Thoughts of Eggcup

My head is a busy one. Thoughts whizzing around all the time - about the houses we rent out, the problems, the vacancies that must be filled, the possibly dodgy couple who viewed yesterday; then, how my son is getting on in his exams this morning - has he read the question properly?; our forthcoming trip to Spain - what'll go wrong this time? Will we have an accident? Will we get stopped by the Guardia Civil? Will the 'plane crash? 
Then, what about my growing intolerance to white wine?  The last chance saloon for alcohol as I don't like anything else - even one glass now leaving me with a headache; a blot on my day. And the middle finger on my left hand seems to be damaged - a repetitive strain injury from too many years of picking up a large skinny latte at Costa while writing with my right hand. A more litigious type would sue.
Then, what's this with that bit of phlegm that just won't clear from my throat? It's been more than a week now. There was something about going to the doctors if a cough lasted too long. Have I got throat cancer? In which case, I'd better edit those books of mine quickly or I'll have no legacy and my life will have had no meaning (she writes, as she peels the sticker off her McDonalds coffee cup - six stickers on a card equals a 'free' regular coffee).
And so the thoughts continue day in, day out, in varying annoying combinations. Plus maybe an irritating song at the same time -'Oh, they built the ship Titanic to sail the ocean blue, and they thought they had a ship that the water would never go through.' Or: 'She's a la-dy, wo,wo, wo, she's a la-dy, talking about the little lady, and the lady is mi-i-ine.' (sung to the dog, usually.)
Christ, if I could clear these thoughts and this noise from my mind, I could have a nice, clean, crisp, empty head. I could then carefully place some positive and interesting thoughts into it; I could maybe have an idea which would change the world. I could think like a world leader.
I bet David Cameron's head doesn't annoy him as much as mine does me. He'll be thinking about  Putin (what a bastard he is and how he can contain him) and other world leaders like Obama and Merkel (how to keep them sweet), he'll be thinking of ways to monitor the scheming Chinese.  He'll have to think up strategies for dealing with back-stabbing colleagues and how to keep the opposition in its place. His mind will be filled with ploys and strategems. 
When he's got time, some of his thoughts will be about his family, his relationship with 'Sam,' his dead child, his Dad. He won't be thinking about that annoying person who never reciprocates when he buys him a pint. He won't care that Sam didn't fold his pyjamas before putting them under his pillow. His mind is reserved for far greater thoughts.
But I do not envy him his big life. As much as I'd like power and influence in this world, I'd be useless as a politician. Once Putin had pissed me off even in a tiny way - like he'd ignored me when I asked him to pass the salmon encroute, I'd refuse to have anything more to do with him. I'd rely on Adrian talking to him. That's my usual method of dealing with people (it's why I've got no friends).
So here I am, in my little life - a life focused on a family of four, plus dog. A life I once thought would be so much bigger.
And not for the first time I ask:
AM I WASTING MY LIFE? 

We have some availability for this summer at our two Spanish rentals:

(NB I might slag off living in Spain, but it's a great place for a holiday ) 

http://www.homeaway.co.uk/p86636

And:

http://www.homeaway.co.uk/p475271

Unlike my usual posts, this isn't one where I am going to pontificate and set out all my arguments against something or other. I'm looking for advice.

My Spanish friend's adult son has died. We don't yet know the circumstances (could be illness, accident, suicide, foul play). We are going to Spain soon and I have no idea what to say to her. 

I've always been useless at dealing with other people's bereavements and as I get older will have to learn as it's going to happen more often. So I'm looking for ideas on the do's and dont's. What can I say to her? I don't mind answers in English or Spanish - obviously I'll be talking to her in Spanish, but it's more the content of what you should say in these circumstances. We're neither of us touchy-feely - she's a different generation - in her 70s. 

Any ideas appreciated.

[NB. I'm not putting the question on the Forum, because it's not the right kind of forum]

Alan, our painter, had come around for payment this morning and we were sitting at the kitchen table, when Adrian showed me an article in The Telegraph about a woman I knew in University - Nicola Barker. It was a profile of her life and she came across very well - she was a lovely girl all those years ago, and we often met in my college room, planning to break into nuclear bases, as you do.
But I still immediately got into competitive mode, trying to make out my life was better than this Man Booker prize shortlisted, established, famous author - another person I knew at University who has become successful (but she was also very open about her health problems, how she likes to watch soaps and so on; a thoroughly nice person). The ones I thought would 'make it' I've never heard of since.
'I've got children!' was my trump card. 
Also:
'And I don't have to write for commercial [or even critical] success! I can write what I want.'
'Yes, you can write any old drivel,' Adrian said. 'And it doesn't matter if no-one reads it!'
Actually, my dear, it doesn't matter. The point of writing isn't to be able to say that millions of people read what you write (although that would be fabulous). The point of writing for me is to attain some kind of self-realisation. To amuse myself. To laugh at my own jokes. To register in a tangible way some grievance I have (which the writing seems to dissipate).
When you're a successful author, there is pressure to come up with the goods and also to write more books in whatever genre you're in. These writers of fiction aren't always free to write what they want. Personally, as I have little imagination I have to write about real events which are often stranger than fiction anyway. And of course my niche is to focus on the problems in life.
Once or twice, on this website, I have been pushed into writing something 'positive' in response to pleas:
'Please tell us it worked out for you. We're moving to Spain and we're petrified we'll suffer like you did. Tell us about the good things. Please. It couldn't have been that bad. You have to reassure us we're doing the right thing.'
Actually, I don't have to do anything and I won't be influenced like that again. I won't write about sun-dappled meadows in bloom and skipping gaily through the scarlet poppies. Or about the hilarious time I sat on a bag of eggs I'd forgotten were on my carseat or how much I enjoyed a fiesta (I hate fiestas) and how I was chortling and guffawing in my new, highly successful Spanish life. I've read a few books which are full of this tedious 'positivity.'
If I ever come up with anything like that, I give permission to those who read my blogs to smack me across the face. 
In the meantime, I will carry on writing about the fights, the scuffles, the run-ins, the angst, the depression, the corruption, the altogether seedy side of Spanish and expat life. Anyone who doesn't like it can go and do one. 
And that concludes my thoughts for today.

We have some availability for this summer at our two Spanish rentals:

(NB I might slag off living in Spain, but it's a great place for a holiday ) 

http://www.homeaway.co.uk/p86636

And:

http://www.homeaway.co.uk/p475271