Sunday, 1 February 2009


First rain, then sleet, then snow. What a morning to wake up to. So much for sunny Spain. It's been like this for ages (OK, we've had a few good spells in the capital, but up in the mountains it's been to horrible to do any trekking to use the new sticks and crampons we bought weeks ago).

After my morning bath (as we skipped yesterday's bath) Daddy tried feeding me the bottle, but I was having none of it. I think I prefer Mummy to do it in the mornings, as when she tried I settled into it. Then she went off to the gym and I serenaded Daddy with some crying. It took him ages to work out it was burping I needed - after that I fell straight asleep until Mummy came back.

We rushed out to meet Abuelo, Abuela and Bisa at a Catalan restaurant. January/February is calçot season and this year, since we aren't going to Barcelona, we have to settle for second best: a Catalan restaurant in Madrid. Calçots are a vegetable typical of Tarragona and are sort of a cross between a spring onion and a leek. They are normally eaten as part of a calçotada, which consists of a first course of bread (spread with tomato) and cold meats, a roast vegetable salad, and a cod salad. Then come the calçots, chargrilled and served on a roof tile. You pull off the outer, charred, skin and dunk it in romescu sauce (almonds, garlic, olive oil and small red peppers). Then comes a last course of grilled meats and finally the typical crema catalana for desert (creme brulee to you and me). All washed down with cava (sparkling white wine) or red wine served in a porron - a sort of glass teat. It was delicious (apparently), and so were the snails and other delicacies we ordered. Daddy fell off the wagon (already!) albeit just one slurp of cava as it was passed to him (he found it easier just to do that than have to explain he was giving up for a month because he is a drunken fool).

It was supposed to be our treat but Bisa picked up the tab and wouldn't accept no for an answer. Still reeling from all the food we headed to a friend's house for her mummy to see me and to drop off my mobile which we are lending to a visitor from Ireland. Then on to home (with one last visit from a friend who hasn't seen me since I was only a few days old) and, after a bottle + feed, to bed. This time I accepted Daddy as the bottle operator, but grudgingly; I don't think he is as well versed in this as Mummy, though he tries (it may have something to do with the way round the teat is, as he has only just realised that you can regulate the amount of milk this way).

I was observed sucking my thumb for the first time today, so maybe I'll be a thumb baby and not a two-middle fingers baby like Daddy was. Speaking of fingers, in the last weeks I've taken to sucking and biting other people's fingers as a decent substitute for the dummy.