Cold front numero cuatro continues, with lashing rain, and winds strong enough to rattle the glass doors all round our apartment. Water comes in through some of them and we have to sweep it out with a broom. I am thoroughly sulky.
My Spanish teacher just keeps saying “no es comun”, which appears to mean… “the weather was alright here until you turned up”. I air my theory that our daughter is in fact a reincarnation of the Mayan rain god, Chac, given how rainy summer was at home as well. He agrees – but doesn’t offer to buy us a ticket home immediately.
To cheer ourselves up, we cook banana bread and then go out for a meal to a fantastic and warm French-Italian place that makes its own pasta. It’s oddly like a ski lodge (complete with vin chaud) and is also very, very warm. Our meal, with drinks and three courses each, comes to eight pounds. I am thoroughly cheered.
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