Thursday, 5 February 2009

guilty feet sometimes have rhythm

When we moved into our apartment, as the monte meubles was carrying our furniture up the outside of the building to our terrace, we befriended an old lady. She lived across the small square and was sitting in her balcony watching on in bewilderment as our assorted belongings ascended. From that day on we exchanged bonjours and waved to one another over petit dejeuner. After a few weeks her shutters remained firmly shut. We presumed that she was an out-of-towner and spent the winter months in some cosy retreat. We thought little of her absence until a friend joked that she was possibly lying dead being mange-d by her presumably inumerable feline companions. Sadly it turns out that this was the case (less the cats). I guess Mr Reaper visits us all in the end.

Feeling a little guilty at not having determined this eventuality in a more neighbourly manner we ventured to a meeting of flamenco friends. This afternoon we were inaugurated into the Sunday Association, a monthly gathering for those who enjoy their sevillanas and sangria. Our guilt thankfully dissipated as we sashayed the afternoon away to strumming guitars and a crescendo of rythmic clapping. I did think of her and paid my respects as I neared the end of my first paso doble. Bless.

The southerly has continued and this evening looks set to prove Bruno's prediction correct.

Basque of the day:- guilt :: erru