On the corner

Just been down to the local Turkish shop for some pre-dental Californian red anesthesia. To all intents and purposes, I live in a village so it’s quite a coup to have such a cosmopolitan corner shop. Of course, it’s also known as Spar but the demeanor of the guys behind the counter precludes this as being known as anything other than an ethnic emporium. Naturally, they sell Kingsmill cotton wool bread and Heinz baked beans, but they also offer those really sweet Muslim type affairs whereby you can feel your teeth rot as the honey soaks into your gums. More importantly, when you go in the shop, not only do they greet you, which they never do in the co-op, their salutation is inevitably….hello darling, how are you, without a hint of ulterior inference or meaning. I can do with a bit more of these niceties. No wonder that Istanbul is cultural city of the year.

During my recent excursion to Swansea I met a number of Italians. I very much like the Welsh/Italian lilt. It’s rather attractive I feel. Whilst stood outside the pub, some character, straight out of the pit valleys mafia, called me ‘chick’ as he was lurching past. In amazement, I said to the man-child, he called me ‘chick’. Misinterpreting my pleasure, Signore Dai came back to apologise with much hand-shaking of my oblivious male protector. Not a problem, said I gratefully; at which point, we had to exchange numerous cheek kisses and a handy recipe for Ossobuco.

The boiler packed up today. I’m hoping that because things go in threes, this will be it. So far this week, I’ve had the tyre problem, the printer problem and now the no hot water or heating problem. You might think that I’m freezing. Actually, I’ve got that French fan heater…the one that does an impression of cicadas. I’m boiling!