Mad dogs

I've never really understood the Britons who live in Spain but very seldom actually visit the country. They stay at home listening to British radio, reading British papers and watching British TV surrounded by British food. I see no problem at all with keeping up with news from the UK or liking steak and kidney pudding - Britishness courses through our veins after all - but it often seems to be done at the expense of anything Spanish. These people do not have the vaguest idea about the history or geography of their new home, the culture passes them by and their knowledge of what's happening to the country is generally secondhand rumour. Even New Year is celebrated at GMT not local time.

I've heard Britons talk about red letter days on the calendar. It's not something echoed by Spaniards but it makes sense. Public holidays must be printed in red on calendars I suppose. Its not unusual for my compatriots to be unaware of these holidays. They know about British bank holidays but local ones escape them. It comes as a bit of a shock when they set out and find the bank or the supermarket closed.

I had to book the car in for a routine service.  It was the usual farce of a telephone conversation with half understood questions and answers on both sides. I don't work Fridays so I asked for an appointment then. "Friday's a fiesta," said the woman on the phone "All Saints Day." I could hear the derision in her voice. I felt the need for a cup of soothing Horlicks come over me. I knew that November 1st was a holiday I just didn't realise that Friday was the first. I felt stupid enough already but the woman on the phone found a splendid way to rub salt into the wound. Its Halloween she said, neatly anglicising the holiday for me.

Now where's my copy of the Huddersfield Examiner?