WOMAD UK - with baby By Kate

OK, we cheated a bit. For the first time in the history of our attendance at WOMAD we didn't camp. But when you've got a six month-old baby and a handy guest room at parents/in-laws fifteen minutes drive away, it was a no-brainer. Plus I'm not a huge fan of camping in any case. It's kind of fun up to a point, but when you're a light sleeper who invariably needs to get up for a pee (or three) in the night, you can basically rule out much in the way of useful snoozery. Not that I get huge amounts of that at the moment anyway, but why make it worse?Accordingly we rolled up in Delilah the Delica early on Friday afternoon armed with sling, baby ear defenders, a picnic rug and a hopeful weather outlook. It was clear from the outset that Rosie was intrigued - no, make that fascinated - by the sights and sounds of the festival. As we walked onto the site her head bobbed from side to side, eyes bright with interest as she took it all in from her comfy position tied to Daddy's chest. Theo, meanwhile was doing his best impression of a pack horse, also wearing a backpack with various items (rug, changing mat, umbrella) hanging off it. I carried my flower pattern backpack and felt a teeny bit guilty about it. But only a teeny bit.
Duly wristbanded and clutching a festival programme, we headed for the Big Red Tent, Ipercussonici and the first potential obstacle to everyone's enjoyment. Would Rosie consent to wear her ear defenders so we could enjoy the raised decibel levels without having to clamp hands over our offspring's shell-likes to prevent possible hearing damage? The answer, thankfully and slightly surprisingly, was a resounding Yes. In fact, so successful were the defenders, that Rosie proceeded to feed then sleep quite happily while wearing them during the loud desert grooves provided by Toumast at the Open Air Stage. She napped in the first of several improvised nests we made for her on our rug (with the help of a colourful, highly sequinned parasol we'd purchased from one of the festival stalls) while we indulged in a half of lager and a bit of hip gyrating to Toumast. When Rosie woke up, she charmed everyone around us with huge grins as we danced with her (still in the ear-defenders) and generally Got Down. One woman even came and took our photograph, so enchanted was she by our beaming baby daughter. It was the best possible start to the weekend.The rest of the day was punctuated by more shows (most notable of which was that provided by the French lounge-core outfit Nouvelle Vague and their inspired renditions of various punk and New Wave classics) and a meet-up with Theo's sis, Hermione and spouse Richard and our mates Stu and Sam. In the end we stayed until almost nine o'clock (*thrills*), so comfortable did Rosie appear to be with her role as Official Festival Babe. We caught a bit of Chumbawamba, but were too far from the stage to really hear much, so took our leave.On Saturday we arrived at the festival slightly better prepared than the previous day - we bought a few cans of lager and cider. We also found a superb spot at the edge of the Open Air Stage which gave us line-of-sight and sound with both that stage and the neighbouring Siam Tent. As the two alternated their shows, it meant we could remain comfortably in position and simply re-angle ourselves to take in one or the other. Probably the highlight of the day performance-wise was a German outfit called LaBrassBanda - yes, a brass band. They were fantastic. Rosie's favourite (if her smiles were anything to go by) was Angelique Kidjo and Orchestre National de Barbes, seen by us in Madrid last year, were as endearingly entertaining as we remembered them. It was also good to see locals Phantom Limb in action with Yolanda in fine voice as they ran through their country-tinged set. We caught Imogen Heap's first couple of numbers, but Rosie wasn't especially grabbed and was clearly getting tired by that point, so we made a graceful exit.

On Sunday we had it down to a fine art and managed to catch Sounds of West Africa (did what it said on the tin - very well, too); the Sierra Leone Refugee All Stars (infectious uptempo music, totally belying the misery behind their formation); Mayra Andrade (sultry Samba-style songs - perfect for a sunny Sunday afternoon), Orchestre Poly Rhythmo de Cotonou (good, lively stuff) and the legend that is Rolf Harris.

He was a lot of fun, a consummate performer. Rosie, however, was unimpressed, preferring to sit in the sling firmly clamped to my right breast and doze throughout his set. The rest of us enjoyed it though. The Sarod player Soumik Datta was the last show we watched, hanging out agreeably with Patrick in the Arboretum as the expertly plucked strings sent out their rhythms and melodies from the Radio 3 stage. We ate a healthy festival meal of pie and mash followed by chocolate brownie, then reluctantly took our leave.
We came away two shirts (Theo) and one parasol (me) richer, several pounds poorer, amazingly clean (ah, the bliss of not camping...) and with a baby who, if this was anything to go by, is shaping up as a committed festival enthusiast, just like her parents. As long as it isn't Rolf Harris.

Chilling in Cornwall

First stop off the boat from Santander was St Hilary, the native range of a particular hospitable tribe, the Rainbows, who welcomed us with open house.
Becky, Kate's sister, her husband Dan and their four children (Maisy 10, Elsa 8, Luca 6 and Lily 4) live on a couple of acres down a bumpy track about 10 minutes outside Penzance. It's a beautiful place, with Dr Dan managing to find time to grow a considerable amount of his own veg and raise chickens for eggs. We always enjoy staying there, only the tables have turned a bit - Kate may be the eldest but she's way behind Becky (and her other two sisters) in the motherhood stakes. Plus in the past we've been care, and responsibility, free - whereas now, with babe-in-arms, we're even more constrained than our hosts. Even more so after our Delica went in for its MOT on Friday afternoon and needed a couple of things doing to it which meant we were carless until Tuesday evening.
Still, we enjoyed our enforced weekend chill-out, and chill was certainly the right word as we'd missed the good weather and were welcomed by proper Cornish mizzle! After the car came back we managed trips to Falmouth, St Ives and the wonderfully named Mabe Burnthouse to visit various friends and relatives, with the sun finally making an appearance on Saturday in time for a walk on the beach. A lovely beginning to our long summer holiday!

Rosie's nicknames - by Theo

In Madrid, Rosie has thus far been unable to gather any nicknames. For sure, there's Rosita, but that's not really a nickname, but rather the Spanish diminutive form. However, since arriving at the Rainbows - their own four children the bearers of a host of bizarre nicknames - Rosie has gathered a few herself.

Bushbie - this just arrived organically one morning, with Becky spontaneously bestowing it on Rosie.
Thumper - the Rainbow kids came up with this, based on Rosie's habit of thumping her legs down loudly when laid on her back.
Pookle - another spontaneous one that Kate, clearly feeling inspired by the surroundings, came up with.
Ruby - an old lady in the supermarket mis-heard Rosie's name and then decided, quite emphatically, that she was a Ruby. This may or may not stick.

The Rainbow World Cup - by Theo

The atmosphere was tense and electric, not a seat free in the house, the hosts buzzing with anticipation even though their national team hadn't made it to the final - nah, not talking about in South Africa, the Rainbow Nation, though I'm sure all of the above is true, but the Rainbow household, here in St. Hilary, Cornwall, where we watched the 2010 Football World Cup final.

Spain versus Holland - funnily enough nearly everyone was rooting for the former! Not only do we live in Spain, but Becky (Kate's sister) had drawn Spain in a sweep-stake some friends of hers had organised, and Becky's brother-in-law Sam Rainbow (who was watching with us) also has a house in Spain, where he and his family lived for a while. The fact that Sam's wife, Neema, was the sole Dutch supporter speaks volumes as to why they no longer live there!!

Despite the tension and excitement as Spain attempted to pass their way around some brutal tackles, Becky and Dan's four kids had all joined Rosie in bed by half-time, only to be woken up again by the resounding cheer that rang out when Iniesta finally broke the dead lock deep in extra time. By that stage any vestiges of sympathy I might have had for the Dutch at losing their third World Cup final had long since evaporated!

Viva España!

Santander, Swimming and Semi-finals

Leaving Madrid at the relatively early hour of 9am it didn't take long to work out the air-conditioning in our Delica wasn't working properly. As the temperature rose to the thirties as we climbed up the Somosierra to the North of Madrid the car was similarly roasting, despite the 20 degrees the temperature gauge said it was. From then on it was windows down all the way on the 5 hour trip to the capital of Cantabria, Santander.Aside from our venture to the Basque country back in 2008, we'd hardly been to Spain's North coast, so we'd decided to stay there the night before our ferry to get a little taste. We'd booked into a Hotel just outside the city in Penacastillo, a village high up on a rather cragy hill overlooking the port. I'd been keen to hit one of the village beaches to the North but arriving at 2.30pm the relative cool (after Madrid) of the North was definitely only relative, and we didn't have any portable shade or suncream - in fact I'd got sunburned on the journey up - so we decided just to chill out at the Hotel, which had a pool.

So Rosie finally got her first swim in the Hotel spa pool. She wasn't exactly keen, making a bit of a face when the water rose up to her chest, but she had a good kick and clearly wasn't completely against the idea! Later we watched Spain beat Germany in the semi-final on a silent TV in our bedroom, then listened as the fireworks and car-horns erupted round the city in celebration.
Parking was free at the ferry port the next day, so after checking in we had time to wander round the city a bit and get a sense of the place. We'd noticed the day before the fact that construction was continuing all around in a country where generally speaking the property bubble has burst, and this sense of affluence was reinforced by the very posh shops and services on offer in the central district just off the sea front. The street meanwhile had their own distinctive style, rather narrower than Madrid or Barcelona's, the verticals lined with wood and covered balconies. We bought some fruit and pastries for breakfast from an old covered market, then headed back to the boat for our 18 hour voyage to Plymouth.

Not quite... - by Theo

Ok, so I thought I'd sorted out getting the Spanish unemployment benefit (see previous post) on Friday, but no. Of course not. In Spain it's never that simple.

I got a call from the INEM office yesterday to inform me that they couldn't pay me my benefit because our bank, Lloyds Spain, wasn't in the system. Huh? I phoned the bank and, after checking, they called me back to say yes, it's true, for some reason they aren't in the system to receive payments from the INEM office. Bizarre! I received my paternity benefit money there no problem, but that's another department.

Anyway, so I ran across the road, set up an account at Caja Madrid - blissfully straightforward - then headed back to the INEM office and did a sly bit of queue jumping and, as they say here, ya esta. So far there have been no further phonecalls, so fingers crossed that's sorted now.

on the dole - by Theo

My teaching contract expired on June 30th, although my last day of teaching was the 24th, and unlike last year I have made a large enough contribution to Spanish social security (360 days) to be eligible to claim unemployment benefit, or paro.

I wasn't keen at first, it seemed slightly wrong claiming for what is basically a summer holiday. However, I've got mouths to feed these days and, while I've been offered a new contract from October plus work in September, I've got nothing on paper. Plus it's really worth doing - within certain maximums and minimums you get 70% of your previous base salary! So Friday morning, clutching virtually every official piece of paper I had, I headed off to our local INEM office on Virgen del Puig.

I went early, at 9am. The queue snaked down the street. People had books and packed breakfasts. Hmmmmm. At 9.55am I finally got to the front of the queue.... to the ticket machine. I explained what I wanted to do, the lady had a quick glance at my papers to check I was eligible, then gave me a ticket. B395. I looked at the screen. They were on B325. I looked at the ticket - it gave a tiempo orientiva of 12.45pm. Right. Funnily enough I went home!

12.30pm I got back to the office. They were only on B375. Hmmmm. Tiempo orientiva was right! 1.40pm I finally got seen, he had a look through the mountain of papers I had and then decided - of course - that I was missing something I'd never heard of - una baja en la demanda - but luckily I'd just have to go next door for it. I was a bit worried - the office was closing at 2pm - would I get back in before they shut? Was I going to have to come back on Monday?

Anyway, next door I was the only person waiting. I took my number and I paced around, death-staring all the functionarios doing nothing and studiously ignoring me. Somebody else came in, took a number (different letter) and was seen immediately. Time was ticking down. Finally, my number flashed up above the desk of somebody who had been doing sod all for the past 10 minutes and I was seen. 3 questions, sorted... except... take a number again, go to another desk, go to reception, get a print out and run back to the other office moments before the security guard turned the door to exit only. Phew.

I caught the eye of the guy who had been dealing with my application - he was of course with another applicant - and I took a seat. It was 2.30pm when I finally got out the office. Phew!