Product Description
From the Publisher
From the Author
I'm famous for my lists and records. I can't help myself; I think I inherited the record-keeping gene from my father. Every day I make a note of the weather, the temperature, the first snowdrop, the day the ants fly, the exchange rate of the euro, everything. I make packing lists, holiday lists, `To Do' lists and `Joe, Will You Please' lists. I even make lists of lists. My nickname at work was Schindler.
Also, I have terrible difficulty throwing anything away. I find my heart racing and my fingers clamp possessively on the object in question. After all, a rusty hostess trolley, or broken watch, or a 1996 calendar, or whatever, may come in useful some day... So I rarely delete old emails and have diaries dating back years.
Both these dubious character traits of mine, for a pleasant change, proved really useful and helped `Chickens' to hatch.
Moving to Spain was undeniably a culture shock. Every new day produced events either hilarious or heart-warming. Food suddenly tasted better, human behaviour was more fascinating, local events more interesting. It was like seeing in colour for the first time, and the book began bubbling in my head.
Of course, Joe often lost patience with me, and rightly so. `Stop dreaming, and concentrate! Hold that ladder steady or I'm going to break a leg in a minute!' But the book was relentless. As soon as I could, I unearthed all my records, notes, old emails to friends, and began to write.
It's funny where life takes you... When I was a little girl and asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always answered, `A zoo-keeper.' No, I never realised that ambition, but life in Spain has not been that far removed. Okay, I agree, chickens, mules and all the other animals (including humans) I wrote about may not be very exotic. But their behaviour was just as riveting as that of any grizzly bear or meerkat.
I love Spain. I love the Spanish people. I love Spanish food. I hope all this shines through in my writing, even when I'm describing some of the less savoury things that happened to us.
From the Inside Flap
I thank them all from the bottom of my heart.
And to Juliet and Sue, the Gin Twins. May their bottle never run dry.
About the Author
Victoria's hilarious record of their culture shock and life with the villagers is told in her new book, 'Chickens, Mules and Two Old Fools'.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
"Damned hot!" said Judith. "Think I'll put me bathing costume on and go for a dip."
"Do you need any help?" I asked.
"No, m'dear, I can manage."
Joe politely averted his eyes while Judith wrestled with changing. She disappeared from view completely under an enormous towel. We heard her grunting, and the flailing under the towel made me think of wildcats fighting in a sack. At last the towel dropped and she was ready. Smelling faintly of mothballs, Judith's swimming attire was serviceable, but definitely not designer. It was black and large with built-in pleated skirt, reminiscent of the nineteen-fifties.
"Look out for jellyfish," said Joe as Judith made her way across the hot sand to the water's edge. Famous last words.
Minutes later, an almighty yell woke us from our doze. Judith, sombrero awry, was exiting the water at a rate of knots. Joe and I jumped to our feet.
"Jellyfish! Wretched critter got me..." spluttered Judith, wincing and holding her leg. "Hurts like hell!" The rash on her leg was already swelling and angry looking. She sat heavily on the sand, her face creased in pain.
"What can we do?" I asked.
I looked around, but there was nobody on the beach apart from a family some distance away. Judith was suffering; she was writhing and clutching at her leg. Jellyfish stings are notoriously painful.
And then I had an inspiration. I love TV survival documentaries, the kind where the presenter makes an A-frame shelter from palm leaves and rubs two elephant beetles together to start a fire. A bit of trivia I had absorbed suddenly surfaced.
"Quick, Joe! Pee on her!"
"What?" Joe was aghast.
"Pee on her leg! It'll take the sting away!"
"Don't be ridiculous! I can't just pee on Judith!"
"You have to! I can't do it, it has to be male pee."
"But..."
"Good Lord," said Judith, extending her leg. "If it'll take the pain away, just DO it!"
"Well, I could ... but you'll both have to look away." Joe was crimson with embarrassment.
"Okay," I said, "just get on with it!"
For a long moment he just stood there in horror. Then, realising that both Judith and I were deadly serious, he eased his trunks aside, took aim, and began.
He was still in midstream when a shadow fell across us...
