The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2440 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

We were approaching the end of our holiday and I felt a total mix of emotions. Part of me felt homesick for Daddy and Stella and our house; part of me wanted to stay here in the sunshine eating paella and watching the wildlife. Perhaps when the kids are grown up and I’m looking to retire or work less hard, I might come back to live here. I see the Catalonian separatists want to split from Spain, I don’t know if that includes the Balearic Islands: but then I have little or no interest in politicians, very few are honest.

I asked Simon if there was anything he wanted to do before we went home. There wasn’t. “Babes, I used to spend every summer here when I was younger, I been there or seen that or got the tee shirt.”

I decided I wouldn’t ask why he seemed to get lost so often, he’d only say because things had changed. They probably have, but that just means Menorca is part of the world. Things change because if they don’t they become extinct, nowadays faster than ever. Even backwaters like Menorca change or are influenced by external factors, sometimes after much soul searching or opposition. So if Catalonia goes independent, presumably that will include the Balearics too. How that will affect our property—who knows, we’ll just have to wait and see.

If you read the papers they’ll tell you one thing one day and the opposite the next, or is that just the tabloids? Sadly, they all do it to an extent, even the good ol’ Grauniad. Perhaps it’s endemic in journalism.

Jacquie asked if she could go and see Ciudadela, they’d had a look round Mao or Mahon, as the Spanish call it, and wanted to see the old Capital. There was nothing anyone else wanted to do more, so we piled in the bus and Simon drove us to Ciudadela, where we walked and walked, even going as far as the old tower or Castillo San Nicolas. We did the cathedral with its magnificent stained glass windows and the harbour with its millionaire’s houses with their own slipways and the huge cabin cruisers which cost more than the average house back home in the UK. One or two were from London, or registered there, not sure I’d want to sail round the Bay of Biscay in something that small, but presumably they did safely, or they wouldn’t be here now. The opulence was breathtaking, then I realised Simon could have something like that if he wanted—fortunately, he doesn’t want.

I was lost to my own thoughts for several minutes trying to reconcile my wealth with my socialist principles. I’m not sure I succeeded but gave up my musings when Trish asked about the windmill in the centre of the city. It’s now a restaurant cum night club and so we didn’t go in, instead taking photos from the outside.

Wandering through the narrow lanes of the old city, we came across houses that were almost right onto the road with perhaps an entrance to a garage which would have presumably once been a stable or place to keep a cart. Occasionally, it was obvious that the towering walls concealed courtyards or gardens, with the odd glimpse only available. Down by the cathedral, there is however a walled garden which is open in the afternoon, and which I think it said was owned by the cathedral or its clergy. It was quite old and had its own well.

The sun beat down and we stopped for lunch at a pavement cafe where the children all wanted paella, except Danni who wanted pizza. I tried to explain that pizza came from Italy and we were in Spain. On a compromise of a small bottle of beer, she agreed to have paella with the others. Simon said he fancied a curry and I wanted fish—not necessarily with chips. In the end I had bass and Simon a very poor curry which he complained about the rest of the day.

“You always accuse me of making such weak curry, how did that compare?” I asked from a safe distance.

“Yours is better, don’t ask me to say, how or why.”

“Perhaps because it’s made with love?”

“Maybe,” was all he allowed himself to say.“Or the poison is a slow-acting one,” he added moments later.

“That would be it,” I said smirking.

“See, I knew you were only after me for my body.”

“Yes, after rendering it should be worth a few quid by the kilo.”

“You can be very hurtful, you know.”

This coming from someone who is usually as sensitive as concrete, reinforced variety.

“C’mon, Si, it was only a joke.”

He suddenly burst into...laughter. He’d got me again.

We stopped at a restaurant on the top of El Toro, which at three hundred and fifty metres is the highest point on the island, the views are magnificent in pretty well all directions. I’d been there before, there’s a church and what used to be a monastery is now a military installation complete with wireless aerials and radar dishes. I wondered what their Sky reception was like. The birds were less visible now as the day began to draw into eventide, but we did see a blue rock thrush and some painted lady butterflies were in evidence as well.

Looking slightly north-west there is another hill, Santa Agueda which is about two hundred and fifty metres high and which is only reachable on foot or possibly by mountain bike or trail bike. It’s supposed to be a footpath only and they all agreed it would be a good place to visit on our final day. I wondered if they’d feel quite so enthusiastic after a long uphill walk.

We called by a supermarket on the way home and collected some food for the morning, rolls and cheese with some salad. I agreed to make everyone food and they’d have a bottle of water as well, but they’d have to carry it themselves. Simon agreed to carry Cate when she got tired and I would have Lizzie plus my own food and water. Lizzie, I would carry on my front and my other stuff including binoculars would be in my rucksack, which had cleaned up very well after my encounter with Cortez’s two thugs. But for a large bow-wow and his master, I might have been with my ancestors now not planning cheese sandwiches for the morrow.

After carting Lizzie around much of the day while the girls volunteered to push Cate about in her buggy, I felt quite tired. Simon had taken her for some of the time, but she seems to prefer me—don’t know why. But then I don’t know why some cats will come to me and other women but are wary of men, even though they are sometimes cat lovers too. Dunno if that applies to dogs as well, never heard anyone say it about them. Musing on this I fell asleep almost the instant I got into bed, much to Simon’s disgust.