In the UK press, there's a lot of fuss about the so-called She-agra, which is basically viagra for women. Of course, there's the usual raft of articles on both sides of the argument, and I was wondering how I could possibly bring a Spanish connection into it, so I could write about it here. I'd just about come to the conclusion that I couldn't but I was going to write about it anyway, when I realised that maybe I could make connections after all. Sometimes a twisted mind like mine is a liability, but at other times - like now - it's a positive asset.
The 'No' camp are writing that chemical assistance with libido is no use when you're too stressed out to enjoy sex anyway. Life in Spain is so laid back that stress is not a problem. The weather's good, alcohol is cheap and plentiful, and there's the wonderful institution of the siesta. The more often you're horizontal, the more opportunities there are for taking advantage of that loving feeling, and a combination of cava and siesta time should do the trick.
One of the many advantages of being a woman is that alcohol doesn't really interfere with performance the way it does with some men. A good lunch in the sun, washed down with industrial quantities of cava and followed by siesta time should lead to a little afternoon delight, with a bit of luck.
If you're unfortunate enough not to drink, there's another free and non-chemical dependent aphrodisiac right there on the roads in Spain - or at least it works every time for me. Get out in the car, and get yourself behind a group of cyclists. I'm not talking ancient, mahogany-skinned expat cyclists here - I mean the real Spanish deal. After a couple of miles of following toned and taut lycra-clad bums and marvelling at the pulsating movements of those strong cycling thighs, I'm definitely 'in the mood.'
It doesn't matter that it would take acres of lycra to encase Tony's bum, or that his birthday suit needs a good ironing. My husband has the body of a god - unfortunately, it happens to be Buddha - but even that doesn't detract from the need to get down and dirty when I get back from following a group of Spanish cyclists at 15 - 20 miles per hour. Yes, I could overtake them, but I'm happy to admire the scenery.
Talking of ironing, one refrain that seems to run through the 'No' articles is 'How can I get in the mood for love when there's a pile of ironing to do?' It's easy - buy a Spanish washing machine. They're notoriously bad at spinning moisture out of the weekly wash, but one of the bonuses of this is that hardly anything ever needs ironing. If, like me, you would rather poke red hot needles in your eyes than stand behind a steam iron for hours, you probably buy your clothes based on need for ironing rather than the latest fashions anyway, so an ironing pile is a rare sight in the casa.
She-agra is set for launch on the ladies of Europe in around three years time. I for one will not be parting with my Euros - what about you?
