On holiday, some of the things I like at home I positively enjoy being without: BBC News, East Enders, TV in general (we never switch on the set in our hotel room); the Archers; the vegetable garden, the weather forecast, the Grove, the local pub, Sainsbury´s, even Marcel Proust, whom I reluctantly left behind on my bedside table. This blog, however, which thanks to the laptop for visitors´use on the reception desk of the hotel, is something which I can enjoy equally at home and on holiday.
Looking down from the balcony of our room on to the balcony of a neighbouring flat, I see just an old fashioned, wooly mop dancing outside the door on the clay tiles, where, before withdrawing, it leaves a shiny damp island.
It is a windy day and out at sea there are occasional splashes of white against the blue, what we call white horses, and the French moutons, sheep. What do the Spanish call them? My dictionary says palomas, doves. I ask at the reception desk for confirmation, but neither of the women there at the moment is familiar with the term. For the time being, I must hope that it is still in use, because it is a pleasing metaphor. One wonders, meanwhile, if national characteristics are revealed by the different ways of describing the same thing.