Haunted

There are only two possible explanations for the recent disasters; the heat has driven us to mental instability or we’re being haunted by a mischievous spirit.

Contributing to our ‘moving-in’ hiccups, we have had a fresh batch of happenings. We have inherited a dreadful washing machine (Mother will not grace the Spanish plug sockets with her beloved Zanussi. This we must save and make do with the use of a washing machine that appears to have been sitting in our laundry room since 1901. It may well have been made in 1901.) Colour-blending and shrinkage are just the beginning. Yesterday Mother yelped in grief as she pulled out her nice new dress (bought in Spain… possibly made in Spain?).  It no longer resembled a dress. The washing machine had shredded it. God only knows how such a simple machine turned into a beast to attack just one specific item. Everything else in the wash load was untouched. Spooky? Yes.

Destruction continues. Several weeks ago I think I lost my heart momentarily in the middle of the night. I have a metal notice board on my wall; somebody somewhere didn’t like it and decided to tip it off. The intense crash of metal on tiles in the dead of night was the most terrifying experience I’ve ever had. Mother naturally thought we were being engulfed into the earth’s core and there was a lot of screaming and shaking. A week later, conveniently at night again, one of my frames fell from the wall. Another similar situation followed. Ah, nearly forgot – yesterday the tiniest framed photo on the wall toppled off with zero explanation.

I also believe this spirit is a true Spaniard who hates our traditional English interior-influence. We came home to find ‘Fairy’ (the gold mask Mother has had for nearly 30 years and has travelled from home to home safely) shattered on the floor, millions of Fairy spread over the obnoxiously hard tiles. Mother also has a ‘bust’ of Caesar. Caesar is now in two parts as I witnessed his head detach from his shoulders and roll off. Yesterday our gold china bowl dramatically jumped off the side table and smashed in two. Two very even pieces (is this some kind of sign?!) and needless to say we now have a large supply of superglue.

Spooks are a regular occurrence for us, however a couple of days ago I considered relocating both of us to an asylum. Mother’s black hair pin went missing. Zero bothers given as Mother is constantly misplacing things (glasses. GLASSES!) and a nonchalant response sent Mother into a frenzy to find it; “but Honey! It was right here! No, no, no I left it right here! It wouldn’t be anywhere else!!” I will say now how difficult I find it to listen to this. Quite clearly you did not leave it there. A two-hour search ended up in my believing that the heat has really got to Mother and she has officially lost her mind. Finally, Mother went down to the giant skip (yes, Mother was a one-time ‘dumpster diver’) and retrieved the week’s garbage. Bizarrely, it was buried at the bottom of a bag we had tied up days before the clip was missing. Spooky? Yes. Really questioning our sanity now, we both placed it back exactly where it belonged. That night, Mother went to check it was still there. It wasn’t. I got a little excited and Googled everything about poltergeists. Tears ceased from exhaustion and Mother and I had given up thinking about it. We now knew this apartment had an evil spirit and we were ready for battle. I was ready to see things flying off shelves and cutlery dancing (no, wait… is that Beauty and the Beast? Ooops). Later that evening, as I stood in the doorway talking to Mother, I glared past her shoulder and spotted it. Spaniard Spirit had relocated the clip. I really had gone past the point of fear and watched Hannibal instead.

So, despite popular belief, I don’t think Mother has gone mad just yet…

Charlotte-Elizabeth xoxo

Mother’s first date with a fully-fledged Spaniard

Well. Having barely settled into our new surroundings and Mother has already been scouted for a date. A not-so-simple starting point when the phone rang;

“Honey – HELP! He’s Spanish, Darling! What’s he saying?!”

Now thoroughly used to having the phone bundled into my hands, I had a lovely conversation with Manuel. Of course, it took several minutes to decipher which ‘Manuel’ I was speaking to, however I confidently understood it was the ‘Manuel’ proposing a date with Mother.

*Mother glares intensely as she hovers over me*

“It was Manuel” I calmly say as I hang up.

“Manuel? Manuel who?! EVERYBODY’S BLOODY MANUEL!”

“No – Manuel from Peugeot!” – It turns out he had remembered Mother from our car-hunting day a few weeks ago. We did not purchase a Peugeot, much to his dismay as he had hoped to take us for a ‘test drive’.

“Well why is he calling? What does he want? I already have a car for God’s sake.”

“He wants to take you for coffee”

“PARDON? No he didn’t. You’re joking.”

“He said he would come all the way down here to meet you. I gave him your email address.”

“I can’t just go out with the first Spanish man that comes along, can I?! He’s far too young for me! Anyway, he’s bald and he’s got a tattoo!”

“He wants to go out with you on Saturday afternoon. So I said “Perfect!” – I told him you’d reply to his email. Don’t be rude.”

So, here we are a few days later. I managed to persuade Mother to accept the invite by convincing her it may very well be a PR meeting, rather than a romantic encounter (and the work-angle naturally swayed her enough). A couple of emails sent and received, one of which utterly shocked Mother into a disgraced disappointment; its mischievous tone suggested Mother bring her bikini.

Après-date:

Quite a short-lived date actually, compared to Mother’s outings in Brighton and Hove (rarely returning before sunrise). Clearly it had been unsuccessful and I prepare myself with an appropriate beverage for a full debrief.

*Mother sighs. Then sighs a little more. Then sits down and sighs.*

“Oh goodness, Honey. This is precisely why I don’t go out with men! I now have the dreaded problem of telling him I don’t want to go out with him again! In Spanish!”

I then witness Mother unroll a grand list of all the things below par.

“Well firstly, he’s too short. He comes up to my eyes! Secondly, he has shaved hair… and while we’re on that subject, you just won’t believe what he’s done. You won’t believe it. He’s shaved his legs and arms!!”

*crumpled and confused facial expression from both of us*

Trying to refresh the negatives I ask what he wore when he arrived.

“He turned up in shorts and… flip-flops! HE WORE FLIP-FLOPS TO OUR DATE IN A 5 STAR HOTEL, DARLING!”

Oh dear. No second date.

“Bitten nails. Hundreds of tattoos. Too young. He also likes nudist beaches. This is definitely not the man for me. I can’t even really describe him as a man, can I?! He’s just been to bloody Ibiza, dancing and drinking!  I need a nice, respectable man. Preferably with a yacht. Anyway, this Manuel wanted to come back here and swim in the pool! I don’t think he really understood my British dry humour as he appeared slightly taken aback when I sternly refused his many offers for future encounters but I mean really, Darling, I can’t go out with a sex-maniac who enjoys nudist beaches and would rather talk about football than politics.”

“So, what about the language barrier? How on earth did you communicate” I say, having already received multiple texts frantically asking for translations.

“Well. I was popping migraine pills in the first ten minutes.”

On to the next one then.

Charlotte-Elizabeth

xoxo

Cursed Pt. 2

Hello, glad the curiosity got the better of you all.

I shall set a small disclaimer here: Prepare yourselves, as this really was a near-death experience and Mother and I are still recovering. Please send chocolates and tissues. Maybe a rom-com?

Turning into our parking spot, sighs of relief and tummy rumbles.

“OH MY GOD! HONEY! What’s that?!” *Mother points to a rock on the roof of a car next to us*

“A rock? I don’t know – I can’t see… it’s dark…” The rock moves. The moonlight has caught two, round eyes.

“IT’S ALIVE!” Mother screams.

I scream.

Instantly we lock the doors. There’s really no chance we can get out. Hunger will have to wait.

“What is it?!” The fear strikes as I hear a squawk. A bird. It’s a bird. I’m sure you all know by now but if you are unaware, Mother’s bird phobia is apparently genetic and consequently we are both a mess.

A car approaches and we bang our windows; “SOS! SOS! HELP US! PLEASE WE’RE TRAPPED SEND HELP!!!! SOS SOS SOS!”

The car ignores our cries for help and turns a corner.

Mother thinks it’s a great idea to explicitly inform me of the likely event that took place before our arrival: “I bet it’s nearly dead. Oh god, it’s been trying to fly hasn’t it?! Oh gosh, it’s just… there. Not moving. It’s going to die… look, it’s head has sunk into it’s body! It’s neck has just… gone!”

I feel sick.

“That’s the squawking! That’s the mother! Oh NO! The mother’s here somewhere… we won’t survive, Darling!”

At this moment a giant eagle lands on the street lamp by our car (ok, the mother owl – but what’s the difference tonight?!) Immediately, fear overcomes and I burst into tears. Mother’s ‘mother’ role is now fully in gear and she produces an umbrella from the side of the car.

“ It’s alright, don’t panic, Darling. Mummy’s got an umbrella, see?”

Nope. I am not okay. “NO! WE’RE GOING TO DIE HERE! THIS IS OUR DEATH! SOMEONE’S OUT TO GET US AND THIS IS THE LAST STRAW! We’ve survived everything thrown at us but THIS IS IT! This is worse than the truck oh my God!”

“Don’t be silly! Oh for goodness sake! What is the first thing I tell you in these situations?! DON’T PANIC! This is not worse than the truck, for God’s sake, Darling! The truck would tip us over and we’d be in a pile up in seconds! The worst that could happen here is that owl would swoop down, whip the umbrella from my hands and peck at my face *drastically aggressive hand gestures of face-pecking*”

“Great. Thank you, Mother. I feel so much better. I’m just going to crawl into this glove box until we’re rescued.”

“RESCUED! OH MY GOD THAT’S IT, DARLING! Oh God, fabulous! I’ll call security!”

As we await our personal emergency services, Mother reapplies her lipstick and pesters me to open the window and wave violently to the security. I do not open the window because believe it or not I’m not yet insane. I do, however, press my terrorised face against the window in the hope the moonlight will catch it and we will be identified. We are!

The security car pulls up a few metres behind us and out step two bullet-proof-vested vigilantes. At this time of night, the quality of security steps up and they are equipped with guns, tasers, batons and other unidentifiable paraphernalia. Both ready to take down a bear with their batons raised high in their hands. Having looked around and seen nothing, they come over to Mother’s car window; “Hello madam, you called - what seems to be the problem?”

“Oh! Thank GOD you’re here! Honestly, we’ve been trapped for ages! We both have bird phobias you see! Oh god, it’s been terrible! See? Over there, on the roof of the car? There’s a BIRD! AN OWL! There’s a Mother too! Oh god, help us please! We want to go inside! They’re going to attack us!!”

“I – you mean, a bird? I don’t --- oh, no, right. I see. Yes. I see. Oh, madam, they won’t attack you. You’re perfectly safe, I promise.”

At this point, Vigilante 2’s eyes light up; “Ohhh! I’ll take him! I want a little bird! Aww, yes I shall take him home!”

“Please, step out of your car – we shall protect you”

Uh-oh. Such a small phrase and Mother’s knees went. A glance at me. A wink. This is not the time, Mother!

So. We are now being escorted from our car to our front door by two impressive Spanish vigilantes. Mother’s fear subsides (now in the arms of two strapping young men) and giggles; “Thank you so much, you’ve saved our lives! I’m sorry to have to call you out like this – it probably isn’t necessary but we were just so scared!”

I’m certain these two men thought it was a wind up as the giggling smile hadn’t slipped from their faces since they discovered the ‘emergency’.

As if embarrassment were not at its highest, Mother then asks for a photograph with them. Mortified.

Sidenote: please try not to buy either of us that owl-design stationery.

Charlotte-Elizabeth xoxo