Life and times of Duquesagirl

My Mum and Dad were a holiday romance and they met in Lloret de Mar on the Costa Brava. My Mum went on holiday with her girlfriends and she met my Dad when he was working in one of the hotels there. (Their relationship is still going strong 30 odd years later)

My Dad had moved to Lloret because he really didn't want to be a farmer which at that time was probably the only career available to him if he stayed in his village. He escaped with his friends as soon as he could, sure that he could make a better life for himself.

After meeting my Mum he had to do his national service so my Mum upped sticks from the UK and worked in Barcelona as an au pair so they could see each other when he had leave. Eventually, after he finished his army time and after I was born, my parents made the decision to move to England where, at that time, there were more opportunities to improve their life.

This meant that my summer holidays were always spent visiting my Abuelos in a tiny little village in Badajoz. The village population was not too small but small enough for us to be noticed whenever we arrived in our UK plated car. This was not a place used to foreign visitors so it always caused a stir when we drove through the little narrow streets.

As we usually spent the first few days of our holiday driving through Spain (and sometimes France too) I used to get really excited when we reached the outskirts of the village and saw the old defence tower which loomed over the village. (The only part of the 15th century castle remaining) I knew that I was about to have a good few weeks of total and absolute freedom, playing with my Spanish friends who also visited their Grandparents for the summer.

My Abuelos lived on the far side of the village with campo as far as the eye could see out the back of their modest, traditional Spanish house. The house was fairly small and in my younger years didn't have a real bathroom. It was definitely back to basics. Me and my sister used to take baths in a bucket out in the back courtyard and it was not unusual to have a donkey stick his head through the window of the outside toilet whilst in there. The walkway through the house was often lined with buckets filled with the biggest, reddest tomatoes I had ever seen from my Abuelo's farm and from the kitchen beams hung cured meats all at different stages of the process. They cooked all food with liberal amounts of olive oil made from their own olives grown on the farm, all done on a small 2 burner portable gas stove, hooked up to a gas bottle and all meals were served up with lots and lots of French bread bought fresh from the small shop down the road which also doubled up as someone's living room.

We usually ate around the small table just off the central walkway which was also the living room. No big sofas, just a couple of worn out leather high backed armchairs and 3 or 4 traditional Spanish wooden chairs with woven wicker seats. In the winter the table would have a heavy cloth draped over it and my grandparents would sit there with the cloth draped over their legs and underneath the cloth would be a tray of hot coals to keep them warm. Definitely no central heating there! But, as I usually visited in the summer, it would be a light lace one instead with plastic over the top for easy wiping.

Coming from England, with a nice warm house with all mod cons, (like an indoor bathroom), living there for the summer was very different but also an adventure for me and my little sister Maria Paz.

At the end of the road there was a small water pump where people would come and fill up containers and where the farmers would stop to pump water for their thirsty donkeys. The roads around the village were, unsurprisingly, filled with droppings from the donkeys. No poop-a-scoop big enough to manage them you had to watch where you were treading, especially in the evening!

My Tia Matilde, before she was married, worked for the local priest and nun and lived with them in their large grand house at the centre of the village and we spent a lot of time visiting with them. Their house was amazing to play in. They had a classroom where they taught Sunday school and Maria and I would play school teachers and put each other in detention. They also had a sewing room where the local women would sit and embroider cloth for dresses and shawls. We tried our hands at this but much preferred to use the room when it was free so we could roller skate and sing our hearts out. The acoustics were great; unfortunately our singing was not, as covert video evidence proved, thanks to my Dad!

During siesta time, Maria and I had the run of the village. All our friends were sleeping and the place was a ghost town. To us, it just wasn't normal to sleep in the middle of the day. After a few years of visiting, one of the more entrepreneurial locals decided to open a swimming pool which was open all day and that's where we usually spent the hottest part of the day.

Like most Spanish villages there was a central plaza which was surrounded by most of the bars in the village. Puebla del Maestre had a circular dance floor in the centre of theirs which during siesta time we turned into our very own roller rink. It also had a large permanent stage for the bands to perform during Relicias and other fiestas. The Spanish take their parties very seriously and don't do things by half!

In the evening, the village came alive. Everyone, and I mean everyone, came out dressed in their finest. By 11pm the village was buzzing. Tables and chairs covered every spare inch of the plaza and waiters raced around taking orders for drinks and tapas. Everyone knew each other and people table hopped regularly.

Us kids just disappeared for the night. Our parents only saw us when we wanted money for sweets or a drink. We would wander around the village in large groups, stopping by the sweet shop opposite the quaint little church and buying frigo pie ice creams and "chicle". On occasion we would dare each other to walk to the cemetery located just outside the village where there was no street lighting. It was a freedom that I didn't get back home living in a city.

Those summers were idyllic and I was very lucky to experience them. Some things have changed in the village since then. The cars are more modern, a bathroom has been installed at the house, and most farmers use motorbikes to travel to and from their land but the village still stirs if a foreign car arrives and still comes alive during the summer months and most importantly, the young people visiting their families still get to experience the freedom they don't get in the cities they normally live in. I hope that can continue but the population has halved since I used to summer there as each new generation moves away to find work. It’s a sad situation and unfortunately one that is happening across the board in remote places in rural Spain.

I love my life in Spain, however there are some things I miss. One of those things being 24 hour Tecscos, shopping in peace at midnight when most of the normal people (and their children) are tucked up in bed. Bliss! However, here in Spain I shop at Mercadona, and always, it seems, when entire 3 generation families decide to have a catch up in the aisles.

Now, I hate food shopping and I approach it with military precision. On a good day I can be in and out in 10 minutes flat but sometimes it feels like I am a contestant in the Krypton Factor obstacle course. I know what I want and I know where it is, but there are some challenges in the way. 

The most important thing to remember when attempting a Mercadona Madness shop, is that everything has it's place in the cart. Milk cartons should be stacked at the front end, followed by cans and other heavy items. The rear of the trolley softer, lighter items like bread and yoghurts. (There is a method to this madness which I will explain later.)

So here goes, a run through of my typical weekly shop........

First obstacle is the fish counter. I slalom with my trolley through all the people waiting to be served. Fresh produce aisle, normally quite clear, where I stack my fresh skimmed milk high in a way that would make Dale Winton proud. (Although I would have been disqualified for more than 3 of the same item).  

Next is bread section, I lunge for the french sticks over the heads of little old ladies deciding which stick feels the best. Then I race to the cereal aisle snag myself some All Bran, emergency brake as I reach the Manilva coffee morning meeting taking up the cake section of that aisle. Clock is ticking so I make an executive decision and swing the  trolley round 180 and nip down the cleaning products aisle grabbing the multi pack kitchen rolls as I speed past. 

I make it to the drinks aisle, this always holds me up. I know I want the Heineken 8 pack, but the shelf is above my head and whenever I pull one end if the pack, only 7 are still in the plastic, or 6 or 5. Never the full 8 cans! Why do people do this??? Just buy 8!!!!! Anyway, I finally find one that hasn't been violated and continue on my quest down the crisp aisle.  Cheesy puffs, check.

Screeching round the corner I ready myself for the fresh meat section. Another slalom and I'm through with my chicken breasts. I give the pink mince meat a miss and that buys me some time. (I always thought mince meat was brown, but not in Mercadona)

I'm making good time, a bottle of Dove shower gel flys into my cart. Drat, cosmetics next, I am a sucker for them and sometimes I am wooed into stopping for a good few minutes trying out the latest stay-on lipstick. (Which when you are a singer is invaluable if you don't want to be scraping old dried on lipstick off your microphone, it's such a glamorous job, not!)

I whizz through the washing power aisle, past the pasta, home stretch now. Fruit and veg. Yes! Now, I used to buy lots of vegetables but after a few times finding plastic bags of unidentifiable mulch in the bottom draw of my fridge, I came to the conclusion that I am not healthy and never will be and gave up. Cheaper and less nasty.  I spend a few seconds trying to get those bloody plastic bags out of the dispenser without ripping them, bag up my fruit, which I do eat before it shrivels and dies, mostly. Run to the weighing machine. Bugger, I don't know the code, run back to the shelf, get the code. Wait for someone else at the machine to realise they have done the same thing and leave the queue, weigh it, grab the sticker, and I'm finished!

Now time for the final hurdle, the checkouts! The Krypton Factor obstacle course complete and time for the puzzle round. This is where my trolley organisation skills come in. In UK supermarkets the conveyer belt is usually pretty long, not so in Spain! This is a challenge anyone who shops alone like me will recognise. How to get all the contents of your trolley onto the conveyer belt before the demon checkout girl from Hell starts bleeping your items through to the packing area like she's on speed? Well people I have the answer! As explained it's all about where you put your items in the trolley. The milk goes first and lines your Mercadona bag for life, then the cans and heavier items line a second bag. The items fly through in the order you will pack them! Simple. Also, always pay by card, that gives you a few extra seconds to pack the remaining items whilst you are waiting for the payment to process and stops the checkout girl from starting off on the next unsuspecting customer and burying your yoghurts under a pile of somebody else's shopping.

Woohoo, 10 minutes flat. Food shopping done for another week. Just enough time to get that jingle out of my head! Mercadona, Mercadona. (You just hummed it, right?) 

After I left university, I was a bit lost. I hated my course so I only did one year there. On my first day back home my mum plonked a newspaper in front of me whilst I was still in bed and said "You'd better get a job then". I think both my parents were disappointed that I hadn't made the most of the opportunities they hadn't had. 

Now, grafting had never been a problem for me. I started my working life at 13 washing pots at my Uncle's restaurant on a Saturday night for my pocket money. Over the years I had a lot of crappy jobs, McDonalds being the crappiest of them all. I'd started there whilst at college and that's where I ended up after I left Uni. Now, don't get me wrong, the job was crappy, but I had a great social life with my colleagues and I still stay in touch with some of them. Most, if not all of my fellow "Crew Members" have moved on from the Golden Arches as it's usually a stop gap for people who are still studying or, like me, had no clue what they wanted to do with their lives.

Eventually, my dad took pity on me, or he'd had enough of me rolling in at 2am after a late shift and waking the house up, and he gave me a job at his company answering phones and helping the book-keeper. I lasted about 9 months! Office work was not for me.  In the end my parents realised that I was not cut out for a boring 9 to 5 and my mum suggested trying out for an entertainer position at a holiday park.

Less than a month after that suggestion I was heading off to Brean in Somerset to be a Bluecoat at Pontins.  The money was absolutely awful but that year was a blast and it set me off on my path to becoming a singer. I eventually gave up being a Bluecoat and joined my first band, Colour Code. They were a lesson in what not to do but I'd have to dedicate a whole other article on them so lets just say they were a nightmare.

Over the years I was a member of 3 different bands and I travelled the World and thoroughly enjoyed my life. It all came to an end when I was working in the UAE and things were heating up in the Middle East. My parents were not happy I was out there even though I was nowhere near any conflict and then my Abuleo became ill so I decided to take some time out and live in Spain with my Dad's family. 

It didn't last long, the curse of itchy feet and a total lack of direction in my life saw me moving on to Ibiza where a friend from the Ships was working as a magician. I dossed around there for a few months working as a karaoke assistant until I finally moved back to the UK. 

At this point I was 25 years old and living with my parents again. So not a good idea after years of doing what the hell I liked. It was tough! I got a stop gap job at a solicitors/claims management company and in my head I was going to work there until I could break into the West End or find another band. 

At this point you are probably thinking I didn't have any plans for my life, and yes, I didn't have any clear plans but my time with my first band had shown me that I couldn't be a female singer forever. We have a shelf life, especially fronting bands and at some point we end up with no work and no money. Something I definitely knew I did not want!

It was at this stop gap job that I finally found the thing that excited me and I knew I could do until I retire. It was the last thing I expected.......

Somehow, and I'm still not quite sure how it happened, I became an Accountant. Yes, an Accountant.  The stereotypical boring Accountant. I get a little glow of happiness when my Trial Balance balances. I do a little "happy dance" when I find and correct an error and all those check boxes fall to zero on my spreadsheets. I have taken so many exams and studied so hard my old professors would be shocked. I am even such a glutton for punishment that I am now studying toward the Chartered Insurance qualification.

My life has direction and better yet I still get to sing a little (just in case I get too boring.)

So, if there are any young adults reading this who feel like they don't know what the hell they are doing, trust me, one day you will find your "thing" and in the mean time, have fun! My time travelling has done me no harm and neither has my earlier lack of direction. In fact it has made me a better and more worldly wise person and I am very thankful for that.

To the parents of any directionless people, trust in them and support them. My parents did and it turned out okay.