BURNING DESIRE

It's been a long time in the planning but, today, we've had our first bonfire for months. It's not that we've been too lazy to have one before now, or that the summers are too hot to stand by a blazing fire (although they certainly are). Lighting a fire outdoors here can only legally be done during a designated period because of the risk to forests and shrub land. But finding out when that period starts and ends can be somewhat challenging, as we discovered during our first year here.

Neighbours tried to be helpful but seemed a bit vague about the actual dates. We'd already fallen foul of the Manacor ayuntamiento by illegally building a small outhouse, so wanted to avoid any further visits from the police, delivering bad news from the authorities.

At the town hall, getting a definitive answer to our simple question about the dates of the bonfire exclusion period proved to be impossible. We were referred to department after department. Staff peered at us suspiciously - did we look like prospective arsonists? - then launched into a torrent of mallorquín with colleagues, before returning to us with a shrug and an apology . . . but no dates. We even asked a member of the Guardia Civil, who happened to be cruising through the valley one day as we were out on a walk.. He referred us to the town hall . . .

Since then, we've played it safe and, once the warm spring weather arrives, we leave our pile of cuttings, dead branches and other garden detritus to grow until after the first of the autumn storms. This year, our bonfire pile has grown spectacularly with the addition of the dilapidated wooden shutters which we replaced with new ones last year. The Boss has been itching to put a match to the thing.

Today that itch was scratched. As I sat working at my computer, he stood outside, swathed in billowing smoke, periodically poking at the blazing pile with a garden fork and indulging man's primeval instincts to create and control fire. Now, all that's left of the enormous pile of garden rubbish that was an eyesore all summer is a small pile of warm, grey ash. That and the faint whiff of smoke about The Boss's person. But at least he didn't accidentally set fire to the leg of his jeans this time . . .