Yes, I'm still here but...

but I can't seem to get it up much for blogging these days.
I must renew my efforts.
Also, I've been away. We went south, to the seaside town in Andalucia where we once lived. And once bought an apartment. Nearly 8 years ago, and it's frightening how much the prices have gone up over the last 8 years. Well, they doubled after 4 years, then doubled again.  And, as much as I hate to sound like one of those "the heat, the flies, the dust but somehow we go on" expat types... but - the place has changed from a rough and ready seaside town to a bijoux resort, full of nice little eateries and jewellery shops and art galleries. And, of course, foreigners.
We went out to eat on Thursday evening, restaurant on the beach, and there were 5 tables of diners, all of them British or Irish.
And I don't want to look too deeply into why that doesn't work for me. Probably I enjoyed it more when I felt like something of a pioneer. Also, most of the other diners were... sort of , like... my mum.
Anyway, we spent 3 days tarting up the apartment, some re-tiling, re-painting, re-grouting. And throwing out a lot of accumulated trash, chairs and chests of drawers and piles of books and the top halves of bunk beds - all to make the place look bigger, lighter and altogether more attractive to potential buyers.
Yes, that is - attractive to the hordes of mainly British, Irish, German and Scandinavian people like my mum, who fly down in droves to enjoy the nice little eateries, jewelley shops and art galleries.
On Friday we arranged for some estate agents to visit and offer us a valuation.
Well that was an eye opener. If the agents are right (and they quite often lie, as I'm sure you know) but it seems that the invading hordes are paying lots of pretty pennies for apartments and houses just like ours.
So hopefully we'll get a sale soon, enabling us to look north, into Catalunya, and find something more isolated, less developed, more adventurous.
Otherwise, life would just be too easy... And we can't have that, can we? I mean, I'm only 44.
I don't think I can turn into my mum just yet. And it's too late to turn into my dad.

On the way to the cinema

When asked to create an anti drug-abuse slogan, Frank Zappa said "Speed will turn you into your parents".

On the way out to the cinema last night, Alex couldn't find his sweatshirt.
We passed the coatrack in the hall, and before I knew what I was doing, I had handed Alex a blue jacket of mine.

"Put that on" I said. "It should fit OK"

Then I noticed the look of disdain on his face. Wearing his dad's clothes?

My dad used to try and pull shit like that, all the time. He seemed to be on a mission, to pass onto me his old suits and jackets. It never troubled him that he was several inches broader and taller than me. Nor that the clothes had only briefly been fashonable in the 80s, and even then, only if you were a middle aged executive.

Fortunately, I noticed that expression on Alex's face. I hope it will stay with me forever.