Last night I stayed in a convent. Not something I do on a regular basis .
Only two nuns live here now. So tthe place is run for pilgrims by hospialeros Roberta and Maria. They do a fantastic job welcoming us and cooking our evening meal.
There’s no set fee. It’s donativo which means you give as much or as little as you wish.
The meal was followed with some sort of alcoholic liquorice spirit concocted by one of Roberta’s mates.
Didn’t Just William drink liquorice water ? If he’d drunk this stuff his band of outlaws would probably have been pissed enough to carry out an actual breach of the law.
It was a great evening. Ending with The Great Washing Up debate.
As,pilgrims we had a moral duty to help so I donned rubber gloves and ran the water at its hottest. With plenty of washing up liquid.
I was passing the pots to my Dutch friend to dry when one of our Italian pilgrims informed me I wasn’t doing it properly.
“Don’t tell me how to wash up…I KNOW how to wash up. I spend half my life washing up…”,
But apparently,I know nothing cos I had to rinse the pots under the cold tap before,passing them to the drier
My protestations that putting them under the cold tap made it harder to dry were ignored with contempt.
“Faster faster .” She ordered until I was virtually slinging plates and pots across the kitchen in an attempt to prove my domestic virility.