Tales of the Lecrin Valley

A personal view of life in an andalusian village.

Carmen is always trying to get me to come to the Wednesday market in Durcal, which is about as appealing to me as having teeth drawn.  But I needed some photos for the website so I capitulated and strung along with my trusty Nikon with the cracked lens, looking for that shot of a lifetime.  The market isn’t that bad, full of spices, fruit and veg, the odd stall selling tools and myriad selling womens’ clothing of all sorts and, with Spanish widows in mind, all sizes.  Carmen forged ahead, caught up in a spending frenzy, and I wandered around looking for those close-up shots which can sell the area to potential clients and are so good for advertising.  And there were plenty of things to shoot.  The vegetables looked great, as did the bags of spices and I got quite carried away, not looking for anything in particular but more interested in anything full of vibrant colour to fill the shot.  I got some lovely shots of fruit and veg and then my hair stood on end as my sixth sense told me that I was being watched.  I stood up from my half crouch, looked away from my viewfinder and saw Carmen looking at me in shock and horror.  Looking around I saw many other people eyeing me with a mixture of wonder and scorn.  I looked down and realized why.  In my state of artistic reverie I had been snapping anything with a mass of colour, wherever I saw it and with not too much regard of the subject matter.  And I swear, Yer Honour, that I didn´t realise I was taking close-up photos of ladies underwear.  Carmen disowned me and walked away and I actually blushed, the first time in many a year.  But the upside is that I am banned from the market in future, with or without a camera.  So, any of you henpecked hubbies out there who want to know how to get out of shopping trips with the wife, you heard it first from me.

Spices

Spices

Courgettes

Courgettes

Cherries

Cherries

Peppers

Peppers

And now I see it's underwear

And now I see it's underwear