• Fromista

    Attached photo is of the 11th Century Inglesia de San Martin here in Fromista, where a wedding is taking place.  I was not asked to stay, despite my shorts. Bride arrived in very old Rolls Royce with her mother. All the congregation were outside to welcome her including what I took to be the groom (otherwise he should be worried).  Lots of beautiful people standing around, beautifully dressed.  This is the most famous church for many miles around so this must be a posh couple. The crowd then all go in. People stand round photographing the car. Grown men stand in front of the car, getting their friends to photograph them! In front of the bride! There are tourists in shorts still inside the church! There is a fantastic choir in matching gear inside with organ and violin and they sound great. The bride and mother go in. The bride´s mother takes off her sun-glasses! No end of marvels.
    I am less of a Spanio-phile (if that is the word) than I was a couple of hours ago. I am supposed to go to the Urgencia in this town again to have my blister bandages changed. But it is closed! It is Columbus Day today and a fiesta and the hospitals are closed!  So I have to walk on to the next town tomorrow and hope that it has one and that it is open.
    My left hand is now browner than my right!  ¿Como?  People who know me (and I guess everyone reading this will be in that class) know that whenever I venture outside I am usually wearing a glove on my left hand.  So I usually have a brown right hand and a white left one.  Now I am walking westwards all the time so the sun is on my left and my left hand is now browner.  But, oh, that glove and the instruments it goes with!  3 weeks without them; another 3 before I can touch them again.  I wanted to bring a 6 iron with me so that I could have a few practice swings as I went along, but nothing doing.  I was prepared to compromise and make it an 8 iron (though my main problems are with the mid-irons), perhaps pretending it was a walking stick but again the boss was having none of it.  The last time I played was the day before I left.  I only had time for 12 holes.  The 12th is a tricky par 3, fully 175 yards into the prevailing wind.  I hit a pretty good rescuer just short of the bunker on the left.  The hole was just behind the bunker but I managed to fiddle a nice pitch, leaving myself a tricky 10 foot putt to rescue par.  Only one thing can happen when I have a tricky 10 foot par to rescue par and I came away with a far-from-contemptible 4.  Always settle for a 4 at the 12th at John of Gaunt.  Anyway, I am through to the final of the Wale Cup that has been put back till I return in November.  I will have little or no practice beforehand and will be very rusty.  However, it is over 36 holes and with my new fitness, if I can stay in touch till the last 9 holes, I might be able to pull it off by trying to speed up play.
    My singing will definitely be better, apart from the missed practices.  My lungs are officially twice as big now so those long final chords that Douglas loves so much and during which he says “breath when you like, breath when you like”, I will be able to do in one breath, with the sort of final flourish that annoys him so much.  He will also be trying to quieten me down like Charles.  Fun in store when I get back!

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