First night, Saturday night we managed to finish off the bottle of Patraran. Fortunately there were eight of us drinking it so we were able to even out the consumtion.  It was far healthier than sharing a bottle between three or four. Even so there was a slow thud at the back of by head as I woke up. Lying in bed and thinking it over I remembered spending half a day walking rould the Prado in Madrid with a Patcharan hangover and standing in front of the great panels painted by Hieronymous Bosch and his visions of hell.

Out of bed was the sun was shining again and so went went on a walk through fields of olives . Apparently there had been heavy rain a few days ago and the ground was heavy and claylike underfoot and covered with fine stones. The trees were heavy with black fruit the branches weighed down.

There was the occasional pomegranate tree along the side of the path. The remaining fruit on those trees had an obscene look about them, the red skin torn apart and dirty and the seeds plucked out by birds.

The walk took us to a small village and a bar.  There was one man behind the bar. He took the order for drinks but looked nonplussed when we asked about food. He shook his head  and said something about this evening.  Looking at our faces he asked if we wanted tapas and then went back inside.

Five minutes later he came out with four plates of deep fried anchovies. They went in a minute. We worried that that might be it and went inside to order another round of drinks. There was a menu on the wall but he shook his head again as he saw us looking at it. He asked about tapas again and we all said yes. There was a local policeman stood at the bar in his green uniform and stiff black staff cap. He held a small rounded glass that looked like it contained brandy.

Five minutes later the man was out again with another four plates. These had slices of black pudding and small bread rolls that had been filled with pieces of pork cooked in tomatoe sauce.

As we had those he brought out another four plates of fried fish  – a mixture of sardines and pices of cod. They had been dusted in flour before being deep fried. The last few plates were of pork – a mixture of thick pieces of bacon and small slices of thinly sliced loin.

It was a a very good lunch.

Well there is internet access in El Molino so those who follow this thing are going to have to put up with a few bulletins from southern Spain. We are about an hour inland from Malaga and 30 miles west of Granda. The house is an old bakery tucked down amidst the hills which are covered in straight lines of olive trees.

Flying over Spain early this morning we could see snow covering the tops of the mountains and we saw it again driving up from Malaga dusting the tops of the Sierra Nevada in the west. Hopefully there will be clear skies when we go to the Alhambra on Monday and we will have the classic view of the old Moorish palace with the snow covered mountains in the distance.

It was cold when we arrived and I was glad that I had brought my thick Irish wool jumper. But then as the sun sat high in the sky over lunch the air started to warm until you could feel the heat in your face.

There is a pool but it is not heated and the water still carries the cold from the frost that descends at night as whatever warmth may have gathered over the day is lost to the clear sky.

We went shopping this afternoon – mostly to scout out the local supermarket and work out the potential for making Christmas lunch. There were two half suckling pigs that looked tempting – the oven here is big enough to take them both and the old bread oven is still next to the kitchen. Unfortunately it it is not in state to be fired up and is more decorative than functional – but the decoration means that it is now used as a place to store a vast array of large trays and pots – some of which are large enough to accommodate a small pig.

So that is an option. Not too far away the fish counter was overspilling and in the centre there were three blue plastic trays of anchovies silver and quick . You don’t get those in Tesco. They will go down well dusted in flour and paprika and deep fried.

This will be brief. Although I am going to bed shortly I will be up again in a few hours time waking up the rest of the family so we can drive to John Lennon Airport to catch an early morning plane.

For the first time for a long time we have a week away over Christmas. And not only will we be spending Christmas Day with the immediate Bullivant family (17 in all) but the whole week is going to spent in close proximity.

As families go we are lucky and will look to try and find ways around the raising of voice and the looking for a row. But over a whole seven days? We shall see.

We are spending the week in a large vila in Southern Spain which should work as compensation. Apparently there is Wi-fi. If there is then more bulletins may follow although they may be written through a fog of sherry, Rioja and Patxaran.

If the Wi-fi does not work – have a good Christmas!

Well that just shows you that a bit of time, care and attention makes all the difference.

Having finished the roast chicken I picked the meat off the carcass and put it to one side in the fridge with whatever juices and bits of gravy were left in the pan.

The carcass then went into a pan with a chopped onion and giblets and the water left over from draining the potatoes and was left on a low heat for a couple of hours. That was then drained off and the stock put in the fridge next to the chicken.

Two of us ate it this evening.

Oil was heated in a wok and once it started to smoke I added the chicken and started to cook it through on a high heat.

I then added chopped spring onions, garlic, ginger and red chilli and some shredded green beans.

That was cooked through for a few minutes. As it cooked I stirred in a couple of tablespoons of oyster sauce.

I then added the stock which in the meantime had been heated through in another pan. It had been thick and jelly like coming out of the fridge.

I then added two packs of noodles and cooked them through and the whole lot was poured into two bowls.

It was thick and unctuous and possibly the best chicken noodles I have made.

In the meantime Galen’s art teacher has told him that there is something of the Francis Bacon in the way the he paints. So he has taken that on board and spent the evening painting a picture of an Ox’s heart that I picked up from The Farmer’s Market last year.

.