Swimming before breakfast

'Hasta la cuarenta de mayo, no se quita el sayo' 

Literally means don't take your coat off until the 40th May (10th June). He says it with a wry smile and wise look every year as we don our shorts too early. And he is always right. Although there are many hot days, beautiful days, sunshiny days - the real heat doesn't happen until the 10th of June. And from the 10th June he nods assertively, knowingly and says, 'Everyday, a little bit hotter' until we can stand it no more and we go and live in the sea.

Every year, with a flick of a switch around the middle of June, Mallorca becomes unbearable between the hours of 09:30 and 20:00. Even then the heat stays, melting us as we sleep and cooking us slowly to boiling point by day. The cats loll, the horses swish their tails and doze in cool stables and the guinea pigs lie on frozen gel pads covered in a tea towel - their little bodies panting and flopping like baked potatoes out of the oven. The plants wilt and only the strongest survive the sun's glare, the ones that are meant to be here - the rosemary and oleander, the olive trees and lantana.

Hiding from the sun, lying on ice packs wrapped in towels - 5* animals

And although I love Mallorca to the very core, it's my place in the world and my content - the next few months are a challenge. The heat, the relentlessness, the tourists, the busy beaches and no parking. The feeling of listlessness, the sweat, the lying in pants under the fan, the insanity, the wishing for rain and wondering when it will end - when it's only just started. The Mallorcan summer was my British winter.

Persuading ourselves to get into the car at 8 am, the temperature roaring and soaring as we drive to the little deserted cala (cove) - parking in the already packed car park, we hiked over the stone paths, avoiding the dog shit and listening to the cicadas screaming louder as the temperature climbed to unbearable levels despite the cloud and humidity. The walk was slow, the prize great. Below us a stony beach, no bigger than my garden with a few locals - and the glorious Mediterranean sea. We stripped, cleared away all the plastic and fag butts we could see - and dived into the cool waters. Only to be joined by two cormorants, hunting for their breakfast. We swam, we watched them dive and catch fish so skilfully and we whooped at their speed and confidence. They came close, seemingly unaware or bothered by our presence. The kids watched them under water, their agility as they spied their prey was unnerving. They bobbed up for breath, mushroomed along the surface, filled their bellies with tiny fish and swam to the other side of the bay. By then we decided to dry our salty skin and brave the walk back to the car - just in time for breakfast.

Swimming with cormorants 

Content

It occurs to me that I have never felt this feeling before, being content with the everyday. Never in my 45 years have I been happy to live in a two mile radius of my house and feel deep calm and serenity with no need for anything more. I used to secretly wonder how people could possibly be content and not wish to explore the world further, or attain higher successes or gain better possessions. How could people be so unimaginative with their lives?

Well, I found that place called contentment. It's right here on the Balearic Island of light that is Mallorca. To be specific, its in a little village called Calvia and the small area around it.

Contentment is not just a place in the world but more an acceptance of yourself within that place. The packed lunches are still made, the cats fed, the kids dropped off at school amongst bickering and arguing. The washing, the cleaning, the work, the shopping, the cooking and taxi-ing all continue to happen. The mundane, the frustration, the boredom, the relentlessness of being a mother is all still there - but in fleeting moments, in manageable chunks and coped with calm. Because during the mundane, Mallorca is extraordinary.

The journey to school is full of foreign radio and stray sheep with their coats hanging forlornly from their skinny bodies. The sun rises in a deep pink causing a magical glow on the horses field. We feed, we muck out and cuddle the cats before the day begins. The kids shoes are dirty before school even starts - full horse shit, cat biscuits and seaweed. My protests fall on deaf ears and I  secretly don't care if they arrive filthy. The journey to work with Galatzo mountain as pointy as toblerone in the distance, the old gits drinking booze at breakfast in the village, the box-ladies who waddle and gossip up the high street with bouffant hair and small dogs. It's the oranges which are turning orange, it's the strange foods in the supermarket, it's the ever-present sun, it's the lambs in autumn, it's the resaturants on the beach, the crystal waters, the egrets and ducks. It is so so much.

Being content. I like it.

August

August came and went in a sweaty, blurry haze of siestas, rose wine and far too much fun. Days merged into one long month of early mornings with the horses and late nights around the BBQ. People came and went, we screamed with with the demons, we moaned about the heat, we read books and watched TV, we learned to paddle board and messed around on boats. We moaned a little bit more about the heat, swam, drank gin, had headaches and then complained just a little bit more about the heat.

We stared at the telly with the shutters shut. We lay around in our pants in the air con commenting on the heat, comparing it to yesterdays heat and how hot it would be tomorrow. We rode before the heat, through olive groves and dried up torrents, sweat poured down the side of our heads and the horses foamed between their legs. We drank litres of cold water and lemonade and undid all that hydration with chilled white wine, beers, gins at sunset and hierbas to digest. We watched Mama Mia 2 twice to lie in a dark, air-conditioned cinema, we lived in the pool and ordered tanks of water every week.

A reprieve was had in a trip to Wales and Somerset where we wore hoodies and jeans, trainers and socks - and commented on the cold and damp, glad to get back to bikinis and onesies...and commenting on the heat of the day. We went to Nikki beach and posed with the selfie-takers, we climbed the hills in Deia observing the beauty and the weather, we swam in the sea and found jelly fish, sea cucumbers and parrot fish. Still the heat, the oppression, the stickiness and the discussion with everyone you met.

Pfffff! Hace calor! (Pfff, it's hot)

Roll on September, August you've been a blast.... but I really need to change my topic of conversation.

It must be summer

The cicadas are screaming.

The cats loll about on the tiles hoping for a reprieve.

Schools out and the Playmobil is up.

Siestas happen daily.

We ride before 8 in the morning or after 8 at night.

Clothes are optional.

Sundowners compulsory.

The festival of San Juan celebrated the official start of summer, a couple of days after the solstice. Lights, candles and lanterns were scattered over the beaches of Mallorca and wishes were floated onto the sea - not always in the most environmental way. At midnight, we rushed into the dark waves, to wash away any winter-ness and sins - except it was too cold for me and there have been many sightings of jellyfish, sea snakes and great white sharks. The kids enjoyed it though, and shivered their way into summer in the early hours of the morning.

The beginning of the summer stretches out in front of us; all sweaty and lazy, all unstructured and bare-footed, all hectic and wild - it's what we look forward to all year. The build up has been slow, the school term never-ending with frazzled kids getting hotter and sweatier by the day. To be dumped excitedly into 10 glorious weeks of freedom that is summer, at last.

The hack

She moves off as I mount, keen to get going. Keen to march down the track and out of the farm where she stays, keen to look at everything around her in the spring sunshine. She takes in all the differences of the walk today, from how it was yesterday - noticing rubbish in the hedge, a fallen log in a field, egrets standing on the back of the sheep and the puddle on the road which has never, ever been there before. She spooks, she runs, she snorts, she looks left, she looks right - she rarely settles on our walks out into the big, wide world.

Kira is my feisty horse who has had a rough start in life. Despite her nervous ways I have learnt to sit still and let her have a good look at all around her. We walk past the donkeys who gallop over to say hello, she strains her neck to look at them and decides they pose no threat, long eared and beneath her - she walks on. The dogs to the right don't even get a look in, we know their barks and their non-threatening waggy tails. Hello doggies I call, they ignore me completely - not speaking any English I suppose - and continue their frenzy at the passing horse.

There is no greater smell than orange blossom; it beats freshly brewed coffee, baking bread and just-mown grass. The orange orchard to our left engulfs our olfactory senses, the heady sweetness lingers in the air while the uncollected oranges lay fallen and abandoned on the ground. She uses all her body to naviagte the steep hills and she baulks at the group of cyclists who whizz at speed, making the air whistle as they pass. She tenses as we approach the dog she hates, spooking predictably as he runs along the fence - every time dear Kira - every time.

She stands patiently as I talk to a new friend over a fence, in potted Spanish and plenty of gesticulating. I like him, he always admires my horse, as wonky and nutty as she is. We negotiate pigs, bouncy lambs, hectic hairy ponies in herds and the fiercest German Shepherd's who pounce against the fence - rattling it menacingly.

Tourists point at us, old men begrudgingly say 'bon dia' as they forage for wild asparagus in the hedges and walkers avoid us as she side-steps up the road to avoid a murderous plastic bag.

Her body relaxes as we walk the familiar mile back to her stable, I feel as happy as I have ever felt in my life. Just me, my horse, the spring sunshine and beautiful, beautiful Mallorca.

Weather

You could tell they were on holiday, filling their trolley with cheap booze and by the vest tops they were sporting in 8C. The first tourists are arriving, full of hope and swimming costumes. There is a misconception that Mallorca is warm and sunny year round and to be fair, it is a whole lot nicer than the UK, who have had to deal with Beasts from the East. But March, oh March has been full of weather. Full of rain. Full of cold. Full of wind that whips round your face and creates monstrous plastic bags. Full of warm days where T shirts and sunnies are required. We've had it all, and now I am ready for a decent run of calm, of sun and of the gradual ascent to mental searing, blistering heat.

Today we have been treated to a whole day of rain. So much so, that our village Sheep and Goat Festival was abandoned in a torrent of water which ran through the streets, cancelling the dancing and tapas sharing, halting the goat admiring and beer drinking.

The horses spent all but an hour in their stables. Spot, who was born here in Mallorca, doesn't do rain. Grateful for the duvet day, he munched his hay with not a wet hair on his fat, hairy body. Kira, a girl from the north of Spain, is quite happy to stand in her corale, the water soaking her to the skin. The ducks came back to swim on the lakes created on the riding arenas, grateful for a few more weeks of puddles before they have to fly off to find a new watery home.

Sun

Snow

Rain

Violent sunsets

Windy palms

Fear, at its deepest

I looked behind me and the ascent seemed vertical. I looked ahead of me and the descent looked like a sheer drop. I was completely frozen with fear. I had no phone, no idea how I was going to get off this mountain, the fog was descending fast and my 5 euro sunglasses were clouded with snow. I don't think I have ever felt so frightened, I didn't know what to do. I looked up, I looked down. I looked up and I looked down again, both options completely unattainable and finally Ava, my eldest daughter, snow ploughed at 5cm/minute crying - with snot dribbling out of her nose - towards me. At last she was with me, my baby - her mama. We hugged, helmets and skis colliding, so pleased to have found each other - now we could tackle it side by side.

Last week was our first try at skiing. We took the ferry to Barcelona along with almost all of Mallorca for Semana Blanca (literally meaning 'White Week'). The ski resort in Andorra was beautiful, we drove to the snow whooping with delight at the two metre drifts and the people flying off piste. I couldn't wait to try it.

Ski school lasted for precisely 2 hours. Ben, bearded and gorgeous, put up with our inability to slide down a hill, our ineptitude, our clumsiness - he had seen it all before. The two hours disappeared fast, as did Ben, and we were alone on the slopes. We skied down and took a lift up. We did it again and again. And again. And then drank beer congratulating ourselves on our skiing ability. How fun! How thrilling! (Actaully, How Easy! we thought)

So the next day we all headed for a Blue run, one up from a nursery slope and two down from the Black run - depending how you look at it. Ava hesitated and I was off - all my 2 hours of ski instruction disappearing in the blur of snow, speed and pine trees. I couldn't stop. I couldn't scream. I couldn't bail out as I had 2 metres of goddamn metal attached to my feet. The next bit of my life I have blanked, I actually have no idea how I came to a halt but I can assure you it wasn't pretty. And there I sat waiting for my daughter for 20 minutes, maybe more. 

On a mountain. With fog descending. With 5 euro sunglasses. With no phone.

With absolutely no idea how this was going to end.

Nearly over

It's been chilly for a while. Enough to wear a fleece and a scarf inside the house and for two duvets to be on the bed. There's no carpets, double glazing or central heating on this Balearic Island, the houses are made for heat - which to be fair, it is most of the time. We even had two days of rain in a row, some snow and frost on the ground. This morning, for the first time here in Mallorca, I had to defrost the car.

It will soon nearly be over, the winter. Not that it has been a tough winter at all. Christmas boasted t-shirt weather while 'Las calmas de enero' delivered the most glorious January of all. Not a drop of rain fell and day after day of blue skies and luke-warm sun led us all to believe that summer was merely around the corner. The horses enjoyed rug-free days and the stray cats were quickly neutered to avoid the inevitable spring kittens. The almonds blossomed, a little too early for likes of the farmers, and the fields became a vibrant green and yellow - a dazzling display for the eyes. More lambs were born, they seem to arrive year round here, and coffees were sipped outside on street pavements, sunglasses mandatory and fake-fur coats. There are so few tourists here; reminding me to enjoy the calm, the empty wind swept beaches and the easy parking. The tranquillity of the winter before the storm of the summer.

Empty beaches

T- shirt rides

As the island comes out of hibernation you can feel the season and vibe hotting up. The restaurants shake off their dust, the beaches are cleaned of the sea weed, terraces are painted, pools are cleaned and buildings are hurriedly finished.

Ready for the long, hot, crazy, hectic and gloriously fabulous summer.

Winter

Winter happens overnight here in Mallorca.

Half term was a blissful week of sunny days, riding in tee shirts, sunglasses over lunch, snoozes on the balcony with faces to the warmth and ice creams watching the super yachts moor for the winter; after a season of indulgent luxury.

We had the obligatory end-of-summer-BBQ. Just as the last sausage was consumed and the last glass of chilled white wine was quaffed, at exactly the same time as last year, the weather turned cold and the skies turned black. Winter had arrived - and boy, do you notice it here in Mallorca.

The houses are just not built for the cold, with their stone floors and no insulation. It doesn't help that our boiler has broken, the logs are too damp and the electricity company is threatening to cut us off for not paying our bill - we are trying to pay obviously but it just isn't that simple here in Spain. The ceiling has a hole in it, the rain drips slowly onto our duvet, the horses are wearing their rugs and the kids wrap up in puffy jackets and tights on the way to school.

But do you know what?

It might be chilly, with a shivery breeze - but there is always the sun. Weak and watery as it is right now, it never fails to make November simply delightful.

Cold but sunny evenings after school

Summer of '17

I slept without a fan and reached for a sheet to cover my body last night. It must mean that summer is waning and autumn is ready to be welcomed with open and loving arms. Oh boy, what a summer it was too; days and days, weeks and weeks, even months and months of boiling hot, stinking, searing, blistering heat. Goodbye summer, we have had a blast, but autumn cannot come soon enough.

The summer holidays are coming to a close. The uniforms have been bought and shoes purchased from my favourite little shoe shop in Magaluf, next to a pumping techno bar, in front of vomit and behind a beach which has seen some action. A sweet Spanish family sort us out with some sensible back-to-school shoes amongst the wild and chaotic party town. We celebrate with burgers and yellow food, watching the stags, hens and hangovers go by - warning my near-teenage daughter what not to look for in a boyfriend. I fear I may be worse than her father.

And as the temperature drops and the clouds appear we reflect on the best summer of our lives. Days and days of freedom and bare feet. Of swimming, learning to dive and countless back flips. Of insects, geckos and tortoises. Of ponies, donkeys and cantering around with wide grins. Of snorkelling, rock jumping and crusty hair. Of moonlit skies, romantic dinners and watching our favourite lizard nightly. Of late nights, early mornings and stolen siestas. Of friends so dear, giggles and hugs. Of very few tears, arguments and squabbles.

Thank you Mallorca again, you are one special place.

All before 9

We are having a heatwave. It's hotter than hot and the heat does not go away at night.

The fattie catties play dead on the floor tiles and breathe rapidly dreaming of damp Sussex days and cosy winter nights. I am surprised they have kept their British fluff, I would have thought nature might have replaced it with a Mallorquin coat, short haired and sparse. I suppose you can't change the fur you were born in.

The plants wilt and leaves are scorched. The clothes dry in fifteen minutes and the towels resemble cardboard after lying discarded in the sun. The ground is dangerous to walk on and the inside unbearable without fans and air conditioning - preferably both on at full speed. 

It's hard to do anything in this heat. Entertaining the kids is tough without the risk of sun stroke, so all fun needs to be had as early as we can. We roused sleepily today at day break and hoped for some reprieve outside, with a coffee. But this morning it was already 32C at 06:30. We dragged on jodhpurs, cut up some carrots and checked there was enough cat food in the boot of the car for Calvia's strays. The ponies greet us with their woffly neighs and valiantly trot around in circles before cool showers and breakfast. We leave them with fly spray and the shade of their stables with hay and water for the day.

Beetroot-faced and drenched with sweat we changed into flip-flops and shorts, keen to get the air con on our faces as we drive down the mountain to the sea. It glistens and beckons, empty all but for a few oldies bobbing in the warm waters before the hoards awake - we strip and run into the gloopy waves, hoping for a little cool, disappointed how fast our body adapts. We swim and tread water, squealing at the fronds of seaweed which wrap menacingly around our legs. 

Looking forward to our tostada, litres of chilled water and another little shot of coffee, we find the most Spanish of Spanish bars - all before 09:00. 

After which the temperatures have reached dangerous levels and the only thing to do is shut the shutters and hide.

Water, water

I turned on the tap nonchalantly, thoughts of preparing dinner and watering the plants on my mind. The tap spat, coughed, heaved and stopped. I turned it on and off again but still no water. Maybe it was just the kitchen, but no, it seemed every tap had ran out of water. We had in fact, ran out of water.

You see, our water lives in a tank under our new house. There are no mains anything up the mountain where we live, except electricity and even that's a bit hit and miss. Being new to the system of having a finite amount of water, I guess it was inevitable that we would run one day run out.

Carlos was called, the water would be with me tomorrow he said. Always tomorrow in Spain.

While waiting we pondered on our dilemma. No shower in the 35 degree heat, no washing of clothes or dishes, the plants began to wilt and the toilets began to smell. Faces and armpits were washed at the stables with a hose while the swimming pool dealt with rest of our grime.

We all decided to go out for dinner, feeling lucky we had that option at all. We cleaned our teeth in mineral water and hoped that Carlos would deliver to us first in the morning.

What a lesson to learn.

And as the rain crashed down this week in a rare summer storm, we delighted that our garden was having a soaking and the tank was refilling with liquid gold from the sky.

Summer happened

Summer happened, just like that, a couple of weeks ago now. Where everything that was once green, has turned brown overnight. The spring flowers have withered leaving grass seed pods and allium skeletons, petrified and roasting.

The horses routine has turned upside down, inside in the day and out all night. The cat has turned into her Magaluf - party style cat, hunting and vomiting by night and comatose in the day.

Ice lollies are mandatory, bikinis live at the front of my drawers, swimming lessons have started in school, the air con is permanently on in the car, I am dirty brown, the duvet has disappeared from the bed, the mosquito repellent is on, BBQ's every weekend, siestas imperative and luke-warm showers save our electricity bills.

Summer has happened. I can hardly believe we have another 9 degrees to go.

Spot cools down in the sprayers and mud

The other one is a bit mental and sunbathes at lunctime

Psycho cat

Back to school

Well that was fun, a week-and-a-bit of half term.

Of no driving.

Of ponies, play dates and parties.

Of a walk so spectacular a little leak may have sprung from my eyes.

Of tomaring-algo (to tomar algo literally means to take something, usually a beer!) in the main square as the children played around the church and in the fountains.

Of discovering tiny kids and mama goats.

Of coffee and a chocolate cake as big as our heads, in front of the sparkling blue sea. We all felt sick for the rest of the day.

Of days at work where I can take the children, and they help with the chores.

Of breathing in the Spring and taking precious time to feel grateful for all around us.

And of falling asleep in the sun after lunch.

Mud pie cafe

Paella up a mountain

Spot meets the neighbours

Patinaje

The big girl got perforated

There were the rains, and then the snow, a week of ice and two days of winds so destructive it broke our tree in two.

And then, just like that, it was A's birthday. A great big eleven year old who has taken this huge Mallorcan step all in her pre-teen stride. A smiley girl, always kind, obsessed with her pony and friends, awoke to the most hideous of days. Rain battered on the car as we drove the long journey to school - rain in Mallorca makes traffic jams, so we were late.

And then she forgot the cakes to take into her class. And because she had missed registration no one sang Feliz Cumpleanos to her. She cried. Eleven was turning out to be completely rubbish.

Valiantly, she ran out to me and grinned her wide grin after the school day was over. P looked nervous, for it had been decided that seeing eleven was very grown up - she could get her ears pierced. She had been practising with stickers on her ears for weeks, watched all the You Tube videos on how it was done and asked all her friends what it was like - preparing her for the day. Not being a great fan of pain, A had still decided to go ahead.

So off to the pharmacy we went.

The first one was shut.

The second one was open but only did piercings on Friday afternoons. The disappointment and relief was palpable in one.

We tried all of Magaluf.

After parking terribly in Palmanova I ran into the fourth chemist who said yes, she could have her orejas perforadas now. How she grinned, terrified and excited. P closed her ears and eyes. I held A's hand tightly and bang! bang! They were done. Two diamante studs of the crappiest quality where in my daughters ears and her eleventh birthday had been redeemed. Completely redeemed.

"At last I am like a Spanish girl!" she exclaimed, looking at herself in the mirror.

Yes my darling you are.

"I've never seen snow before on my birthday!"

Only in Mallorca

The rain in Spain

Oh my giddy God.

I was not ready for this. I don't think the rest of the island was either. It was biblical. First snow, then the winds and storms - and then days and days of rain. Not the pissy kind you get in the UK, the sort which dampens you constantly - no, this was like the rainy season in Asia, on a rainy day.

Spot has been highly unamused about being whizzed around on the end of a lunge for a bit of exercise. Kira, being the utter crazy kid she is, gallops around in the mud thankful for the leg stretch. I have changed clothes three times a day for a week.

It has to end soon. Google reckons Friday.

Spot practices his his 'sad donkey face' in his paddock

Er, 'scuse me!

Bienvenido a Mallorca

That, my friends, is snowy, sleety hail.

We've all gone into shock and lock down. Spot, the pony was utterly disgusted to be put outside while I mucked out. I think I will make a soup and get my sheepskin slippers on. This is not exactly what we signed up for!

Tis the season

Usually by now I have worked myself into a state and spouted about the unnecessary excess and the vulgarity of it all - putting others off their Christmas entirely. I would have grudgingly bought the crackers, the mince pies and half a tonne of stilton and grimaced my way through the church nativity. I am the the Grinch and the Scrooge combined, I feel bad about that - wishing I could enjoy the magic of the season like everyone else.

We seem to going through the same motions here in Mallorca, but it feels entirely acceptable this year. There is a tree - both fake and out of place as the sun streams through the window.

I can't find mince pies, crackers or Christmas cards but there is stollen and panetonne a plenty. The Chinese supermarkets have provided the tat to dress up the ponies. Spot begrudgingly coped with the tinsel but prefers not to wear his reindeer antlers.

We have had carol concerts by the sea, the boats twinkling in the marina while the children sing to Cliff Richards classics. There has been mulled wine and ice skating. Christmas markets and advent calenders. 

And I still feel sane.

Maybe Mallorca has taken the Grinch out of me after all these years.

Autumn

The days are shorter but still the geraniums flower. 

The air is fresher but a late sunflower blooms.

The peaches have gone but the oranges are ripening.

There is rain, but always the sun.

Mallorca in Autumn lifts the soul. I am deeply content on this Mediterranean island of light. The language is developing, the ponies are gleaming, the cats are beginning to sleep and the mountains change daily. 

There is no place on the earth I would rather be.

Half term

We all needed the break, especially little P with bags under her eyes so dark and ingrained. I needed a pause from the driving, the girls needed a few homework-free days and he just needed a holiday. So we all took last week off and had multiple days out exploring the island and falling ever-so slightly in love with it.

You see, there was no one here. We had the beaches to ourselves. We found a parking spot easily in Palma. We found a table for lunch in Alcudia. We saw no other cyclists on our bike rides. There were no supermarket queues. And still the sun shone.

Discovering Biniagual

Morning cuddles with Spot

Swimming in the sea in November

Lone palm and just us

Palma days

And just as the children returned to school, and he returned to work, the skies turned black and the temperatures dropped - just as it should be in November after all.