Two Old Fools - Olé!

by Victoria Twead

  Examining a dead fly

  Apart from the wrapped parcels, we also gave them the box of Christmas crackers that the Gin Twins had kindly brought from the UK last October.

  “What is it?” asked Carmen-Bethina, turning the box over and over.

  “Christmas crackers. You know, you pull them,” I said.

  “I do not understand. Pull them?” Carmen-Bethina had no idea what I was talking about.

  I took the box from her, opened it and took out a gaudy green cracker, complete with tinsel and Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer sticker.

  “Madre Mía, what is it for?” she asked.

  “It’s just an English tradition,” I said. To demonstrate, I put one end in Sofía’s hand, and the other in Carmen-Bethina’s hand. “Now, pull hard!” I instructed.

  Mother and daughter pulled. CRACK! The cracker split apart and the contents tumbled to the floor. Bianca shot out from under the table, hoping it was food, but retreated when she was satisfied that it was nothing edible.

  “¡Madre mía! That gave me a fright!” said Carmen-Bethina, dabbing her plump red face with a teacloth.

  “¡Madre mía!” laughed Sofía.

  “Whoever is holding the big end of the cracker is the winner,” explained Joe, picking up the trinkets from the floor.

  “That is me! I am the winner!” beamed Carmen-Bethina. “What have I won?”

  “Hmm...” said Joe. “As you’re the winner, you’re allowed a Christmas wish.”

  “Oh, I know what Mama will wish for,” said Sofía, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. “Mama always makes the same wish. She will wish that I find a husband soon.”

  “¡Claro!” said Carmen-Bethina severely. “You are thirty years old now. It is time you had a husband.”

  “Now, stop that, Mama! You do not want me to be like Lola Ufarte, do you? What else did Mama win?” asked Sofía, neatly changing the subject.

  “First of all, this joke...” Joe read, translating it into Spanish.

  ‘Question: What is white and goes up?’

  Sofía and Carmen-Bethina thought hard, brows furrowed.

  “I do not know,” said Carmen-Bethina. “Perhaps a house? No, I know! A sheep walking up the mountain?”

  “No,” said Joe, reading from the slip of paper again.

  ‘Answer: A confused snowflake.’

  “Hee hee!” laughed Carmen-Bethina, throwing her head back, double chins wobbling with mirth. “A confused snowflake! Hee hee!That is a good one!”

  “Then there’s this,” said Joe, passing her the little packet containing the novelty. “I think it’s one of those puzzles that you have to work out how to untangle.”

  Carmen-Bethina was fascinated. She examined the little shiny metal links, then tried solving it, her chubby fingers pulling and twisting this way and that.

  “This is impossible!” she muttered, head low in concentration.

  “And finally... We mustn’t forget the Christmas hat!” said Joe, unfolding the yellow paper hat and placing it on Carmen-Bethina’s bent head.

  “Beautiful!” said Sofía, laughing.

  And so we left them to cook their Christmas meal and work out the puzzle.

  I have a piece of advice for any business-minded readers. Start selling Christmas crackers in Spain - there is a fortune to be made.

  Back in our house, Joe and I looked at the clock. It was only a few hours until the Christmas Procession. Mercifully, the rain still held off, although the omnipresent black clouds loomed overhead. The village was quiet apart from muffled revelry behind closed doors.

  Then, a little before midnight, the church bells began to peal, the sound filling the valley. Shortly after, dozens of footsteps could be heard shuffling outside in the street. The Christmas Procession was approaching.

  Village processions always passed our front door, so we were guaranteed an unobstructed view. Joe and I stood in our doorway to watch.

  The priest led the way, walking slowly and solemnly. The lamplight caught the rich gold embroidery of his robes making it glitter.

  Then came two identical, very serious, small angels complete with tinsel halos nodding above their heads. Neither twin looked up at us, each concentrating hard on the big church candle she carried, the flames flickering slightly. Granny Ufarte had sewn tinsel around the hems and sleeves of the twins’ white robes, and gold sequins sparkled on their ballet shoes.

  Behind the angels walked Joseph and Mary, carrying the Baby Jesus. Joseph was bearded and dressed in long brown robes. One hand held a walking stick, and with the other he led a donkey. The donkey trotted obediently beside the couple, occasionally shaking his ears.

  Joe gave me a sharp nudge. “Do you recognise him?” he hissed.

  “Of course!” I hissed back, “That’s Geronimo’s donkey!”

  “No! Not the donkey! Look at Joseph!”

  I stared. It was Papa Ufarte. And of course the blue-robed Mary beside him was Mama Ufarte, proudly cradling her newborn. Mary gazed down at the baby she held, the tip of his little nose just visible between the folds of the white shawl. Madonna and child. It was absolutely perfect.

  Joseph and Mary wore quiet smiles, but looked neither left or right, immersed in their roles. Behind them walked the Two Kings, resplendent in ornate royal, flowing robes, with crowns and gifts that glittered with jewels. They walked with their heads held high, haughtily, enjoying their finery and the characters they played. There was no mistaking who they were - Roberto and Federico: The Boys.

  Two Kings? But where was the third King? Joe looked at me and raised his eyebrows in question. I shook my head, I didn’t know.

  Following the Kings was a throng of townsfolk, all dressed in costume but far more hastily put together than the leading performers. Some wore old curtains or tablecloths, with the obligatory checked teacloths on their heads. Lola Ufarte managed to look devastating even though she wore what looked suspiciously like a bedspread. Snap-On was balanced on her hip. Paco winked at us as he passed by.

  Then came the shepherds with their sheep. There were several shepherds and they came in all sizes. The smallest one was unquestionably Scrap Ufarte and I recognised his bigger brother Jorge, Little Paco and several other village boys. But my eyes were drawn more to the sheep than the shepherds. I clapped my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle my giggles.

  There were three ‘sheep’, all on leashes. Each wore a coat that buttoned underneath. Sewn or stuck onto these coats were white cotton balls. One sheep trotted with an air of arrogance, nose in the air. Another sheep waddled, its jacket straining against its sizable stomach. And the third sheep was tiny, resembling a floor-mop wearing a pompom jacket. But there was no disguising these sheep - they were unquestionably Copito, Canelo and Fifi.

  Joe stepped back into the shadows of our porch. I knew exactly what he was thinking. This would not be a good time for Fifi to resume their hostilities. But the shepherds and their sheep passed safely by and I sighed with relief.

  Behind the shepherds walked the remainder of the villagers, their friends and relations. It was a large crowd and the procession stretched back as far as I could see.

  I’d noticed that the church bells had stopped ringing a minute or so earlier but I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. From our elevated viewpoint on our doorstep, we could see something was happening right at the back of the procession. Someone was jostling and elbowing his way through the crowd, almost knocking people over in his haste to reach the front. By the time he reached our level, I could see who it was.

  It was the third King, Geronimo. His crown was all askew and his robes were hitched up, revealing far too much hairy bare leg. In one hand he held his gift for Baby Jesus, and in the other, of all things - a hammer.

  “Quick, quick, out of my way, please!” he urged, battling his way forward.

  And then I understood. Of course! Geronimo had been ringing the church bell. On special occasions, and for maximum effect, he would climb the bell tower and hammer
on the bell. That was why he was late for the procession.

  “He’s been ringing the church bell,” I said. “That’s why he’s got that hammer. And that’s why there were only two Kings!”

  Joe nodded and laughed out loud, a big mistake.

  Slightly ahead in the procession, the smallest sheep pricked up her ears and growled. Ignoring the efforts of her shepherd master, the sheep turned and strained on her leash, desperate to confront her enemy. The shepherd boy tried valiantly to restrain her, the leash tight as a tripwire. King #3, still trying to work his way to the front, reached the shepherds. In his hurry, he tripped over the stretched leash and fell to the ground, his gift to Baby Jesus still clutched in his hand. He sat there, cursing in a most unroyal and unholy way and took a surreptitious swig from a flask secreted in his robe.

  The orderliness of the procession was destroyed and confusion reigned. People stumbled over Geronimo, fell over Fifi and bumped into each other and the shepherd boy. However, this sheep was not to be distracted. Straining at her leash, she growled and barked at her quarry cowering in our porch: Joe. I know some villagers were annoyed, others laughed, but eventually somebody hauled Fifi away and we quietly slipped into our house for a large Christmas brandy to soothe our fraught nerves. We never saw the end of the procession.

  As I write, Joe has the dubious honour of being the only person I know who can claim he’s nearly been savaged by a sheep.

  Unlike in Britain, the 25th of December is not a particularly special day in Spain. We couldn’t find turkey or brussels sprouts in our supermarket, standard fare on a British Christmas table, so we had roast chicken and as many trimmings as we could find. The sage and onion stuffing, Christmas pudding and brandy butter the Gin Twins had kindly provided were welcome additions and we wore our reindeer antlers in support of this festive time. Sylvia and Gravy feasted on meat leftovers and the chickens guzzled vegetable scraps and fruit. It was a nice day, apart from the fact that the rain had started once more. We were stuck indoors, and the TV reception had died again. I turned to the Internet for entertainment. First, I opened this email from the Gin Twins:

  Hi Vicky and Joe,

  Sorry we haven’t written for ages but you know how it is at school this time of year. We’ve been concentrating on the Xmas nativity and stuff and loads of staff have been off sick -loads of the kids too. Thank goodness it’s the hols now. Weather’s been awful, snow and slush and it’s freezing. How are you? Bet you’re sitting in the sun over Christmas, not like us, lucky things. Did next door like the Christmas crackers, btw?

  Anyway, this is just a quick note to say that all your bookmarks arrived, and we had a bit of a ‘Book Launch’ party thing at school. Those cake topper things are great, but I did it the night before in a rush and I didn’t read the instructions properly and I didn’t have any icing sugar so I’m afraid the cake topper thingy was a bit of a disaster but it was funny - we couldn’t stop laughing, haha! Those are bits of the cake topper hanging off my knife in the pic, haha!!

  Have a great Xmas, I’ll write a proper email in the New Year,

  Luff to you both and the chickens

  Juliet & Sue xxx

  Nobody seeing the picture that appeared in the local Observer newspaper later that week would have guessed that the cake topper was a complete disaster. Good job, Gin Twins!

  The picture in the ‘Observer’.

  Having checked my emails, I sauntered over to Facebook to see how my English friends were enjoying Christmas.

  16 Chickens

  Devilled Kidney and Wild Mushroom Tostada

  Sue and Juliet, or the ‘Gin Twins’ as we call them, are not twins at all. In fact they are not similar in any way except that they share a love for gin and hilarity. Joe and I always looked forward to their visits and spent our time with them in fun, silly games and laughter.

  Juliet is a vegetarian and animal lover. Her own children were always allowed pets and she believes that a house is not a home without a few guinea pigs, cats, or even a degus or two. (Yes, I had to Google that, too.) On the other hand, Sue declares she isn’t keen on animals. She has been known to pat a dog or acknowledge wildlife, but she remains firm: no pets allowed, ever.

  When Joe and I first acquired chickens, we knew nothing about poultry-care. However, we quickly learned, and soon became charmed and fascinated by these endearing creatures. We were impatient to show them off to the Gin Twins. Juliet loved them immediately and was happy to pick them up or allow them to perch on her lap. Sue, although interested, kept her distance.

  So we were greatly surprised and amused when we found out what Sue had received for Christmas. I looked at my Facebook page and stared, before hooting with laughter.

  “Joe!”

  “What?”

  “You will never guess what Sue’s just written on my Facebook page!”

  “Which Sue?” We knew many ‘Sues’ but I knew Joe wasn’t really listening.

  “Gin Twin Sue. You have to hear this! Guess what her doting husband got her for Christmas?” I couldn’t believe what I was reading.

  “Gin?”

  “Well, of course gin, but what else?”

  “I give up.”

  “Well, come over here and have a look, then!”

  Joe read Sue’s Facebook entry over my shoulder.

  Gin Twin Sue

  Vicky! OMG!!!! Mark got me CHICKENS for Christmas!!! Help! I don’t know anything about chickens!!!!

  We both laughed out loud. Sue? Gin Twin Sue with animals? Chickens of her own? Surely not! We couldn’t quite believe it. And neither could any of our friends as they gradually came online and read Sue’s news.

  Victoria Twead

  Real chickens?????????????

  Gin Twin Sue

  Yes! I'm still in shock.......!

  Eve A

  Yes, Pete & I were there. Sue opened wot she thought was a fish tank first, then...a chicken cuddly toy from Ruth.....then a book about chickens.... then a chicken coop...bless...haha!

  Victoria Twead

  hahahahaahahaha!!!!!!!! Funniest thing I’ve heard for ages!!! Anti-Pet Gin Twin Sue with pets?!!!

  Gin Twin Sue

  I have now calmed down a bit- Mark gave me a hutch, the actual chickens are coming later...

  Eileen G

  Hahahaha really?? Mark got you a chicken hutch? That is so funny LOL x 1000000000000000000 xxx

  Rosemary S

  What???????

  Eileen G

  I just can't imagine her with them, I can't stop chuckling!

  Eve A

  chuckling or clucking ha ha ha

  Gin Twin Juliet

  OMG!! Just seen this!

  Gin Twin Sue

  Haven't got the livestock yet - you are going to have to help me, seriously!

  Gin Twin Juliet

  I will help you!! Are you thinking of names yet. Wot about Curry and Kiev.... how many you getting!!!

  Gin Twin Sue

  Tikka Masala and Why Did You Cross the Road?!

  Debbie C

  Ha,Ha Congratulations Sue, thats soooooo funny!xx

  Mark H

  Sue is already getting paranoid about foxes and we haven’t got the chickens yet!

  Eileen G

  Is that her get out excuse ? Just imagine the fresh eggs!! Yummy!!

  Eve A

  No apparently they dont like human hair or the smell from empty wine bottles, well there's hundreds of them in her garden already lol and perphaps she could shave her head and lay her hair down to save her chickens lol, wot u say Sue? ha ha ha ha

  Eileen G

  Foxes are put off by the smell of male pee! Keep drinking those pints Mark!!

  And so on and so forth. I’m sure you’ve got the drift... Sue’s husband Mark and daughter Ruth had accomplished the impossible: introducing pets into Gin Twin Sue’s life, whether she wanted them or not.

  Later, Ruth wrote me an email that further verified events and brought that Christmas day incident to
life:

  Hi Vicky and Joe,

  ...In answer to your question - Dad was the one who thought to get mum the chickens - you know she's never liked pets but ever since she saw your chooks, she has had a bit of a thing about the feathery ones!

  Part of giving her the present had to involve winding her up somehow - something we like to do every year :) We weren't going to be able to 'hide' the chickens before Christmas so decided to delay getting them and get her the coop and random bits like the feeder and water tray. So Christmas day she unwraps the feeder first...having had a glass of wine (or 3) she is a bit confused by this large piece of plastic. Still none the wiser when she unwraps the cuddly embroidered chicken I bought her. Dad and brother Joe and Eve’s husband Pete then say they have something for her outside...In they come with the coop (in bits) - and we ask her what might go in a coop and need a feeder...et voila she realises she is going to be a mummy to chooks! Cue much squealing and running around!...

  Next thing is sorting out collecting the ex-batts from the Hen Welfare Trust when the weather gets better...

  Ruth

  P.S. My Nan (Dad’s mother) has knitted a chicken jumper in case one gets chilly! And in the Blue, Black and White colours of Bath rugby team! How cool is that?

  Rescuing ex-battery hens is a subject dear to my heart, so I was delighted to hear that they’d contacted the British Hen Welfare Trust. This excellent organisation describes itself thus:

  ‘The British Hen Welfare Trust is a small, national charity that re-homes commercial laying hens, educates the public about how they can make a difference to hen welfare, and encourages support for the British egg industry.’

  Now it was just a case of completing the paperwork before Gin Twin Sue could collect the new members of her family. The rescue mission, already code-named ‘Operation Sage & Onion’ was under way. Joe and I waited with bated breath to hear the next instalment, the arrival of the chickens, next summer.