While Francine remains in the UK attending to family business, Franco has been left in Spain holding the baby. The baby in question is el perrito, our friends’ pooch, Scamp. Since Casa Libélule is not particularly dog-friendly, I’ve moved into their house for the duration [a week].

Francine and I have looked after el perrito on many previous occasions but I’m discovering that it is not an easy task single- handed. Getting the car out of the property is a challenge requiring unlocking and opening the gates, driving out, stopping and closing an locking the gates. While I’m doing this, el perrito is constantly dropping a ball at my feet accompanied by an ear-splitting terrier-like yap/bark if I don’t stop what I’m doing to throw his ball quickly enough. Guess who thinks he’s in charge.

At least I’ve cracked the reverse operation of getting back in, which would normally involve the same demanding canine ball retrieving activity. Mercifully, el perrito has taken to getting into the back seat of my car and riding with me as I reverse in through the gates – much easier. Maybe I should start trying to drive him out and cut out the crap with the ball. My eardrums would appreciate that. Barking dogs are bad enough but piercing yaps are horrendous.

Having ball-thrown my way out of the gates today, I took myself off to a marsh at Pego-Oliva to see what entertainment I could find. Not a huge amount in all honesty – a bit disappointing, really. The place is always lousy with Red-veined Darters (Sympetrum fonscolombii) and I soon managed to snag a decent shot of a handsome male.

I was most fascinated with a very fast, dark looking dragonfly that was chasing about low down over the water in quite good numbers. I suppose its dark appearance should have given me a clue to its identity but I remained bemused until, part way around my regular circuit of this place, one finally settled in a reasonable location quite close to me. All was revealed: a Long Skimmer (Orthetrum trinacia). It’s still one of those species with which I’m slightly less than familiar. They really are fast little beggars. Maybe I’ll know next time.

There were Lesser Emperors (Anax parthenope) cruising above the channels (I think this marsh is a former rice paddy) but they weren’t posing. I spotted a couple of late-ish Common Bluetails (Ischnura elegans), too, and there were Broad Scarlets (Crocothemis erythraea) in reasonable numbers but the only other half-way reasonable photo opportunity was a female Red-veined Darter.

I might try my luck at Gandia tomorrow.

Poor Francine has had to return to the UK for the classic family emergency. I dropped her at Alicante airport last night for a dreadful 11:50 PM flight back to Luton getting in at 1:20 AM. Strewth!. Dropping Francine off went fine but then I managed to miss my north-bound slip road onto the autopista and ended up going south for two more exits before I could turn around. (The first exit muttered things like “A31” and “Madrid” so I thought I should avoid that. Everything looks different in the dark. I flipped a U-turn and got home eventually and Francine was on her way shortly thereafter.

I’m left here with the car and, next week, a dog to look after. It’s a lousy job but someone has to do it. Today I am being descended upon for dinner. Before that, I decided to use the sunshine to investigate the Jalón river for potential Odos.

Since the river was all but dry on our last visit, I was surprised to see a very healthy amount of water. There has been quite a bit of rain in Spain during August, unusually. It’s still more of a series of pools than a flow but it looked quite healthy. So did the Odo populations.

The first things I spotted were several Epaulet Skimmers (Orthetrum chrysostigma) and a lesser Emperor (Anax parthenope), though the latter was definitely not in the mood for a photograph. Eventually I got a decent shot of the skimmer, though, when one decided to pose with a sense of theatre.

A darter caught my eye. There are lots of Red-veined Darters (Sympetrum fonscolombii) around but this looked more like a Common Darter (Sympetrum striolatum) but a little different. I snagged it on pixels and dared to dream what it might be. Sure enough, I’d had my first ever brush with a Desert Darter (Sympetrum sinaiticum). I know it’s sad but I was beside myself.

I came to Spain this time with a target in mind, intent on making up for what has been a lousy summer in northern Europe. I wanted to see an Orange-winged Dropwing (Trithemis kirbyi). I had even researched a place just north of Valencia, about two hours away, where I might find them. As it turned out, there, just down the Jalón river a little way and perching, as advertised, on a rock beside the water, was a delightfully bright orange-winged creation. I had my second new species of the day, the one I was after, right on my doorstep. Ecstatic!  Ground shots aren’t the best but this seems to be what this species likes to do.

I returned to push my luck even further by preparing dinner for 6 using a recipe I’d never done before on a bit of cooking kit I’d never used before. It all seemed to go swimmingly well, I’m relieved to say.

Casa Libelule is an electricity-only property so cooking is a bit of a frustration, electric hobs being what they are. So, as well as a BBQ, which really needs to be gas to avert any fire risk in the tinder-box-dry Spanish hillsides, I was interested in a flexible cooking solution [arghhhh!]. Space is another issue in that we don’t have much. There are plenty of gas BBQs around but most are rather large on trolley devices and they don’t do much else. I settled upon a Cadac Carri Chef which is very popular amongst the camping community, these days.

Though I’m not sure I’d want to cart this much kit around with Guillaume, it is compact and performs a variety of cooking tasks, coming with a pot stand, a ridge BBQ surface and a so-called chef’s pan (flat surface). As an option, I’ve also bought the paella pan so this should now do both BBQs and paellas.

We carried it out in the car and it is now assembled. My next task was to equip it with a gas supply. I’d already bought a 12.75Kg butane cylinder for our room heater but I didn’t want to keep disconnecting and moving that, so I went to the local garage for a second cylinder. 12.75Kgs is a lot of gas for a BBQ but the only smaller option would apparently be the exhorbitantly expensive small Camping Gaz cylinder of about 2Kgs (it’s about the same price, I was told).

I went to the local garage to fill out the required paperwork. When I bought my first cylinder, I thought that was cheap at a shade under 18€. I nearly fainted buying this second cylinder – the price has dropped to about 13€. 13€ for 12.75 kgs! In the UK, the Calor gas maffia charge £20 for just 6kgs of propane. That’s about four times the price.

Anyway, here it is neatly tucked into the corner of our balcony, all set up and ready for its first trial with friends tomorrow evening.

I’ve received our latest electricity bill. When I looked at it I was a little taken aback since the 43€ amount related to two months when the property would have been completely empty with the mains power turned off. The thought of entering into a discussion with the Spanish supplier to get to the bottom of what I thought might be an error was too much. We printed off the bill and tried examining it. Sure enough, at the bottom, we spotted a line that stated, “Consumption: 0 Kwh”. Francine scanned the rest of the bill and we came to the conclusion that this effectively constitutes a standing charge for the 2-month period. Oh well, que sera, sera.

Before the bill examination, though, I tromped around the bottom of our block intent on gaining access to the meter cabinet wondering if I might learn something. I did – I learned that the meter cabinet is not locked but is nonetheless an absolutely bitch to open, a screwdriver being required to jemmy it. Having jemmied my way in, I stared at an array of electricity meters, the labels for which seemed largely hidden by the meters themselves. I remained none the wiser.

Francine did however, spot a critter clinging to the outside wall of our neighbour’s property. We’d seen one of thee little curiosities once before only, in France. Our previous encounter meant, however, that we recognized it straight away. This was an Ant-lion. The French campsite owner when we spotted our first one, muttered “libelule” [dragonfly] which, of course, I now know that it wasn’t. Ant-lions get their name form their grubs, which have a habit of digging a sand pitfall trap for ants. The grub sits at the bottom and waits for lunch to slip down the sides of the trap towards its waiting jaws. Charming. The winged adult looks much less deadly.

Our new temporary neighbour was a different species, possibly Myrmeleon inconspicuus but don’t quote me. It’s certainly different from my French one ‘cos it has completely clear wings, other than the venation.

We’re bound for Spain again. It’s been a long time since the British summer, which was 9th, 10th & 11th July – there’s been two months of cloud since then – and we’re keen to get there.

Car ready loaded overnight, we were on the road at 5:00 AM. Other than a short traffic jam on the M27 caused by the morning rush hour into at Solent Business Park exit, our journey down to Portsmouth was smooth. Boarding was smooth, if a little laboured – these are not roll-on-roll-off ferries and loading is a bit of a jigsaw puzzle. We left Portsmouth at 11:30-ish and proceeded in a very smooth fashion west down the English Channel. Our progress was so smooth, the deck rail was hardly moving off the horizon line. We ate dinner with relative gusto and shortly retired.

I knew the hitherto smooth nature of my life was about to change when, from the comfort of my bed, I heard the ship’s PA system announce something along the lines of, “move around the ship only if necessary and with caution” and “outside decks are now out of bounds”. We’d entered the Bay of Biscay and it was clearly about to be living up to its unenviable reputation.

My bed began to lurch disturbingly. Our cabin was at the sharp end, aligned with the long axis of the ship. As the disturbance increased, my bed began to feel as though it was corkscrewing its way down the west coast of France. I seemed to be about half conscious, not from passing out but from the remnants of my initial sleep. We’d taken our Stugeron and for the most part I seemed to be able almost to zone out and I actually didn’t feel too bad, just a little distressed. Francine decided now was a good time to speak to me. My zoning out was destroyed and I became more acutely aware of my bed’s corkscrewing motion; decidedly unpleasant. Warning sensations in my stomach made me feel as if I wasn’t going to make it after all. Somehow I managed to regain my state of semi-consciousness, though. A while later, for some reason I became uncomfortably too conscious once again. Again I felt as thought I wasn’t going to make it. Oh good grief, I’d got about eight more hours of this to go through unless by some act of mercy the Bay of Biscay calmed itself down. Needless to say, it didn’t calm itself down. Boats really are a disgusting mode of transport.

Somehow the purgatory of the night passed and, as we began to approach Bilbao on the northern coast of Spain, the surface of the sea settled back into something approaching acceptable. By some miracle, I’d managed to hang on to my cookies. I was relieved to enter the confines of the harbour. 30 minutes later – yes, it takes that long to get into the berth itself – we docked and, after undoing the loading jigsaw puzzle, we drove off and I was again on blessed terra firma. Spanish immigration was even ready for us and we sailed through and onto Bilbao’s manic spaghetti-junction-like road (so-called) system.

Boats and I don’t mix. I really should avoid them. I’ll try not to spend the next five weeks fretting about our return journey.