about three months. I'm all for this prospective new relationship (he's from Atlanta, ergo trips to the states) however Mother is definitely not interested and finds his continuous advances somewhat of a pester.
"No, darling. I don't think we can eat here after all... QUICK! He's spotted us! Oh GOD!"
We shuffle away.
We then end up outside an Italian. Beautiful interiors and just up Mother's street; there's even tiny twinkle lights in the ceiling like stars. The waiter is trying quite hard to jazz up this Italian in hopes of persuading us to eat there.
"Hmm. Is there an a la carte menu?"
"No madam, this is a buffet-style restaurant..." *a fancy tailored description of 'how it works' is then offered to us*
"No. I don't like that. That's not what I want.
"... ok..."
"You see; I very much would like to try your restaurant. The problem is, I won't do buffet. It's just not something I do. Can't you do an a la carte menu?"
"I'm sorry madam, we only do buffet"
"Why is everywhere a bloody buffet?! You see, this is the problem. This is precisely the problem in Spain. I should run this place, I guarantee more people would eat here. I really don't understand why they can't just put a regular menu on for people like me, darling!"

Naturally, this is mildly embarrassing for me and I back up a little bit so as not to be obviously associated with Mother. She then spots the German restuarant next door. It is briefly considered before; "Oh no wait a minute I don't like German food do I? It's all meat! Yuck. I'm on a diet. I think. Yes, I'm on a diet, aren't I darling?"

After much fluster (on Mother's part... obviously. I rarely fluster), Mother decides to leave the mall alltogether and head to the trusty Italian near home.

Upon arrival, however, Mother's face drops. My eyes match her line of vision and fall upon a Spanish Elvis. This is a terrible sight for Mother. Having lived here for over a year now, Mother has become almost allergic to the many Costa Blanca Elvis'. Trying to avoid them has become a priority for her... although apparently it proves difficult.

"Oh my God... I can't believe it! I just can't believe it! Perhaps we should go"

Mother then proceeds to enquire; "will this man be here much longer or is he leaving soon? Is he staying?!"

"No madam, he's leaving in a minute..."

*obnoxious sigh of relief*

I then begin opening my menu...

"NO! STOP! Do not open your menu until he leaves!"

It is now that I notice Mother is still wearing all outer layers. Despite the warmth of the restaurant and our neighbouring diners eyeing Mother's red face. Stubborn Mother refuses to contribute to the evening until fake-Elvis is out of sight.

Finally, Elvis leaves and Mother is taking her first sip of wine.
Oh. Apparently this is also disappointing.

"YUCK. *makes baby-tasting-lemon face* Ughhh! Nope. This is not the wine I had last time! I don't like it! Vinegar. Bloody hell! We should have gone home. That way I know my wine is good."

The angry observations continue;

"For goodness sake! They couldn't make any more noise if they tried! Listen to them bashing the china around like that- OH MY GOD she's just scraping the chairs under the table! *grimace* Oh come on really now?! They ought to upgrade their coffee machine - it sounds like a rocket landing! It needs foyer music in here you know. It's far too hot in here, wouldn't you agree? We're not all freezing cold! GOD it's like a sauna!"

Mother then asks me what I'm ordering and I make the mistake of telling her.

"Pizza"
"WHAT KIND OF PIZZA OMG you can't just say pizza!"
*I slowly point...*
"Hmmm that sounds ni- EGG?! No, darling. You won't like that. You can't have that. It's horrible, I'm sure. No. YUCK! Choose something else."
"Umm... actually I do like it... I always have it... but thank you for your input..." I nearly add; "scary Mary" but decide against it.

So, that sums up the evening. I will also inform you all that this is certainly not a rare sequence of events. However, fear not! I have become immune.

Also, I have since managed to train Mother to alter her thought processes. Kind of like dog-training. Cognitive therapy, if you will. Loosely using the title of this post.

A 2013 recap

(First vlog of 2014!)  xoxo

Festively-friendly men

A day out to Murcia with a stop at the market brought an array of interesting encounters. The morning started out with a pleasant stroll through Orihuela market (we've upgraded from our previous Saturday market fyi) to buy our fruit for the week. Heading for the festive oranges (satsumas / mandarins /  tangerines / clementines .... they're all the same!) and a very friendly guy warbles on in Spanish. I'm trying to high-speed interpret as Mother is dishing out insignificant questions about his oranges. Naturally he doesn't understand anything but this doesn't deter her.

Unfortunately, this young man (think 'farmers son' but more like a lost sparrow in a hay field rather than a tweed-clad Downton Abbey gentleman) takes a shine to me and asks me on a date. I explain that Mother is, in fact, my mother... and he gasps. It was a swift goodbye but his oranges were the best I've ever had and may need another batch, so I expect there'll be another awkward encounter in the near future. Will keep you updated.

As we depart from 'mandarin-man', we are engrossed in the squabble between another farmers son and a batty old woman about a cauliflower. She seems extremely particular about her vegetables. Suddenly Mother whirls me to her other side; "Honey! Stay back! *eye-points to a dishevelled elderly man heading our way* he looks awfully smelly!" Thank God for Mother, always there to keep me safe from a potent OAP.

Murcia. On a beautifully crisp Christmas Eve with hundreds of families trotting around, children in tow, we head to our friends' restaurant again. A warm welcome as usual and we have our lunch. An hour or so later as we're paying the bill, Mother's favourite waiter rushes over to our table. The waiter I may have mentioned before?  The one Mother has a giant crush on? Yes, him. He heads over, looking extraordinarily bashful, clasping a scrap of paper. To my amazement he briefly asks me to tell Mother he'd like to go for a coffee with her! (Fluent Spanish, very little English. Could be interesting). I hand Mother the scrap of paper with Joaquin's number on (if I hadn't disclosed his name before then I have now!) and she gracefully accepts. A few glances exchanged, kisses, hugs etc and we're outside in the square. This is very exciting! Since our first visit to Murcia in April 2012, Mother has had a crush on Joaquin! Finally, he's given her his number! I approach Mother on the subject.
"Hmm. Yes. I don't really want his number though."
"Pardon???"
"Hmm. I mean, I just liked him to gawp at. I don't want to marry the man!
"I hardly think a telephone number translates to a marriage proposal... even in Spain!"
"Still. I can't go out with him, he's far too young for me."
"What?! You've been wanting to go out with him since forever what are you talking about?! Just go for a coffee!"
"I don't think so. OH but maybe he has a rich father! Maybe he owns a yacht! Yes. Perhaps Joaquin Senior will be better suited to me."

Mother has returned to dreamworld.

xoxo

Panic Room

Perhaps some of you are still unaware of the regular misfortune Mother and I have of locking ourselves out. Well, it appears we were due another exhilarating experience. This afternoon, whilst attending to our laundry in the laundry room, Mother asks me to close the doors to keep the cold air from breezing into our home. Not-so-smart me decided to pull these sliding doors completely closed, engaging the lock on the other side. We are now entirely locked in this laundry room. There is no way out. Immediately I roll over laughing... as does Mother (for the first ten seconds). Eventually we both realise this isn't a movie; Liam Neeson sadly isn't going to bust the door down and rescue us. Mother is now beginning to feel fear; "We're going to die in here! This is it! This is the end! How on earth  do you think we'll get out of here?! Nobody knows we're here!" (and so on and so forth).

The tool kit is out. Mother is now in full Tomb Raider mode. Annoyingly, she is switching from 'we will get out of here pass me the hammer!' to 'WE'RE GOING TO DIE IN HERE OMG HONEY SERIOUSLY!!!!'
I put forward a relevant and helpful comment; "Actually, don't you remember speaking to security? They said that burglars can get in no matter what, if they really want to. So we'll get there eventually. We just have to figure out how. How do you think they do it?"

"IF I KNEW HOW TO BREAK IN I'D BE A BLOODY BURGLAR WOULDN'T I?!"

So, minutes (hours???) pass and we're still trying to break into our own home.

EVENTUALLY we're free (Mother saved us) and laughter resumes (ignoring the slightly damaged door). Mother then spends the next few hours going through the scenario we scarcely missed;
"You know, Darling, I had it all planned. We have a children's sleeping bag in there (didn't question why), a yoga mat, wet-weather gear. We would have been just about warm enough to last through the night in there. Ohhh... and we had VIMTO! We would have had to force ourselves to drink that vile beverage to keep our blood sugar levels up. You see, you really do have to be prepared for such occasions, don't you, Darling?"

I'd like to add here, I managed to adopt the traditional British mantra; 'KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON' ... However Mother failed miserably.