Poor unfortunate wee foca

Ideal Digital today reports on the entirely unexpected arrival of an injured seal - una foca in Spanish - on the beach at Motril. Makes a change from half-drowned illegal immigrants. The distressed creature has now been transferred to Malaga, where it's getting better, but nobody yet knows where it came from. Motril has a bit of previous regarding unexplained non-native species - read one of my posts about the town's famous social-housing python infestation here.

Late cancellation

Our house WAS booked for the week from Saturday 11th October (half term in much of Scotland) but they've cancelled, and we can't go. So if you'd like it, you can have that week for a small consideration - make us an offer.

Welcome to Strathguadalfeo

As if the Andalucian tendency to deep-fry everything wasn't sufficient welcome for visiting Scots, they've started making single malt whisky in Padul. That's just off the motorway between Granada and Motril, a stone's throw from the Alpujarra. I understand the malt, called Embrujo (which means "spell"), is made with carefully selected barley and the delicious spring water of the Sierra Nevada, which is a pretty good start. It's then matured - of course - in sherry casks, like many of our own classic malts, such as The Macallan. Embrujo launched with 40,000 bottles in June this year. I know this only from Pablo Amate's food blog here as I haven't yet had the chance to try it - I'll be looking for it at Christmas. For a less sophisticated Caledonian-Iberian synthesis, can I recommend the Possil equivalent of a tinto de verano? Mix equal quantities of Buckfast and Irn Bru. Drink quickly. Fight.

Still some half-term slots...

...as long as you live somewhere eccentric or send the kids to private school. Week commencing 27th October, (half-term for London state schools) is now booked, as is w/c 13th (Glasgow and some parts of Scotland). You could still have our place from about Saturday the 18th to 26th, which would suit you if you're in Edinburgh or some Northern English counties.

Well, what would you put on an apron?

In Britain, they sell novelty aprons with lingerie printed on them so that middle-aged men can project a hint of the risqué while they're ruining some sausages on the barbecue. Not in the Alpujarra. A specially customised apron around here carries the image of what really matters in life. Ham. To dispel any possible ambiguity as to the subject matter, the one on the left bears the word jamón in careful embroidery, above the picture of the cured hind leg of a pig. The one on the right curiously has the ham off centre, as if there was meant to be another image on the other side to balance it out, but the apron-maker just got fed up and stopped. I wonder what it would have been? A string of sausages, perhaps, or a couple of nice big black puddings?

Elsewhere in the impressive exhibition of work by the Juvíles library adult education group last month were these intriguing creatures, which might be cats. I'm not even going to attempt to think of something funny to say about them.