Hey, it's no fun. Being deprived of the internet, that is. Forced to frequent the dingy surroundings of the Spanish internet cafe, to put up with the (loud) conversations of the three Turkish gentlemen sharing the computer at the adjacent station, to tolerate the puerile musical choices of the cafe manager; it is no place - I assure you - to compose my elegant (well more or less) contributions to this blog, Nor will I dwell on the lengthy conversations with Telefonica, which in the absence of a functioning telephone line had to be conducted from the nearest public telephone booth. Ok, so they offer an English language service but to me computerese is as incomprehensible in English as it is in Spanish. I suppose it's partly my fault for my aversion to the mobile telephone - Mr Ludd, thou should'st be living at this hour.
But there are advantages. You discover old friends, like Radio 4: the beautiful diction of the newsreaders, the civilised urbanity and understanding of (most of) the foreign correspondents, the variegated delights of Pick of the Week. And music - re-discovering the Indigo Girls, Counting Crows, Thin Lizzy.
You get a chance to think. For example, is this blogging business not a rather silly thing for a 58-year-old expat to be doing? I mean, who cares? Am I simply casting bread on the waters for it to be consumed by the ducks? But I will no doubt be back at it tomorrow morning.
Finally, a thought on the new technology. For what is supposed to be a wireless connection to the internet, my living room is surprisingly littered with wires. I suppose that I shouldn't complain - after all (and that's been quite a lot in recent weeks) it does - touch wood - actually seem to work.