An early start this morning, awake at seven fifteen to get ready to leave for Calahonda by a quarter to nine for the nine thirty service. There were eighteen of us for the Eucharist. The service was somewhat longer due to the Gospel reading about Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well being twice as long as usual. After a quick cup of coffee and a chat I had to drive quickly back to Los Boliches for the second Eucharist of the day, at which there were thirty eight of us. By the time I got back to the house I felt quite tired.
After cooking a tuna steak with veggies for lunch, I decided to rest and recover some energy before going out for a walk. I dozed on the sofa for a while, then started wondering about next Sunday, and looked up the readings. These gave me ideas about a sermon, so I sat down and drafted one straight away. It was six by the time I went out.
I walked over the hill, having just missed the L3 bus, but caught up with it at the next stop, and rode to the Merca Centro stop by the Cercania station. From there I walked to the fishing port to look around. There's a fleet of more than a dozen modest sized trawlers in the harbour, with a commercial fish market on site as well as over a hundred and fifty berths for recreational fishing boats. The sun was about to set, so I walked back to Los Boliches along the Paseo Maritime, and just missed the L3 bus to take me up the hill on the last stretch and save energy.
Clare and I chatted for a while, then I had supper and watched a Clint Eastwood movie dubbed into Spanish on telly to find about how much of it I could understand, given the familiarity of its dialogue in English. It struck me how dated it seemed irrespective of language, and how brutally violent it was. I'm not impressed by the quality of most programmes on free-to-air TV channels I have access to here.
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