Either you will know what this means, or like me, you will have to read on for the explanation!

Hablas Flamenco

My Flemish Belgian neighbours had got caught up in the rapidly ever changing Covid restrictions, and were stuck in Belgium unable to receive their order of furniture.

All was not lost; they had a Jos with a key and nothing to do!

The furniture was coming from Koala, due at 11.00. ‘They said they would come at 11.00, and they will be punctual.’ Eric told me.

Those who know me know that I can be a little sceptical, especially when it comes to Spanish timekeeping. However, this was a Belgian company, so I reined in my natural pessimism and prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt. At 11.00 on the dot the Koala van pulled up. Had Big Ben been present the van’s wheels would have stopped rolling on the first Bong, and the tailgate would have been opened by the eleventh Bong.*

I approached with a degree of lingual uncertainty; We were in Spain, but this was a Belgian company. Most, but not all, Belgians speak English. The same applies to Spanish. So what would be our common language? While I was pondering this problem Delivery Man #1 addressed me. I had no idea what he said, and I put this down to the fact that he was wearing a mask.

In the hiatus that followed he started again – in English. His English, however, was obviously not at the front of his mind, so I replied in Spanish in the hope that we would reach a better accord in a language that was foreign to both of us. Having thus established a linguistic common ground the conversation moved on harmoniously. Until he asked me ‘¿Hablas flamenco?’

That stopped me as effectively as if I’d run headfirst into a brick wall. Noticing my stunned expression he helpfully repeated ¿Hablas flamenco?’ I looked down at my less than lissom body, and considered my lack of limb mobility. I must have misheard – Flamenco? Me? Nah, not in my wildest dreams!

This was a conundrum beyond my solving. I was totally stumped. ‘Flamenco is my language. I thought you might speak it.’ He offered. Now I saw a chink of light. I still had no idea what he was talking about, but it was obviously something to do with languages.

‘I speak a little Spanish’ I replied, ‘but my English is excellent.’

Returning back to my base I resolutely banished from my mind the awful spectre of me dancing flamenco and reached for the phone and Google Translate.
Flamenco, it informed me, is Spanish for Flemish??. Is the dance called after the country, or the country called after the dance? I think that is a line of enquiry best left to erudite historians, of which I am not one!

*Yes, I know! If Big Ben had been present he would have Bonged 10, not 11!