That result in full; three goals, one ham, one happy Englishman to nil

One of the bigger factors in contemplating making the move here permanently, quite genuinely, was the fact that I'd no longer be a regular at the Albion. This of course played no part in my partner's thinking but for me it was, in all seriousness, quite a big deal. Waiting 34 years to get back to the top flight and I promptly leave the country when we finally get there. Something has to stand in its stead.

Step forward the unique charms of Club Deportivo Viana do Bolo, the village's own team, made up entirely of locals or near-locals, all, of course, playing for nothing more than the love of the game.

The Premier League this isn't, but that's to ignore its very different but no less enjoyable attractions. I pay €20 per year to attend all the games. I rock up at two minutes to kick-off and I know several of the players. I even, rather ludicrously given how terrible a footballer I am, play with and against several of them on Thursdays.

The ground itself may lack The Amex's comfort and facilities, but it sits against a spectacular backdrop of the Galician mountains. Aircraft contrails line the sky diagonally to the pitch, all heading towards a Madrid that's distant in every sense.

There was fevered anticipation ahead of the ham raffle.
The game, I mean. Sorry - ahead of the game.

Given the local population, the turn-out can be pretty good if the weather's nice and the team playing well. A hundred or so represents a decent percentage of the local populace, remember, and many of them are even there for the football. I say many, because it seems to me that the real draw for some of them is the half-time raffle for a ham. Yep - you read that correctly. Not for Viana a cash prize or a signed shirt. Here the only prize, apart from special occasions when there may be an infinitely less desirable second prize, is a whole ham. Here's one for which they drew earlier:

Oooh, let's 'ave a look at what ya could'a won.

Ome Euro per ticket (I always buy three) on entry gives you a shot at something that'd cost good money in the shop. Now my missus, who goes only occasionally, won the thing the first and only time she saw a game last season. This, coupled with the fact that no matter who wins it, they get absolutely slaughtered by everybody else (no pun intended), meant that I've been gently dreading ever actually winning the thing, despite my regular attendance.

But so it was, this weekend just passed, that my number was drawn. The chap who actually pulled out the winning ticket threw it to the floor in disgust, and so began the choi-oiking from all and sundry. 

Now I readily accept that, in a group of Galicians yelling over each other, I don't understand some of the Gallego I'm hearing. But I'm fairly sure I received a number of suggestions as to what I could do with said ham, and I'm reasonably certain they weren't all culinary advice. Even today, sitting in a bar as I write this over a coffee, people who weren't even at the game are coming up to me. "Fuck sake, I can't believe a bloody Ingles won the ham. Don't talk to me..." News travels fast in such a small place as Viana, and the winning of such a prize counts as news here. I'm not taking it personally, of course - I'm merely paying the same price everybody who wins it has to pay. You should have heard the grief the poor chap who won it twice in the same season got.

Anyway, back to the game. After the controversy of the guiri winning the raffle, the crowed swelled further for the second half with the arrival of a number of spectators who'd missed the first half to attend a funeral. You don't get that in the Premier League either. I'm pleased to report that the good guys won 3-0 and sit top of the league, which is a relief to me because, naturally, the first season I watched them after moving here, they were relegated and I saw only two victories all season. I was beginning to worry that I was a bit of a Jonah.

I never got any stick for that, though. Bring bad luck to the team, yeah - by all means. But for fuck's sake don't go winning the ham.

Lactose-tolerant scatology

The great Billy Connolly, speaking in defence of swearing, once said that you never hear or read '"Fuck off," he hinted.' I've always been at one with the Big Yin in his view - far from being the sign of a limited intellect (as I've heard it dismissed), I believe that creative use of swearing is the sign of a lively and extensive vocabulary. Any idiot can simply drop the f-bomb repeatedly, but it takes real wit to use the profane to the fullest extent of its power.

It's often the swearing that anybody trying to learn a language will pick up first. The liberal use of this form, coupled with swearing's force of emphasis and general usefulness, make swearwords some of the first that many people distinguish. (Not forgetting the churlish delight many people have in learning rude words in other languages, of course.)

The Galicians have made things even easier for the keen-to-learn outsider in this regard, by focusing their swearing to an extraordinary extent on the scatological. I'd say more than half the swearing I hear is an excremental imperative. I'll give you an example. Late last Thursday night, returning to Viana from Christmas in the UK, the drive back from the railway station was marked by patches of fog and near-moonlightless darkness. Caution was necessary, none more so than when a deer suddenly ran out in front of the car, appearing from nowhere out of the gloom and forcing a sudden braking. "Shit on the whore of a deer!" pronounced the driver, perfectly delivering an exemplar of the most common form of swearing I hear.

Shitting on, or in, things, would seem an almost compulsive desire here, were you to take the locals' imprecations literally. I've heard hundreds of forms of it - the deer incident being typical of how specifically it can be adapted, but the most common are:

Shit on the mother who birthed you/him/her/it!
Shit on God!
Shit on my life!
Shit on ten! (No I don't understand this one either, and wonder if it's an example of my mishearing the dialect from time to time. But I'm reasonably sure I've heard this more than once.)
Shit on the whore!
Shit on the hostia. (The hostia is the communion bread, of which more later.)

And, given that I've named this entry in this phrase's honour, my absolute favourite:

Shit in the milk!

Now the first time I heard this one I dissolved into laughter, not only because of the inevitable mental image it conjures, but because to me it doesn't sound like an expression of outrage as it's normally used here ("The train's cancelled? Shit in the milk!"). No, to my English ears it sounds more like an expression of emphasis, alarm or surprise. (Shit in the milk, that's hot!). I also picture a baddie in some lewd kids' comic. ("I'll put a stop to their little enterprise. I'll defecate in their milk. Ha!")

I don't use these terms myself because they all sound faintly absurd coming out of a foreigner's mouth, and spoken with an English accent. I was, though, kindly told by a friend on Monday that I now use the Spanish equivalent of 'fuck', 'joder', just like a local. This was oddly pleasing, but joder is so mild here that you hear it on television at any hour of the day, unbeeped. They only beep two things, as far as I can tell. The aforementioned hostia, which can be used on its own as a sweary expression of surprise ("They were how much? Hostia!") but is obviously a Catholic reference to the host, and therefore offends many people in what's still a pretty religious country. The other thing is puta, meaning 'whore'. That gets beeped too - I have no idea why. Hijo/hija de puta ('son/daughter of a whore') is one of the strongest insults here but the only bit they beep on telly is the last word.

To truly swear like a Galician, though, I need to start using carallo. This reference to the phallus can be used so multifariously that it'd fill an entry on its own - I recommend this page for a much fuller comment on its ubiquity and versatility. Again, I hesitate because it makes me think I sound like I'm trying too hard. But if the day ever comes when I'm complimented on using carallo like a local, well shit in the milk that'd make me happy.

See what I mean? Emphasis, not outrage.