smokingboot

It's not that the weekend didn't have it's highlights: Beer and chocolate tart concocted by November Girl and devoured by all of us, great conversation, duck, more duck and much wine; and then, next day, in the judicious movement of vehicle from under tree to er, some other green bit, November Girl trusted her car to GrandPrixboot, who yelled 'Vrooom!' and 'Mush!' and waggled the steering wheel around while the others pushed. Ah! The heady rush of power! (Actually, the heady rush of the main road towards my back-end, but never mind - reverse is such an exciting gear!) I really ought to learn to drive.

So yes, Friday was wonderful. And on Saturday I came back to face the relentless fertility of life at home: Clockwork in fecundity, Freakella sprogged once more. I think there are six or seven of them. My immediate worry was that her two daughters, Opi and Pretty, would harm the babies as female gerbils can kill 'rival' litters unless they are nursing their own. In fact, when Freak came up for sunflower seeds and relaxation, Pretty took over the litter, adopting her mother's stance and towering over her brothers and sisters with an expression of great importance. I think/hope the babies will be OK. They are her last litter now that I have separated the sexes.

In the conservatory, I noticed green egg-like lumps hanging from my passionflower plant. Being the empathic pagan and child of nature that I am, it took a while and much checking on the internet for me to learn that these strange lumps are known in the common parlance as 'fruit.'

In the states, they're called Maypops. Some say they have a taste reminiscent of blackberries, others think they are reminiscent to guava. You can add them to pies and make jams of them, but I don't fancy subjecting anyone to my jam-making experiments. Or you can plant them. Butterflies and caterpillars love passionflower and will chomp through plant and fruit with crazed lepidopteral savagery. I could take the whole plant and plant it outside...or just plant the fruit. The world needs more butterflies.

So far so good.

Then there was work. Which didn't happen cos my old pc kept freezing up, so now I'm behind. Of course, now I have a new pc too, so, silver lining and all that...

Then there was whitefly on my lemon tree, a really bad infestation which I hope I have knocked into oblivion with insecticide. I hate doing this, and I am resolved not to do it again. Next time the insect population threatens my plants, I will go buy a mantis. Trouble is, what do you feed them when they've eaten all your insects?

Answer: Find some other pests. Parents may be a good idea.

And therein lies my reason for being in a massive sulk.

Phone call from my Aunt. She's in a quandary. She feels it is wrong to take me to Cuba without bringing Larians too. Now, I am glad she feels this, because it has made me feel somewhat uncomfortable myself, especially when his parents have invited us on their retirement Caribbean cruise. However, she couldn't invite him because, as she says so frankly, she can't afford it. Soooooo...how did I feel about jacking the idea of Cuba, she would send me the holiday price, and we could all go somewhere cheaper, somewhere European, together? How about Croatia?

Croatia? My pardons to any Croatians out there, but what the hell's in Croatia?
'It's got lots of history,' she said, 'And it's very pretty,' What? It was like a bad dream. I questioned further and began to understand.

'Also,' she said, 'You don't like injections. How many injections do we need for Cuba?'

'Not that many,' I replied, having been all over the FCO web page to check, 'Hepatitis A is the biggie.' And besides, I just have the ones that are absolutely necessary and ignore the rest. Life is too short to fret.

'And I am told there is civil unrest there.'

'There were peaceful marches directed at the Spanish and Italian embassies in 2003'

'And besides, it's so far away...' Now this is odd. My aunt jaunts across the world, distance is not her issue. But it is someone else's.

'Auntie, have you been talking to mother?'

'Well, no, not really, not since Thursday night.'

'And did she mention distance and civil unrest and injections to you?'

'Well...in passing. I think she worries, you know.'

Of course she worries. It's what she does. My mother thinks you can catch dengue fever by hanging around a paddling pool too long, and won't be happy until I live in a plastic bubble in a room right next to hers.

'But she told me that Croatia is lovely.'

I'll bet she did. My mother has long believed that any holiday outside of Europe is a descent into the heart of darkness. The US almost makes it into civilisation and then fails by dint of being more than five hours away from her. Phooey! Mega-phooey!

We could take the money and spend it on Spain for one of the big festivals next year. I would love Larians to spend Easter, Corpus Christi or May 2nd in Andalusia, and see something of the place that formed so much of my childhood. And after all, I wanted to go to Spain after the bombings. So, why not?

Well, because it's full of family. Because it may not be as beautiful as I remember. And because...

because...

I WANT TO GO TO CUBAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!