Showing posts with label Lavapies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lavapies. Show all posts

Thursday, 16 September 2010

I'm talking to you 3b

This mat made me laugh, it really could have been made for me. And as for 3b, there is no 3b, but these sentiments could apply to pretty much the entire population of my Madrid neighbourhood, Lavapies...
From the Onion Store

Friday, 25 June 2010

Spanish film night

Instead of watching the Spain-Chile World Cup match tonight I am sacreligiously considering giving it all up to curl up at home with a couple of DVDs. The reason? Yesterday I had a bit of an impromptu night out and let's just say I'm feeling a little worse for wear. What was meant to be quickly popping into the exhibition of a friend of a friend's comic drawings ended with a huge margarita in a bar whose name I can't rememember on c/Moratín. The excuse for such unsuitable behaviour on a school night is that I'm doing a guest post on someone else's blog on the best cocktails in Madrid and a friend had promised me the pisco sours in this unnamed bar were amazing. One problem, they had run out of pisco, so it's mexican cousin margarita had to stand in. More like kick in, I'm used to drinking margaritas in a martini-type glass, not from a bucket. Luckily my friends saw to it that I was home by 1a.m., but instead of sensibly going to bed I felt this was an appropriate time to watch an episode of desperate housewives and do a bit of writing. Anyway, it's now 3pm, I've just got home from work and needless to say the last thing I fancy is night of beer and football. Instead, I stopped by the fanastic cine de autor DVD rental place near my flat, Ficciones, and picked up a couple of Spanish films I've been meaning to see for ages: Isabel Coixet's Secret life of words and Almodovar's The bad education. I loved Coixet's My life without me (if you haven't seen it, please do, you will cry but in a good way) and I have to say 'Pedro' doesn't always float my boat so I'm hoping this movie will turn me round. I'll let you know :-)

Sunday, 20 June 2010

El Horno

In my quest to find the right type of yoga for me and the right teacher, this weekend I did a Vinyasa yoga class at El Horno - quite a well-known dance studio in Tirso de Molina just 10 minutes from where I live. To the right is the photo of the school's patio. I had been here years back for a sevillanas class, but hadn't returned since, despite being told that the not-unattractive actor Hugo Silva goes there for capoeira. From what I'd read on the school's website I was completely unprepared for what Vinyasa yoga was. We went through what must be the most gruelling work out I've done in years, a flowing sequence of demanding postures and stretches, with highly controlled breathing all done in a heated room (as you can imagine, blowing hot air into a room in Madrid in June makes it pretty damn hot). On this occasion, El Horno certainly lived up to its meaning, the oven. I was by far the least stong and flexible in the class but felt good that I managed to stick with it for the hour and a half duration of the lesson - in which we all sweated, unnattractively, and profusely, literally buckets. Initially I was a bit worried about fainting from the heat, but thankfully that didn't happen! The class was more than my current class, but it was longer and the instruction was definitely superior - I liked the fact that the teacher - instead of just doing his own yoga moves - actually walked round the room, instructing, overseeing, and on ocassion, scolding! I felt great after the class, though one day later I hurt in places I didn't know existed. I'm considering going back for more punishment and I'm wondering if this type of yoga has the mental benefits of hatha? But then when I think of the great muscle tone some of the other girls in the class had (regardless of their shape or size) a shallow something inside me says 'the mind will wait, work that body!'

Thursday, 11 February 2010

Unexpected guests in Lavapies

The title is a bit of a misnomer, no guests (be they roaches or leering drunks) in Lavapies are 'unexpected', even if they are unwelcome. Over the past week I have found a spider in my sugar bowl and just now another in my bed.....aaaarrgghhh... It's bad enough to find spiders, but especially in the stuff you eat and the place you sleep. Worse still, the latter beastie seems to think I am edible. A week ago I woke up with a really swollen and immovable arm that was literally agony to the touch and really hard to move, right in the centre of it was a little bite. This made my memory fleetingly jump back to an unfortunate summer camp incident in Loeches where my fellow camp leader was supposedly bitten by a common spider and rendered completely paralysed for 2 weeks. Anyway, back to my own immovable arm, I dismissed the spider idea, reminding myself that in the UK we have some enormous spiders but had never heard of anyone being bitten by one, I thought it was probably some sort of winter mosquito bite or something despite Spanish people's assurances that it was a spider... Anyway, about 10 minutes ago I changed my bed linen and was greeted by a sizeable arachnid who seemed to be camping out in my bed (I'm sorry to tell you I crushed it with a hairbrush). So, it looks like house spiders do bite, and that you can have quite nasty allergic reactions to them. I wonder how many more of these little nasties are lurking?  Luckily Madrid spidies are no bigger than a 50-pence piece, but still, they're not my ideal flatmates. And don't give me any of that spiders are our friends/they eat flies/they are more afraid of us than we are of them bu"& sh%* - I have a brain that is bigger than a grain of salt, so I'm sure I can feel fear much more astutely than a hairy sesame seed with 8 legs ;-)
Related Posts with Thumbnails