Sunday 31 May 2009

Dia del Deportes

Well that was a lot of fun!

Yesterday we begged, bullied, cajoled and persuaded 20 of our Madrid-based friends to join us in our local park for an English Sports Day and Picnic. What with the gorgeous weather which is practically a permanent fixture here in Spain and the proximity of the shady, flat spaces of Parque Tierno Galvan, it seemed a crime not to! Egg and Spoon races, Rounders, Cricket and Three-legged races were all scheduled in, as we began to assemble from 1pm, with people coming and going all day and a hard-core dozen lasting a good 8 hours until a sudden thunderstorm sent us bolting for cover, hasty goodbyes said as our guests ran for the Metro.



Turn out was much better than expected, with a strong representation from our Pueblo Ingles friends and the writing group, and there was way too much food! As we have discovered many, many times during our 14 blissful months of marriage, when you ask people to bring something to share they make enough for about five people!! Maria-Jose's veggie croquetas, Jero's home-baked bread and Vanessa'a tortilla were among our favourites. In fact the, only thing we were short of was enough to drink, especially in the 30 degree heat, so several expeditions to the local supermercado were organised.



The egg and spoon races - 4 heats followed by semi-finals and then a grand final - caused much hilarity and some outrageous cheating, and were eventually won by the athlete from Senegal, Aboubacar, after the local challenger Javier and the early favourite Owain both suffered disastrous egg-breaks mid-race. (The GB representatives Kathleen and Richie took silver and bronze). However, in an outstanding display of Anglo-German cooperation Owain eventually grabbed a gold in the three-legged race when he and Nico narrowly triumphed over Kate and Maria-Jose's stylish team.



Rounders, played under a shady canopy with trees for bases and a rolling-pin as a bat, was popular with Max's tight pitching keeping some of the big-hitters in check and the first game finishing in a 8-8 tie. Cricket was less successful, though Sylmara - a Puerto Rican we'd met the weekend before - turned out to be a demon-bowler in her first ever attempt at playing. Naturally Kate got the guitar out as well - her Dirty Bitch Tango being requested by her loyal Pueblo Ingles fans - and Owain joined her for a duet on a song they'd written together. Then Javier wowed us all with some amazing magic tricks and sleights of hand, roping me into helping him with a trick he'd only explained to me once before; I just managed to get it right!

Monday 25 May 2009

Mucha Musica!

Another weekend rolls by and another bunch of excellent live shows. This is one aspect of living in Spain (and Madrid in particular) that is especially attractive. If World Music isn't your thing, then perhaps you wouldn't feel as blessed as we do, but we love global grooves and WOMAD Caceres, Planeta Madrid and now Africa Vive have showered us in riches.

We picked up flyers for Africa Vive while in Caceres, but it wasn't until I spotted the words "entrada gratuito" in tiny writing at the bottom that we decided we had to go. Stingy? Perhaps. I prefer "thrifty".The show was held at the main university on huge stages, built side-by-side so one act began even as the applause was dying down for the previous artist, with no gaps for set-ups and sound checks in the middle.
When we arrived, with Pueblo Ingles Anglo chum Lynne and another fresh Anglo, Barbara in tow, the first thing we saw was the scrum around a stall giving out free T-shirts. The second thing we saw was our former classmate from Spanish lessons, Aboubacar, a Senegalese who's currently studying at the university. Big hugs all round, introductions to his cousin and some Spanish friends, beers bought and we all went to watch the first act.Bassekou Kouyate, a virtuoso n'goni player (African guitar) from Mali was in full flow, head to toe in flowing, tie-dyed robes and grooving with his band like The Shadows on speed. Superb stuff, and Theo's and my favourite of the night.He was followed by Smod, another Malian group who specialise in catchy acoustic pop and endearing three-part harmonies. Daara J, a riotous hip hop act from Senegal were up next and Aboubacar was almost beside himself as the familiar beats and raps from home poured forth. They had loads of energy and were tonnes of fun.
Next up, the home-grown Spanish act, Ojos de Brujo, whose breathless flamenco fusion was a massive hit with the crowd (as you'd expect!), with North African influences in some of the tunes probably giving them qualification for the event, as well as their crowd-pulling ability. The best moment was when Daara J joined them on stage for a fantastic flamenco/African hip-hop mash-up.

By that time, the music had been playing without a break for more than two hours and, enjoyable though it was, we were all starting to get a little footsore. We sacrificed the last act in favour of the trudge back to the Metro and some chill time.

By the way, honesty compells me to point out that after the unpardonably patronising tone of my "sizzler" blog post, the hot weather broke with a terrific storm on Friday night and Saturday was cool and rainy. At times, it almost felt like Glastonbury at Africa Vive, as passing showers of rain continued to top up the many puddles. Mind you, only one of them was heavy enough to warrant a mass opening of umbrellas. And at least we didn't have to squelch our way back to a muddy tent.

Sunday 24 May 2009

El Rastro

El Rastro is the vast Sunday morning market that sprawls around the streets and squares of La Latina every weekend. Famous for its antique stalls (though in truth you're unlikely to find anything exceptional) it also sells pretty much everything else, with several side streets seeming to specialize - pet paraphernalia, watches, flowers and so on - with the bulk of the stalls on the heaving main street dealing in cheap clothing.

It's a quite a tourist attraction, as you might imagine, though the foreigners were easily outnumbered by locals hunting for a bargain amid the jumbled second hand clothes stores or sipping canas under the shade of a tree.


The market also seemed to attract - if not demand - a far higher quality of busker than normal. We enjoyed the music of (in order) a rather excellent hurdy-gurdy player, a Chinese Chinese violinst (i.e. both the player and instrument were Chinese) and an excellent circus band with a rather marvellous line in jaunty tunes and facial hair. We tipped all of the above.

We made a couple of purchases - some summer trousers for me and a gorgeous red dress for Kate - I think you'll agree she looks quite stunning.


So, no change there then!

Saturday 23 May 2009

up to our ears in fruit

Red fruit is in season in Spain and has been for the past 3 weeks - we've got cherries, peaches and strawberries coming out of our ears. Here's another kilo punnet I just bought for €2.50.

Mmmmmmm!

Friday 22 May 2009

Sizzling UK "hotter than Spain"

I had to laugh when the UK headline, proudly proclaiming a "sizzler" for the bank holiday, popped up in front of my eyes as I logged into my email. Excitedly, it said it would be "hotter than Spain!" Here's the story:

The weekend temperature will be the hottest of the year, beating the current record of 22.1C (72F) reached in East Malling, Kent, in mid-April.
"We can expect temperatures to rise to 24C (75F) on both Saturday and Sunday," said a Sky forecaster.
Paris can expect temperatures of 22C (72F), Madrid 23C (73F) and Lisbon 21C (70F). Rome will be basking in temperatures of above 30C (86F).

I am, of course, delighted that the UK's Whitsun break is getting a decent spell of sunshine. It was the "hotter than Spain" boast that made me smile.

The story neglects to mention the fact that here in Madrid we've been "basking" in temperatures of above 30 degrees for the last three days. The temperature is expected to go down a tad at the weekend - latest forecasts suggest it'll be somewhere in the region of 25 C. Which will be something of a relief. Even our Spanish friends, who generally have a far higher tolerance to heat than we cold-blooded northern Europeans, are describing the weather as "hace mucho calor" (making a lot of heat).

It's only a brief respite, though. From the middle of June the temperature here tends to ascend towards (and into) the early forties Celsius and remain there until September. I'm not sure how Theo and I will cope, although he had some practice at surviving the heat during his childhood, when his family lived for a time in Tanzania. As for me? I'm investing in a traditional Spanish fan.

Thursday 21 May 2009

legally resident

I am finally legally resident in Spain, having procured my NIE - Numero de Identidad de Extranjero - this week after many Catch-22 style antics. Well, not that many, but enough to stress me out.

Getting the number is free and easy, but getting the appointment is not - there's a 6 month wait which is why I only just got mine. You need it to pay taxes, get a bank account and so on. There's a 10 euro administration charge which you have to pay at a bank beforehand and take the receipt with you. After getting Nataly to help me fill in the forms, this bit was easy: 8.30am (my appointment was at 10pm) at the bank, queue for 10 minutes, pay, on the metro to the address on the form. I arrive in good time, just after 9am, and join the back of the queue that snakes its way out of the building along the pavement and across the road. I'd taken some marking with me to keep me busy. The line moves fairly quickly and as I approach the door a policeman asks to see my form. Noting I'm English he tries to be helpful: "You need line 5." Anyway, either he got his numbers confused or was just plain wrong, because after 15 minutes of queuing in line 5 I finally get my turn and am directed to line 7. I queue again. Finally I am summoned to line 9, to be told I'm in the wrong place altogether. "Donde de Reino Undido? Vale, debes ir a Puerta de Toledo," says the man at the desk, giving me an address. I'm a bit pissed off; not only is the address he's given me not on the form but I recognise it: I've been there before, with Kate when she wanted to change the address on her NIE - there (at Puerta de Toledo) we were told to go to a different office - the one I was currently in, in fact! I explain this to the man, and he bumbles off with my forms into a back office. Ten minutes later he comes back.

I still need to go to Puerta de Toledo.

Which is on the other side of town.

I just made it. Funnily enough when I finally got there, there was no wait and no awkward questions (just when I was really psyched up to get argumentative in my limited Spanish). Instead a nice woman checked the spelling of my name, stamped my forms, gave me a certificate and welcomed me to Spain.

I now feel truly at home.

Wednesday 20 May 2009

101 Uses For A Bucket no.12

How on earth did I manage to break the bed on my own?? It's a sad tale and one that must be told.

It all started with a creak. The bed, it must be said, was not the best constructed piece of furniture in the first place. Merely turning over was enough to set off a symphony of squeaks and groans from its prematurely arthritic joints. As I am a light sleeper at the best of times (even the smell of shower gel can wake me up - as does someone using the intercom six floors beneath us) I was having my shut-eye interrupted to an irritating degree. And you can imagine the kind of orchestral accompaniment we were getting during our bouts of conjugal activity, it was seriously off-putting. I dread to think what Jorge, our next-door neighbour thought of it all. It may explain why his television is often turned up on the loud side.

As well as the creaking, the bed frame had a tendency to whack against the wall in moments of more frenzied activity and frankly, it was all getting on my wick. I ventured a suggestion to Theo that we might try turning the bed round to see if we could at least relieve some of the pressure on the wall adjoining Jorge's room, but he was non-committal.

So, left dangerously to my own devices one afternoon this week I surveyed the scene and decided I would carry out a little rearrangement, turning the bed at right angles to see if it made any difference. I figured there was just enough gap to achieve the job without unnecessary lifting or dismantlement so lost no more time.

It all went horribly wrong when the edge of the bed became wedged against one of the plug sockets. I gave it an experimental tug to see if that would be enough to get it past the obstruction, but unfortunately the bed frame merely slid over the socket and stuck fast. Still calm at this point, I decided to lift up that end of the bed as a way of completing the rotation. Unfortunately, that only served to wedge it more firmly still, digging a hole in the wall in the process and making an ominous cracking sound. Panic was now setting in. I tried wiggling and jiggling the bloody thing, at which point, disaster struck. With a resounding splintering crash, one leg broke off, removing a goodly chunk of plaster from the wall as it did so.

Well, at least the accursed thing was finally free. I numbly pulled it round and wondered what the hell to do about propping up the drooping corner. My eyes fell on our trusty bucket. The very thing. I placed it under the missing leg and hey presto! The bed's list became less of a precipice and more of a nursery slope. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Buckets are amazing things, thank the lord they were invented.

I confessed to Alex and told him we will replace the bed (and I will repair the wall). Luckily, he found it funny. "It was only a really cheap one from ****", he said, "It didn't cost much." No kidding.

Still, at least the frigging thing has finally stopped creaking. I've had much better kip ever since I broke it.

Monday 18 May 2009

The Way To Do Luncheon

We thought the traditional Spanish siesta had gone the way of so many other sensible habits of the past, but thankfully, we were wrong. And it took some South American friends to show us how....

Our splendid lunch date chez David and Nataly really can't pass without comment. They were excellent hosts, not only cooking up some delicious vegetarian nosh, including one of their own Venezuelan specialities (fried yam chips for dunking), but also plying us with generous quantities of booze and freshly-made CDs. Every time David put on some music, he asked if we liked it and if the answer was affirmative, he promptly burnt us a copy to take home. All very pleasant and civilized, but not hugely out of the ordinary so far.


No, the thing that made their hospitality a (so far) unique experience, was the inclusion of a siesta in the proceedings. A post lunch stroll or some other gentle digestive activity would probably be the expected thing to follow such a get-together in our home country, but David and Nataly had other ideas. Whether it's a general Venezuelan thing, or because they now live in Spain or because it's simply specific to them, a siesta is something that is a must after lunch in their household.

Accordingly, after Nataly's family limoncello had been sampled (half of Nataly hails from Italy), David announced it was time for some shut-eye. The sofa-bed in the lounge was duly pulled flat, cushions and clean sheets were provided and David even had the kindness to provide a couple of condoms. Down came the shutters and, replete with food and wine, we all enjoyed the luxury of an afternoon snooze.

The Spanish certainly know how to plunge their rooms into pitch blackness at the height of the day - shutters are an essential component of all houses and apartments. A sure sign that the siesta is not an entirely forgotten custom - not to mention a sensible way of preventing the intense summer sunshine from turning the window glass into an unwanted room-heater. On the subject of darkness, a Spanish friend who recently moved to Southampton was astonished at how ineffective most British curtainage is. "Haven't they heard of blinds?!" he asked us, "I'm going to have to buy a pair of dark glasses to wear in bed."

The other hangover from the obligatory siesta is the long lunch break many Spanish businesses give their staff. A good hour and a half, sometimes two is not uncommon. For many people, it's an ideal time to go shopping or take English lessons, but there are still those (like David) who use the time for its intended purpose. He told us he pulls the blinds down in his office and snoozes from two to a quarter to three every day without fail.

Anyway, we awoke feeling refreshed and ready for anything, which was just as well, really. Next on the itinerary was a free show by a Catalunyan performance artist, which was a mixture of surreal cartoons, computer interfaces applied to peculiar bodily protuberances and deadpan commentary. You need a siesta to handle that sort of thing, believe me.

Sunday 17 May 2009

Chulapas, chotis and rosquillas

It's all thanks to San Isidro. Patron saint of farmers and of Madrid (about the least-agricultural place you can imagine) thanks to his divine ability to plough perfect furrows (helped by angels) and the spring that gushed forth to help him carry out a little resurrection in the (now) capital city. To celebrate, Madrid holds a big fiesta on the days around the 15th of May and this year, we joined in.

San Isidro is one of the most important bullfighting events in the world, with numerous corridas and the highlights all over the news. As you can imagine, this is one part of the festivities Theo and I declined. We've had numerous arguments with bullfighting fans about its merits, but are yet to be convinced. Pro-bullfighting Spaniards consider it an art and a display of great bravery on the part of the matador, but to me, it's still death for public spectacle, no matter how artistically or bravely achieved. Anyway, we gave it a miss.

The other aspects of the festival were a lot more to our taste. The business of dressing up in traditional Madrileno costume (chulapa or chulapo) to dance chotis, for example. The men's chulapos are fairly standard - black and white checked caps, white shirts with waistcoats - but the women's chulapas are gorgeous. Long, colourful dresses (especially red and white gingham) which flair out at the bottom in a big frill, white headscarfs topped of with red carnations and fringed shawls. The children in costume are just too adorable for words.

The choti involves the man standing on one heel, with the other toe used to steady himself while his partner slowly twirls him round, ideally to tunes from a barrel piano. Not the most dynamic form of dancing, but fascinating to watch. The men are supposed to appear arrogant (as well they might) while this is going on, but most of the septugenarians and octogenarians on the dancefloor only succeeded in looking a bit grumpy, while their ladies gyrated beamingly around them. We had the good fortune to witness a youngish couple in L-plates giving it a go, with three or four more experienced dancers offering instructions and demonstrations. Typically, this quickly degenerated into an enthusiastic argument between the instructors over the correct handhold, which only added to the entertainment.

If you're going to be serious about San Isidro, you have to get yourself up to Prareda de San Isidro, where the path is lined with stalls selling the classic traditional delicacies. Rather fabulously, these are basically pastries, doughnuts and biscuits of one sort or another. Rosquillas, listas, barquillos and churros - overall, a carbohydrate disaster. It was probably a good thing that Theo and I had not only breakfasted prior to our stroll along the parade, but were due to eat a delicious lunch cooked for us by David and Nataly shortly after, or we could easily have gorged ourselves into oblivion.

The pareda takes you to the ermita (hermitage) to honour the saint and, most importantly of all, the fuente - the place where San Isidro's spring springs. In view of things like the Mexican 'flu, we figured it would be a good idea to partake of a little free health insurance, so supped a generous glassful each. Very pleasant, too. Head and shoulders above the warm, sulphurous liquid we swallowed in Baden and the diluted blood-tasting stuff at Bath.

A free world music concert, Planeta Madrid, was the other event we patronised. We went on the Friday and Saturday night and saw Daniele Sepe & Brigata Internazionale (World Italo Disco - as gloriously naff and infectious as the name suggests); Lila Downs (Mexican songstress); Taraf de Haidouks (insanely fast Romanian gypsy tunes - somewhere between music and organised chaos) and Orchestre National de Barbes (Algerian/French - driving beats and preposterous dance moves. The band included a couple who looked like the Parisian equivalent of Morecambe and Wise, dressed up in Arab robes and turbans, the effect only improved by their thick-rimmed spectacles.)
The whole weekend has left us with this overriding impression: San Isidro rocks.

Friday 15 May 2009

what's in a name?

We've decided to change the website address (url) of this blog: it is now www.movingtomadrid.blogspot.com (formerly it was www.kateandtheo.blogspot.com).

We've decided to do this for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it's a more accurate reflection of the blog's content. "Kate and Theo" was always a kind of default name - originally the blog was about our wedding preparations and then it became about our travels; we didn't know where we were going to end up or what we were going to do, so we picked the original url name for want of a better alternative. We're aware it was rather sickeningly saccharine; now we've got a reasonable alternative we feel we're doing you all a favour!

Secondly, we've had a few enquiries from friends and friends of friends wanting to move to Spain about job opportunities here, Spanish administration, the rental market and life here in general. It struck us that some of the blog entries we've written might be of interest to total strangers wanting to make the move to Spain, or to Madrid. As prospective Madridlenos are unlikely to google "kate and theo" when searching for information about life here, we thought a more search engine friendly name would be oppropriate.

Obviously we're flattering and deceiving ourselves; chances are that whatever we call this blog, the only people reading it are going to be our mothers!!

Thursday 14 May 2009

poco mas

It's all starting to make some kind of sense. Theo and I are no longer beginners at Spanish - we are at solid elementary level and, dare I say it, nudging the dizzy heights of the pre-intermediate stage.

I can tell that my Spanish is improving. I can understand most things I read to a greater or lesser extent and I can just about hold together a simple conversation with a sympathetic and patient companion. I'm still apt to give a cross-eyed and slightly panicky response when somebody unexpectedly speaks to me in Spanish, but even my understanding of the sounds I hear is making progress. What my ears used to interpret as "badabadabadabadabadabada...." now sounds like: "badabada estaba bada manana badaba tambien badabada mas o menos badabadabadabada no?" which, I'm sure you'll agree, is progress.

Interestingly, my English is also improving. Not only my grammar - which is understandable, given the number of hours I devote to studying it to stay ahead of my students (who usually have a far better grasp of it than I do) - but also my vocabulary. Or at least the range of words I use in normal speech. That's probably also related to staying one step beyond my students - if my grammar's a tad shaky at times, I can always blind them with loads of shiny new words. They tend to like that and so do I.

Theo and I are both learning bits and pieces of Spanish from our students - although they're strongly discouraged from using their native language in their English lessons, it doesn't stop them doing so, especially the children. So the free translation service we get as a result certainly helps. Best of all, our students' mistakes when speaking English tend to point to what the equivalent construction would be in Spanish, which gives us a bit of a leg-up during our own language travails.

None of that really eases our pain when it comes to getting our heads round the business of Spanish tenses and verb endings. Not since my Latin lessons have I had to commit so many different suffixes to heart. As for when you use one type of past tense rather than another - don't get me started.

But that said, it's definitely feeling like less of an unintelligible jumble of random sounds and more like real-life words and meanings. And if in doubt, I can always employ my Spanish killer punch: "vale, vale, vale - claro!" It works in almost any situation.

Wednesday 13 May 2009

Mega-exciting!!!!

Yesterday they started getting our swimming pool ready for summer, filling it with fresh water and skimming the leaves out. Woohoo!!

Monday 11 May 2009

WOMAD Caceres


We just had a lovely weekend down in Caceres attending the free WOMAD festival there. I've written a review which is here:
http://www.efestivals.co.uk/festivals/WOMAD/2009caceres/review-overview.shtml
The setting was absolutely spectacular and the bands we saw were amazing, with Toumast, Salif Keita and Paprika Balkanicus being our top choices. We're SO there next year!!

Wednesday 6 May 2009

A TV first (for me)

I'm used to seeing people I know on television (I had a peripheral role in the music industry for about 4 years); they crop up occasionally. However, what I experienced last night as I casually switched on the TV was slightly unnerving; the first time I saw somebody I know being portrayed on television - by Kim Basinger no less!

I swiftly realised I was watching a film adaptation of "I Dreamed of Africa". I've never read the book, but I know the story. I went to school with the daughter of the author, the Italian-Kenyan Kuki Gallman, a kind of late-late-colonial period Karen Blixen. It was strange seeing places I had been to (Baringo, Laikipia, her house!!) recreated on screen and watching an actress as well known as Kim Basinger taking the place of a real person. The phrase "art imitating life" never felt so apt.

We didn't watch to the end. I know the story and it's pretty tragic; we left at the point where they were one happy family, Kuki pregnant with my erstwhile classmate Sueva.

Sunday 3 May 2009

Weekend of the Workers

Another weekend, another puente. They seem to have a lot of bank holidays in Spain, which is brilliant in some respects (a day off work - what's not to like?) but also results in a cut in income for me, as being autonimo, if I don't work, I don't get paid.

Anyway, as in the UK, May Day is a public holiday. Here, it's held to celebrate the workers and you usually find various trades unions, socialist organisations and other groups of a leftish inclination putting together a token march or two for solidarity.

Theo and I have celebrated Workers' Weekend in time-honoured fashion by lazing about not doing anything much at all. Actually, in deference to the occasion, we have both planned a few lessons, so we haven't been entirely idle.

The weather is near perfection, with temperatures in the comfortable low to mid-twenties and all is resplendent with sunny springtime verdancy. The pattern of our holiday weekend has involved a relaxed breakfast with the newspapers (Guardian Online, mostly), followed by a little light creative work, then a picnic in Parque Tierno Galvan, which is a couple of blocks from our flat.

Tierno Galvan park is rather lovely: much less crowded than the Retiro, with better tended vegetation and set on undulating slopes with interesting cityscape views and on a clear day, sightlines out to the Sierra Guadalajara. At the moment, the mountains are still snow-capped, but I suspect they won't be for much longer if the current warm weather continues.

The interior of our appartment block has also truly come alive. After months of quiet emptiness as people hid from the winter chill in their flats, the sunshine has enticed everyone outside and as I write, the inner courtyard is a riot of shrieking children, watched indulgently by their adoring relatives.

Children are king in Spain and rather than trying to keep them quiet and out of the way, they are made welcome and provision is always made for their needs. Children are also considered a much more important part of the community than they might be in some other parts of Europe I could mention. In the last few weeks, Theo and I have been invited to several birthday parties for 5-7 year-olds, as general invitation posters have gone up around the appartment block for their fiestas in the shared sala. We've been quite tempted, too. Judging by the joyous racket going on, they really know how to party, these little'uns. Haven't seen their improvised kitchen flamenco yet, but I'm willing to bet they could hold their own.


Friday 1 May 2009

Unnerving Moments no. 1: The Sneeze

Hearing your flatmate sneezing, sniffling and blowing his nose shortly after returning from two weeks in Mexico.

In the current climate, when people say "bless you" (or "Jesus" in Spain - pronounced "Heh-zoos") they really mean it. Theo and I were in the Caixa Forum public art gallery when the woman standing beside me suddenly sneezed with eye-watering ferocity. As she groped for a hankie, we ruefully exchanged glances and I took a discreet step away from her.

NB after a little research (well, you can't be too careful), it seems our flatmate was unlikely to be suffering with the swine 'flu - symptoms didn't start to appear until a good eight days after his return and the incubation period of the strain of H1N1 causing so many problems in Mexico is thought to be 2-5 days. Also, he hasn't had a fever or a cough and after two days, was well enough to stay out all night socialising, albeit a tad snottily. Let's be thankful it's not the bird 'flu - although that's unlikely to be a problem for our flatmate, he prefers pork and meat generally.