There are traders selling battered car doors that lean tidily against each other, unfamiliar spare parts; some look like gearboxes, transmissions, clutch assemblies, starter motors, and suspension springs;many in unsorted piles of scrap metal or conversely neatly arranged across the ground. Need a clutch assembly for your Hindustan Ambassador and you'll have to search through heavy steel casings coated with either grease or rust, one mutually exclusive parts; some look like gearboxes, transmissions, clutch assemblies, starter motors, and...

Day-break; the darkness lifts rapidly and the road from Feria to Burguillos del Cerro winds from side to side, rises, falls, and looks out from the Puerto, the high point above the village, over an escarpment to countless islands in an ocean of fog that swells around them. They’re not Grecian islands in the Aegean Sea; the cold wind bites, the air is damp, and with my back to the mountain I’m reminded of Sierra Vieja’s frosty shadow as it casts itself over my shoulder, and the brume of Burguillos that wraps itself around the distant hills...

She pulled her large white beard below her chin and took a large draught of Cruzcampo, and when the half liter glass left her lips a moustache of white froth remained, equal to the synthetic one she had just been wearing. Papa Noél had time off and was taking a cervezita with her friends and gestured with her large glass for me to join them. She looked the quintessential Father Christmas and might the beard have slipped, literally or metaphoriocally, I don’t think any of the children she was employed to entertain would’ve been the least...

Black is black I want my baby back It’s grey it’s grey Since she went away ooh-ooh What can I do’ ‘cause I’m feelin’ blue Sang Mike Kogal of Spanish band Los Bravos, with the belief that black leads to gray and then the blues, after a failed relationship. But is black always that black? Black dogs, or the Black Shuck of East Anglia – portents of either depression or death, black cats – harbingers of bad luck, black sheep – the outcasts of the family, black crows – omens of bad tidings, the black rats that carried bubonic plague in the....

Salvatore clucked loudly, half folded his arms, and waved them energetically either side of his large belly, fists half tucked beneath his sticky armpits, his flaccid throat moving rhythmically up an down below his chubby chin, with every cluck of the hen he imitated; he moo-ed like a prize chianina throwing his head up into the air and generally snorted and bleated his way through the entire menu. He was uncertain that three Spaniards and an Englishman, who had stumbled into his bar in central Sicily deep within the hinterland, would...

There are traders selling battered car doors that lean tidily against each other, unfamiliar spare parts; some look like gearboxes, transmissions, clutch assemblies, starter motors, and suspension springs;many in unsorted piles of scrap metal or conversely neatly arranged across the ground. Need a clutch assembly for your Hindustan Ambassador and you'll have to search through heavy steel casings coated with either grease or rust, one mutually exclusive parts; some look like gearboxes, transmissions, clutch assemblies, starter motors, and...

Day-break; the darkness lifts rapidly and the road from Feria to Burguillos del Cerro winds from side to side, rises, falls, and looks out from the Puerto, the high point above the village, over an escarpment to countless islands in an ocean of fog that swells around them. They’re not Grecian islands in the Aegean Sea; the cold wind bites, the air is damp, and with my back to the mountain I’m reminded of Sierra Vieja’s frosty shadow as it casts itself over my shoulder, and the brume of Burguillos that wraps itself around the distant hills...

She pulled her large white beard below her chin and took a large draught of Cruzcampo, and when the half liter glass left her lips a moustache of white froth remained, equal to the synthetic one she had just been wearing. Papa Noél had time off and was taking a cervezita with her friends and gestured with her large glass for me to join them. She looked the quintessential Father Christmas and might the beard have slipped, literally or metaphoriocally, I don’t think any of the children she was employed to entertain would’ve been the least...

Black is black I want my baby back It’s grey it’s grey Since she went away ooh-ooh What can I do’ ‘cause I’m feelin’ blue Sang Mike Kogal of Spanish band Los Bravos, with the belief that black leads to gray and then the blues, after a failed relationship. But is black always that black? Black dogs, or the Black Shuck of East Anglia – portents of either depression or death, black cats – harbingers of bad luck, black sheep – the outcasts of the family, black crows – omens of bad tidings, the black rats that carried bubonic plague in the....

Salvatore clucked loudly, half folded his arms, and waved them energetically either side of his large belly, fists half tucked beneath his sticky armpits, his flaccid throat moving rhythmically up an down below his chubby chin, with every cluck of the hen he imitated; he moo-ed like a prize chianina throwing his head up into the air and generally snorted and bleated his way through the entire menu. He was uncertain that three Spaniards and an Englishman, who had stumbled into his bar in central Sicily deep within the hinterland, would...

There are traders selling battered car doors that lean tidily against each other, unfamiliar spare parts; some look like gearboxes, transmissions, clutch assemblies, starter motors, and suspension springs;many in unsorted piles of scrap metal or conversely neatly arranged across the ground. Need a clutch assembly for your Hindustan Ambassador and you'll have to search through heavy steel casings coated with either grease or rust, one mutually exclusive parts; some look like gearboxes, transmissions, clutch assemblies, starter motors, and...

Day-break; the darkness lifts rapidly and the road from Feria to Burguillos del Cerro winds from side to side, rises, falls, and looks out from the Puerto, the high point above the village, over an escarpment to countless islands in an ocean of fog that swells around them. They’re not Grecian islands in the Aegean Sea; the cold wind bites, the air is damp, and with my back to the mountain I’m reminded of Sierra Vieja’s frosty shadow as it casts itself over my shoulder, and the brume of Burguillos that wraps itself around the distant hills...