Fireworks and Yorkshire Pudding !
December arrived and the temperature dipped for a few days or at least after sundown — though thankfully the hours of sunshine stayed much the same. Nights slipped down to around 5 degrees once the sun disappeared, but daytime temperatures still hovered at a very civilised 17–22 degrees.
It’s a brilliant time for observing human behaviour. The Spanish shift into full winter mode: big coats, scarves, gloves, and even the central heating on in the gym. This nearly caused an international incident when a German chap opened a window and was immediately descended upon by three frantic Spaniards. Their rapid-fire diction always sounds urgent — or as if they’ve each had three espressos — but I’m fairly sure the translation was something like: “Don’t open that! We’ll all die!”
Poppy took one look at Pepe the lurcher — a neighbour she chooses to ignore daily — wrapped up in his thick coat. Then she stared at me. The message was unmistakable: don’t even think about it. We have enough trouble getting her into a coat at –5 back in the UK, so I took the hint.
Thankfully, by the weekend the mid-afternoon temperatures returned to a glorious, reliable 22 degrees.
This week our local town of Catral has been gearing up for the start of the Christmas period. There’s a real sense of competitive spirit between the nearby towns and cities, all of them putting in plenty of effort to create a festive atmosphere for residents and visitors alike. Early in the week, this Christmas installation took shape outside the Town Council offices.
Catral has a long and rich cultural history shaped by its position on the fertile plains of the Vega Baja. Originally settled in Moorish times, the town developed around agriculture, with irrigation systems introduced by the Arabs still influencing the landscape today. After the Christian reconquest in the 13th century, Catral grew as a rural community centred on farming, craftsmanship, and religious tradition.
There’s been plenty of chat among friends this week about favourite Christmas films — the ones that stay firmly locked away until after 1st December. Die Hard, Love Actually, even The Muppet Christmas Carol all made an appearance into the discussion. But our first choice this week was Groundhog Day, with Andie MacDowell and Bill Murray. What struck me was that, despite the range of genres, most of the favourites came from the mid-80s to mid-90s, which only confirms what a brilliant era it was for films.
I also vowed to revisit my extensive DVD collection when I’m back home and start rewatching everything we’ve gathered over the years. I’m not sure whether firing up my ageing Blu-ray player counts as returning to the analogue age, but it certainly feels more satisfying than the modern streaming options we’re served these days. Given the choice between the endless diatribe on digital platforms and watching paint dry, the Dulux ‘Misty Buff’ undercoat wins hands down.
Lethal Weapon 1, 2 and 3 — here we come. If more evidence was needed here’s the top 5 listed films from the early nineties . I rest my case .
The Shawshank Redemption (1994)
Jurassic Park (1993)
Pulp Fiction (1994)
Forrest Gump (1994)
The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
Hair is starting to become a subject of discussion , for all three of us , Poppy is three weeks away from her next Shampooches appointment and is finding all new ways of resisting a bath and her nails being clipped , H’s focus is becoming hat and buff dependant to hide the ‘Artic Blonde’ as she calls it and well I’m pretty much where I am , in desperate need of the Royal Barber of Swaffham . We have found a great nail bar in the town so that’s a good option for H and of course there are good hairdressers , but H is rather attached to her own in Swaffham and myself , well BLOKE !
On Friday night we headed into Catral for the Christmas Lights Switch-On and the start of an important local festival. Friday is a secular event with the lights being switched on, but Sunday marks the beginning of a religious festival, which will feature in next week’s blog.
Like many churches in Spain, the local one is built on the site of a former mosque. It’s a beautiful church, lovingly cleaned and maintained by a group of local women who take great pride in their work. They often gather at a local café we visit after completing their work, and although we don’t speak the same language, it’s clear they are lovely people.
Back to the lights switch-on: after biking to the centre of town, we stood with the local community — a town whose population mirrors that of Swaffham — and watched the skies light up in a way that clearly excited everyone there, including us.
We keep a small video collection on a quiet YouTube channel — nothing promoted, no requests for subscriptions, and no hopes of fame or fortune. It’s simply where we store our travel memories. Friends and family are welcome to have a browse with absolutely no obligation. Below is a short film, about three minutes long, that captures the moment the lights were switched on.
We’ve been away for seven weeks now, and conversation has naturally turned to the things we miss — running club, parkrun, the grandkids, a decent pint of bitter… the usual comforts of home. But this week H announced that a Roast Beef Sunday Dinner needed to be added to the list.
So began the hunt for a suitable venue. Would we find anywhere that had even heard of Yorkshire puddings, let alone knew how to cook them in deep rural Spain ? We accept that using muffin tins — our preferred method — might be a little ambitious and we avoid the heated debate back in the old county, about whether the Yorkshire should be served as a starter or as part of the main course. But out here, none of that mattered. We’d happily take whatever we could get.
Back in our grandparents’ day, Yorkshire puddings were enormous — designed to fill you up in those post-rationing years when making a roast beef dinner was still a fine art and the meat portions mirrored that of a sparrow carcass in size. In the north of the county, some people even served theirs with shredded lettuce, malt vinegar, salt and pepper. It sounds odd, but honestly… not as bad as it seems. We, however, were raised on the classic: Yorkshire pudding with proper homemade onion gravy and this is what we set out for.
So after running a 5 mile non stop run with Helen , very significant in terms of her rehab programme we jumped back on our bikes and headed off into the Spanish countryside where the Puddings run free. Well, ok to Belmontes , English run it turns out where the food was just what was ordered and very tasty . Not quite Mum’s standards , but ready to compete in all other divisions.
As one of three hungry boys growing up , I remember that losing your Yorkshire pudding privileges was one of Mum’s most powerful sanctions. And heaven help the household if the batter made an odd number. That triggered negotiations more complex than a UN peace summit in the Middle East
So we ended up here , and the result was. ——
Next week we have races — and the big question is: will Helen return to running in a 10K, even if only at a gentle pace? She’s been injured since the Round Norfolk Relay, and it’s been a long road back. Thanks to Chaz Allen and his rehab programme, she’s finally starting to move forward again.
There are more festivals coming up too, and I think we’ll hire a car for a week to explore a little further into the countryside. As the weeks tick down, we’ll be making the most of our time here.
Thanks for reading, and we’ll see you in the next instalment.
