1: From the Smiling Sun

...Tales from the Light Side.

‘...But when we lived in London I’d never heard of the Dark. Qué estupendo! Well, except for normal dark, like at night time. The sort of dark that’s in your room when you switch off the light to go to sleep. I was only 3 then, so I probably didn’t know a lot of things. I’d never had sisters, or lost teeth, or been in a fiesta. But I remember I had a big blue and yellow bedroom, with wooden floorboards and waves painted round the bottom of the walls, and a big picture of a dancing smiling sun looking like it had just skipped in the window. Although Mum and Dad knew that London was bad for children, it had good parks and tons of shiny shops, and my Auntie and cousins lived there too.

But I’m pretty sure that the Dark was around because of how everyone talks about it being a dirty, busy, angry place, where there are guns and strange men.’

- And is that why you moved to Parcent, because of the strange men?

'Well, my mum had me and wanted to keep me safe and sound. Dad had to work until late at night in London so he didn’t get to put me to bed or tell me his sort of stories. But they worked out that they could get on an aeroplane, and come to Spain, and buy a house in a little village that no-one had ever heard of, and then when I became seven, I would be able to walk to school on my own, and breathe fresh air and not have eczema or nut allergy. Daddy wouldn’t have to wear a suit and he’d have time to build things from wood and drink his cup of tea slow and I’d be able to chat to him then so I’d be happier and so would they.

You see, it’s not just that London was full of the Dark. I don’t remember it a lot, but I hear what Mum and Dad say about it, and it sounds like a place where the Sith would live; you know, the bad Jedi, or trolls or ghosts. It was a big city with too many people, and when the people that lived there got fed up, they got angry with each other, and that leads to fights and people getting hurt. And that’s why the Dark started there. London was a place where horrible things could grow because it had pollution and gangs and you couldn’t get an appointment at the doctors. When people became full of the Dark, there was no-one to help, or care about them, or try to stop it.

The Dark is cleverer than people. It can make you think that you want to do mean things, not just for a good reason, but for no reason at all. Sometimes the Dark is like a best friend, who tells you about the nisperos on the tree next door, just waiting to be stolen, and it wouldn’t really be stealing if the people who live there don’t want the fruit. And you think its being your best friend when it says that. Only a little tiny part of you knows that it’s wrong. But who’s to know? Just you and the Dark, and the Dark won’t tell.

I think Mum had Mimi in her belly at the time. I remember our first house here; we called it the Christmas House, and it was painted yellow on the outside. It had a big terrace on the top of the building that we shared with other people, and we moved in on the first day of our chocolate Advent Calendar. The streets were really noisy, but not just with cars, they were even noisy with people. Cars would stop and people would lean out and have whole conversations like that just hanging out of cars talking to people on their balconies or in their doorways. It was even worse at fiesta time. The streets would be decorated with flags and streamers and palmeras. Some windows had huge pictures of a beautiful golden lady and her baby. There were processions and fireworks and bands that played trumpets all night. I wasn’t used to it, and I cried at new noises, (like I still don’t really like fireworks). But now I’m the one most likely to natter to you in the street, and tell you about my family, and be noisy, tell jokes and tease the littler children.

When we first arrived it took ages to buy anything in the shops, but ages in a nice way, because the ladies would stop and ask my name, and was I looking forward to getting a sister? And did I want a chupa-chups? - That’s a lollipop, all sticky and multi-coloured, and wrapped in paper that you have to pull off with your teeth. People in shops dish them out like they are free. Anyway, at the Christmas house before going shopping Mum would have checked the dictionary for words like vegetables or ham or cheese, but sometimes when we got there she would buy different things like stuffed olives or nisperos, and then have them for lunch and say they tasted amazing. I still don’t like olives, well, I’ve never tried one, but Mimi and Tabi do; they eat them by the bucket load. Nisperos are good though. They’re like peaches only smaller and you can cook them with chicken or gambas or in a tarta and the juice is lovely and orange.

We can’t have stayed at the Christmas house for long because Mimi was still a baby when we moved into this house. Dad had to build wooden gates everywhere to stop her crawling into danger. When she was nearly two and going upstairs from the kitchen, (or maybe it was downstairs from the playroom?), she slipped and Mum just in time got her hand between Mimi’s head and the edge of the tiled step to save her. Once I fell on the tiled floor and chipped a tooth. It took some getting used to, as Mum used to say, but here we all are. Some of my friends say they’d love to live in an English house all cosy with carpets and central heating and a proper fenced-off garden. But this house has three different floors and a terrace for bikes and a courtyard for breakfast in the sun, just like most of my friend’s houses. It is cool in summer and warm in winter and now that I have my own room it’s my favourite place to live. Especially because for ages there was no sign of the Dark.

The Dark has been around so long that like learning Spanish, I don’t really remember how it started. I know that one of the first times I saw it here, was in a drawing. I think Mum and Dad had been arguing. In those days I went to a half-English nursery school that gave me sheets of paper to take home with holes along the edge. So I did a drawing, to the right of the holes, of Mum and Dad fighting. Their heads looked pretty enough, with swirls of blue, green and purple, but their faces were too close together. When I drew little Mimi on the paper, the pen changed from blue ink to greasy oil. That’s nothing much, but it really was a blue pen. Only somehow this oil forced its way out and got on my drawing and when I saw it I began shouting.

‘Ooo yuck. Nasty stuff! That’s because you’re trying to take Mimi away from Mummy.’

The more angry I got, the more the oil swirled on my drawing. But I didn’t put it there.

Daddy was the first to hear me. ‘If you'd just button it for a minute, you'd see Farley's upset now too. ’

‘Ohh, and now that's gonna be my fault. If the baby doesn't sleep, it’s my job. If the child’s upset, it’s because of me. Where are you in all this then?’

‘Earning money. Trying to concentrate.’

‘So if I can't cope with the kids and the heat and the lack of sleep and dealing with you know what, I shouldn’t bother you at all. Ring the Samaritans in England and rack up the phone bill, but sure as sugar don’t trouble Daddy. Well, fine.’

I waved the paper. Mummy and Daddy looked at my picture, and Mummy bit her lip. Oh-o. Maybe she could see the weird slimy oil too? But she said nothing about that. Just sat down, and patted the chair for me to sit next to her, and hugged me, and gave Daddy her big eyed look. He stopped all the gruff voice and uptight shoulders, and handed Mimi back to Mummy. It stopped the argument, but they couldn’t see what I could see.

That was odd, but I didn’t really think about it then. Until I saw the medico with the oil leaking from her eyes. That’s when I really knew what it was.

2001:Our Spanish Odyssey

Five years ago we moved from London to a small valley called the Vall de Pop, 30 minutes inland from the Costa Blanca in Spain. A cluster of traditional Spanish villages are strung out like beads on a necklace, from Calpe on the touristy coast to Castell de Castells in the rugged Serella Mountain range. Initially we rented an apartment in Jalon, while we renovated a 'casa del pueblo' in Parcent, one of the smaller villages - some 900 inhabitants...

This is my email record of our journey.

Hola! Bon Festes! We've arrived as it's October fiesta time here in Jalon, but this is THE BIG ONE. Festival of the Poor Virgin's 50th Anniversary - Aniversario de la Coronacion de la Virgen Pobre. Which is also the name of the town's biggest bodega, a lucrative coincidence as they are dishing out free wine and beer.

In the plaza today, there are huge tortilla pans cooking over bonfires and the streets are being decorated. Well, that's hardly the word for it - the roads have been painted with huge murals, symbols and religious messages in celebration of the Virgin Mary, some streets have gold zigzags along the kerbs, others are painted completely green and swirled with flowers, others in the pale blue and white of the Virgin. Every street was cleared of cars yesterday, the whole town was cordoned off and carparking space made in a nearby field. Each household has been out painting - the roads, kerbs, steps and pavements. At 11pm last night there were old ladies wielding brooms to clear the way for the spraypainters carrying road wide stencils. It's like walking around Disneyland. Some streets have become tunnelled arches of paper flowers, strung from the balconies, some have draped banners and party streamers. Gotta get my photos developed but no doubt they won't do it justice. To walk around here is like being on a film set of a Spanish village, you suspect you could turn a corner and see that the apparently sturdy houses are just fakes. Meanwhile the girls are loving the unreality of it, music at all hours and excuses to stay up late.
Our moving-in date is drawing nearer - weekend of 30th Nov / 1st December 2001. The house in Parcent is just barely renovated, two upper floors have new terracotta tiles and whitewashed walls. Downstairs we have the basic rudiments of a kitchen, and the living room is full of cement bags, cement mixer, paint pots, empty beer cans and other essentials. If I kick out the builders, we can move in time to erect the Christmas tree on Dec 1st - a regular family ritual.

The acid test of our move abroad will come soon - getting jobs. My Spanish is still variable - some days it's coherent, other days I forget how to say 15 or Thursday. Languages are tricky blighters - if you say 'Es bueno?' as opposed to 'Estas bien?' you're asking if someone feels sexy! Bit inappropriate when buying your green beans at the market. Oh well, we're making friends quickly... Hasta luego, P & Co

Give it up

So why be an atheist, right?

You have no god, no big aunty come-give-me-a-cuddle, no safety net, no playground pals, no idea what comes next, no comforter, no guiding star, no agent for work, no freemasonry handshake, no HAL, no online editor, no early morning radio DJ, no software backup, no cot bumpers, no security guard-cum-janitor, no Genesis 1:28, no skatepark kneepads, no panic button, no revelatory shining light, no currency converter, no Ronco Veggiechop, no kneel-a-bed prayers for the Lottery.

In this day and age, no freedom of speech.
Its not about owning your own soul and the right to do with it as you will. We all have responsibilities, ties, and commitments that put paid to that.
You don't have myths, parables, bedtime stories or tales of Boogey men to scare the kiddies.

What DO you have?

The ability to create your own culture, with its rich, pertinent histories and deeply mythical record books. A soft blank page from which to cut your own cloth or copy other's that suit you. The just fear of what may come after - be that an endless sleep while the worms gnaw your bones, or a return to the great glowing gene pool of life. A just fear which can give you the power to live in the here and now.

It means no insurance. Get it right. Or die trying.