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Remember how surprised we were when we went into Ibiza town exactly a year ago and saw that the Christmas decorations had been put up? Well they've done it again this year! We were already feeling festive because on a sausage buying trip to Peter the Butchers I picked up the Christmas order form - the one on which we get our mince pies, Christmas pudding, Wensleydale cheese, pork joint with crackling (the Spanish don't have crackling - though you can buy pork scratchings) and duck breasts.To cap it all, Happinez Ibiza invited me to their Christmas shop opening fiesta last night to partake in gluhwein and apple strudel round a log fire. It was of course, a rather exclusive guest list, anybody who is anybody in the village was there. As only 23 people live in San Jose this means everybody, so being invited is not a lot to brag about really.
If you're not yet in the Christmas spirit, get a load of this crib scene and snowing Christmas tree. Our cats would love it!
Life in 'parallel universe Ibiza' has also shown me that the Spanish idea of comedy is completely different to ours. Here, slapstick is king, and the subtle nuances of the non-shouted word mean nothing, so Jimmy Carr wouldn't be funny here either and the histrionics of Brian Rix's farcical trouser dropping activities would be considered cutting edge.
Yesterday, I bought Jaki a new super duper window cleaning squeegee, and the bloke said, 'there's plenty here if you want more.'
I replied, 'one's enough, I've only got one wife.'
The smile as broad as Buster Keaton's on his face told me I should have tripped over one of the squeegee poles and landed with my head in the bucket of soapy water to raise a laugh Mr. Pastry style.
Next time I'll know!
Living in Ibiza can sometimes be like inhabiting a parallel universe where things happen exactly the same but completely different to the real world. Take the furore over the messages left on a 78 year old actor's answering machine by controversial comedians Brand and Ross.
An exact mirror image of this very same situation happened in Ibiza recently (but wasn't quite so headline grabbing) when a 75 year old man (my dad) left a series of strange messages on the answering machine of Ibiza's top comedy blogger (moi.)
Nothing odd in that, after all I had instructed him to inform me immediately should my mother ever fall well and wake up not suffering from any malady (apart from hypochondria) listed in Webster's Medical Dictionary.
The funny thing is, I don't have an answering machine, and the dozy old codger had been ringing the number we abandoned 4 years ago and now owned by someone wealthy enough to have a contestador!
What the messages were, we'll never know, as the memory man has completely forgotten the entire incident.
