Waste composting on a human scale

I am still struggling with either jet-lag or noisy neighbours, I cannot decide which. Suffice it to say that my much-needed 8 hours of sleep are currently hovering between two and five. If I have a few drinks, I can crash out – but then the quality of sleep is not the best and it is not sustainable as a long-term solution. I am also not helped by how late the sun rises here: it was 8.25 today when it finally got off its arse and made an appearance. When it is here it is fantastic, but when I awake and it is still dark, my natural reflex has become to wonder whether it is 8.24 or 3am. For some reason, that kicks my brain into gear and I cannot get back to sleep thereafter.

Anyway, I awoke from fitful slumber to hear the upstairs crew either having violent sex or practising their line dancing at around 4.30. I lay there cursing them, the Spanish have such a fantastic variety of swear words that it is worth learning a few. Then I got up around 5.30 and went for a walk along the seafront. There is a really nice boardwalk along the coast here, and I got up reasonably far before I realized I would have to get back. There was also a small fish market on the beach; but as I hadn’t brought my camera along with me, you will just have to take me at my word.

When I got back to the apartment, I started trying to write, but failed miserably. At times my words resembled Adrian Celentano’s, they all looked fine individually on paper, but when they went together, they were nonsensical. Maybe writing a 3,000-word blip in his style wasn’t the best solution, but it made more sense to me at the time than sitting at the desk, staring at a blank screen, and pretending that being a writer was what I wanted to be at that specific moment in time.

I went for another walk, and saw the local council had torn down the world’s scraggiest trees from outside the public toilets. I was just about to harrumph in disgust (and find a way to blame the English) when a truck pulled up with workmen and new saplings and soil on it. Within a couple of hours, the trees were planted, and a conveniently huge mound of soil had been left at the entrance to the toilet. This was more like it. Perhaps they were offering alternative arrangements to the toilets; a D-I-Y option for composting.

The soil was still there when I got back from my walk, and there was no sign of the workmen. Indeed, it was still in situ the next morning, and I could see it from the balcony of the apartment. I could also see an old lady standing outside the toilets, and for a minute I contemplated shouting down to tell her about the D-I-Y option. Fortunately, my Spanish let me down.

I went home and cooked myself two small steaks. Solemillo was the only word I recognized at the butcher’s. I marinated some tomatoes in olive oil, garlic and rosemary, and after 24 hours of room temperature marination, they had reached a state of perfection that even my olfactory deprived brain could appreciate. The combination of flash-fried steak and tomatoes was perfection. With regards to the olfucktory part, I’ve been 2.5 years without a sense of smell now (and I think it might be because I was an initial Covid case – certainly the timelines match up; I am really not sure if the pros of not being able to smell outweigh the cons: it would be nice to know if there was a gas leak, for example, or if something was burning (like the house); the relish one experiences after a particularly good fart should also not be ignored; but, weigh that against other people’s odours, the stench of cat litter, being assailed by cigarette smoke when you walk past a bar… My God, better or not better, another decision I will have to make.

Speaking of which, I am still decision-less about my hair. But I have to say, I am now becoming more aware of people with good hair. Darwin Nunez, for example. When he scored Liverpool’s winner last night, I was not sure whether to applaud the goal or the particular panache with which he had tied his hair back. The tightness of the bun reminded me of someone I couldn’t quite place.

The extra is for Teba!