Real Betis 3 - 0 Osasuna

Ubiquitous NI shirt but I'm wearing la camiseta de Don Patricio

Today was fun. Betis won 3-0. Jesus didn't complain and the Da cheered the team home. It is Easter Sunday and Jesus was very happy for the first time since he forgave me for buying him vodka instead of gin. Him and the da had the affinity for gin in common and consequently talked like it was going out of fashion. I don't think they understood much of what each other had to say but I didn't want to interrupt.

The da is picking up the lingo and has said "Gracias" at least twice. This is progress since he is not familiar with the English translation. He can now order at the bar and complaining is also part of his extensive vocabulary. We will soon be heading to the bookshop as he has requested the complete works of Cervantes to improve his knowledge of medieval syntax. Madre de Dios!!

They don't look like Santa

Nazarenes in Plaza de la Constitution

Which one's the da?

The answer, of course, is all of them. Semana Santa or Holy Week is the biggest religious festival in Spain, nay, the world. The various confraternities dress up in the fashion borrowed by the Ku Klux Clan and parade around the town holding aloft huge statues of Jesus and the Virgin Mary. It goes on all week, day and night. Old ladies dressed in black with mantillas to hide their faces, sing gypsy ballads and dance for God. It is truly, a marvellous spectacle, but not one appreciated by the da. He refused to be photographed next to the "racist throng" (his words) which I found ironic given his proclivity for sectarianism and bigotry. 

In a gesture of Christian charity, he has insisted on buying a miniature statue of a Nazarene which will end up on the mantelpiece next to the "Child of Prague". He thinks these are lucky totems, allowing him a long healthy life full of joy. I wish for the same thing, but for me. Although a committed atheist, I am contemplating joining a monastery - preferably where they have taken a vow of silence. My tinnitus is getting no relief!

If it's Friday, it must be Seville

'Tis.

Everyday is like Wednesday

The bullring in Antequera

I have had a headache for 36 hours. This is attributable to a mixture of vino tinto and the constant stream of consciousness I have had to listen to. Today, the very nice satnav lady was providing directions to the hilltop town of Antequera but the Da overruled her and had we not stopped to consult the more traditional navigation aid, a map, he would have taken us to Almeria. He is convinced that the satnav woman is, I quote, " a clueless bitch" but that might just be the McKnight misogyny.

We eventually made it to Antequera where we dined at the bullring- a very pleasant repast. Our return journey was interrupted by a detour to Malaga where, after parking the wagon, he decided that he didn't want to dander round the town wearing only his singlet while the brotherhood of Malaga processed along the alameda in reverence to the baby Jesus whom they were carrying. I presumed this was because he felt a bit underdressed only to be informed that he "needed a jimmy" and was only able to go, back at the hotel. I'm glad it wasn't a number two!

Beautiful Sea

Day One - Marbella 

At least the sun was shining!

The gentlemen landed up in Marbella, hassle free, and checked into the hotel. A brief conversation with the receptionist provided the Da with the information he required ie. the location of the closest hostelry that sold Larios gin. He drinks copious amounts of gin and tonic to keep him inoculated against malaria, or so he tells me. I have explained that there are no mosquitoes in Marbella at the moment but I might as well be talking to the wall, any wall. I might get a more sensible conversation besides.

The Da and me

On the occasion of his most recent Birthday

A clatter of years ago, the Belfast playwright of great repute and the name of Martin Lynch penned a crowd pleasing sidesplitter titled, "The History of the Troubles accordin' to my Da". I went along to the show (twice) and cried with laughter. Many would attribute this to the genius of Mr Lynch but I was reminded of the banter and craic in my own family home as I made the journey from my juvenile Belfast past.

My Ma and Da were both Belfast people with that sense of humour that is unique. I often heard my Da correct WD Flackes on Scene around Six and my Ma nod approvingly to satisfy his desire for recognition. He needed that approval then and in many respects likes to think he still warrants the same now, but without his number one fan for almost ten years, that has been unlikely. He still enjoys being heard and much of what he has to say is laugh out loud funny, although he might not realise it. I frequently find myself biting my tongue to avoid full scale rows, but from here on, for the next week or so, I am going to let you be the judge. You see, my Da and me are heading on holiday together and in an attempt to avoid the need for therapy on my return, I have decided to share some of his wise words of wisdom with you.

Therefore, as I pack my trainers and he packs his Moses sandals, I pack my jeans and he packs his slacks, I pack my fleece and he packs his Blazer, I dare you to keep abreast of our progress together, down in Spain! You may be my only alibi!