Irie Goats

There's something about the goats. The world is set to rights when they pass, and even if just for a few moments I get a good feeling. It's not just me - lots of us say so. Lots of us northern Europeans, at least. I'll have to ask my Spanish students what they think when I start teaching. The goats belong to my builder, Juan, and I already know he loves them. The other night, having drinks with some friends, I saw him leading the goats home along the rambla. It's not usually his job, and it was oddly touching.

The last goat herd, Antonio, used to shout and swear at the goats. Kaka Ayiiii! Puta Madre! For some 20 years he lived across the valley from me in a little house near the goat shed. I would clock him from afar - and wonder whether he also clocked me. We'd meet on the street between us sometimes and say hello, so I guess he probably did. The goats no longer live opposite, but further up on the other side of the main road, at the end of Juan's yard. The new goat herd looks younger, with long hair and a hat. He takes the herd home as dusk falls, scrambling up the steep bank behind their old home. His dogs bring up the rear. Two are pups, like him perhaps, still learning the ropes.

So - that's the goat part of this blog explained. And the Irie bit in the URL is for Jamaica, another love. I'm living here in Spain for a year (in a house I've had since 1997) and this will be a blog about my life - a south east Londoner trying to live in a world without reggae on the doorstep. To keep myself going, I'll be seeking music online and adding some tunes. Not just reggae - anything good. And, of course, Irie meaning 'Good', is apt because the goats are definitely good. They gladden the heart. They are what makes the day, any day, OK.

Goat Music: 'It Mek' by Desmond Dekker and the Aces