Surrounded by Spanish barbecues at lunch and supper time as we are, the inspiration to cook sausages for supper has come upon us. We have bought sausages from the shop. In the bright light of day they appear day-glo pink, you know, the kind of pink that highlighter pens come in, with the day-glo yellow ones in double packs. These alleged sausages will have to be extremely well cooked before either of us will eat them and I have checked, we have Immodium in the first aid kit.
Someone was definitely cooking Spanish Tortilla at lunchtime and it brought back memories of previous visits to Spain in the sixties. Potatoes, olive oil, eggs. Simple and eaten cold in a picnic, world class.
Today it has been possible to observe gardening going on in the two metre square plot around one of the caravans. The camper concerned first combed the grass upright with a large, erm, well, comb. Then with a tiny scythe (for Terry Pratchett fans, the size that The Death of Rats carries) he cut the grass with precision to perfect billiard table smoothness.
A terrific walk along the coast path this morning. We looked at the remains of a Roman fish tank on the shore. It was constructed so that the sea and all kinds of fish and seafoods previously caught would be held back within a stone and rock enclosure by a door of some kind that could be brought up and down like a portcullis. Lo and behold, fresh fish supper on demand.
Best bird today, without doubt, was the Egyptian vulture spotted by Himself this evening. Impressively huge, cruising above us, dwarfing all previous raptors seen on this holiday. It was Herself that spotted the day-flying bat, though. Quits.
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