February 2010

As everyone who saw the horrifying pictures of that raging torrent of water in Funchal - people being saved from the water by helping hands, and cars left crushed by the force of the onslaught – will know, Mother Nature has been showing her more aggressive side of late. Apparently the poor 42 souls who lost their lives in Madeira, including one Briton, were killed in their cars when the water swept down the mountains. They didn’t stand a chance.

OK, I’m afraid it’s inevitable, with the skies as they are today. How can I not talk about the grim weather we´re having? Especially since my family just called me from England to say how beautiful and sunny it is there, and how my parents and my brother’s family, visiting for half-term, are all going out for a walk later. Jealous? Moi? Last month figures were published on the damage caused to Andalucian agriculture by the extraordinary amount of rain which fell here last December and January.

Today, I’m not going to talk about the weather. Thank goodness for that, I hear you say. Living in Spain we are all used to the uproariousness, the joyous shouting and laughter, the noise of everyone from the bombona man calling out to customers as he brings his gas canisters, to the man at his fruit and veg stall extolling the virtues of his onions. After a local victory in a football match, everyone sounds their horns as they celebrate, driving along with their team’s scarf trailing out of their car window.

Oh dear, I seem to be rather weather-obsessed, don't I? I blame my mother, who being a typical Englishwoman, is never happier than when discussing what sort of wind is blowing, where it's coming from, and whether there's going to be a frost tomorrow morning. The weather forecasts on TV and radio are treated with almost the same reverence as the Queen's speech. Noone is allowed to speak while it's on, or you get shushed to within an inch of your life.