In yesterday's Voz de Galicia I read that the weather was going to deteriorate. Sure enough, this morning the cloud came down. Looking from our balcony, in one direction I could just make out the top of the Rande Bridge poking up out of the mist. In the other direction, the Islas Cíes had disappeared. Once again my weather witch bread lady had been right. She has been telling me all week, "Hay que aprovechar." A bit like carpe diem, you have to take advantage of it (the sunshine) while it's here.
The weather report also said the temperatures would go down. A maximum of 19 degrees in A Coruña and 30 in Orense. I don't think they'll be needing big sweaters and fur coats in Orense then. The temperature sign down at the roundabout was still showing 18 at 9.00 this morning. But it was cloudy and so the lady who walks her dog every morning and with whom I now have a nodding acquaintance, was wrapped up in her anorak, buttoned up to the neck. And there I was in shorts and a running vest!
Last night I was strolling around in a sundress. This week Phil has been playing chess in Mondariz. Play starts at 5.00pm and he usually gets back to Vigo in the middle evening. So I go and meet him at the Midcentury cafe for a beer and a snack on his return. For the last few evenings at the same time there has been a group of women with a toddler: young mother, grandmother, another woman the grandmother's age, all giving attention to the curly blond cherub. Yesterday evening at about 9.30, with the temperature still registering 25 degrees, the grandmother was preparing to take the child outside. He wore a little denim jacket and was getting fidgety as she wrapped him up further in a denim shirt belonging to one of the ladies. She admonished little Mr Fidget, "¡Espera! Que hace frío. (Hold on! It's cold out there.)."
I know that everything is relative and that even I felt the need to throw a wrap round my shoulders later as we walked home, but it was hardly cold!
And besides, that child rushed about so much that he undoubtedly created his own central heating system. Earlier, returning from the counter in the cafe, where the owner María had been giving him a little cake, he spotted the open door and did a runner. Fortunately the ladies were not busy on their mobile phones or deep in conversation and were able to race after him. Much finger-wagging ensued and a lot of explaining about how dangerous it is to run away but the little cherub just gave me a wicked grin.
After they had left, the Midcentury pretty much emptied. There was just me and a little group of people chatting to María at the bar. She was looking exceptionally in tune with her fifties music selection, hair up in a pony tail, quite full skirt cinched in at the waist, leaning over the counter to chat. She would have fitted in quite nicely to one of those films involving souped-up cars racing down the main street of a small American town. I wonder which came first, her look, her husband's selection of music ( for he seems to be her DJ) or the name of the cafe.
Phil arrived too late to benefit from the music last night. The Midcentury closes at 10.00 and his group had been delayed by one of their number having a chess game go on and on and on. So I left the cafe and went to meet him along the way, still not yet feeling the need for an extra layer of clothing.
That only came at the very end of the evening after a beer in a different cafe with a later closing time.