Are you Spanish yet?
I saw it coming, I even felt it, I deifinitely heard it and smelt it (….and if that receptionist in CajaMar was 20 years older I might have felt it!! Jeje).
When did you realise that Spain was in your blood? You prefer rioja to ribena, pulpo a la gallega to porridge and Cruzcampo to Carling. A good night starts at 10 and doesn’t end in the cells. Getting ready for a good night out means that you ensure your teenage children are scrubbed and in their finest and are never out of your site.
It does not mean that you go out with all the guys from the football team and take a knife, knuckledusters and a gun “Just for protection officer”. You consume 7 pints on lager before 11 and then go to th Star of India where you down another four before starting a fight and throwing up in the back of the police van (again!) A good night is not ending in the same cell as your son who was brought in for underage drinking.
You think it quite reasonable that the council spends more on fireworks than library books and you would not dream of going into any bar that did not have all the day’s papers, 3 different TV channels on at full blast slogging it out with two different readio stations ……on at full blast. You are prepared to use an ashtray (even though it is a no smoking bar – but only if the floor is full.
Anyway, to progress, on Saturday I saw the Norway and Spain games. I did not bother with the England game. I’m frankly not that interested. Yes. more Spanish that Engish, I guess. I HOPE!
I went for a stroll tonight after another 12 hour day. Half ten, quarter to eleven – just when the English pubs in Manchester were ready to call last orders.
I wandered into a bar as I could see the TV was on and there was a football game being showm. It was an English bar.- BIG mistake, Steve.
There were perhaps a dozen people in it – including a guy who must have been 80 aborting Frank Sinatra or it might have been Abba, It was that bad. He was followed by somebody who was a cross between Cyril Smoth and Bernard Manning. He must have been 25 stones. He spoke the words to an old Elvis song or perhaps it was the Sex Pistols,Who knows? He didn’t. I ordered agua con gas – predictably they did not have it so I settled for sin. Silly xxxx of a barmaid said. “Nobody asks for con gas.” I felt like saying. “Well, I just did” but I felt my sarcasm would be lost on somebody whose IQ could probably have been counted on the fingers of either hand – anybody who chews gum whilst she is serving and has scruffy tatoos on her forearms is automatically deemed to be an inbred Arsenal neanderthal.
As I say, there were perhaps 12 people and I had the choice of the finest seats in town – those facing away from the karaoke!
Quite a good game – England u21s v Wales u21s. (5-4 to England). One minute into injury time. The other barmaid came over and asked, “Do you want another one love?” Trying to divert my eyes from the Macclsefield Town tatoo on her more than ample bosom – wife of the karaoke star? I said, “No thanks.Just going – games only got 2 minutes to go.” Her reply? “Well, you can’t stay here if you are not drinking.” Red Mist moment. I said, “No problems, I won’t be back.” By the time I had got to the exit, the ref had blown his whistle so it was for a matter of perhaps 2 minutes I was “abusing her hospitality.”
ASHAMED to have British in my passport
I walked down the street and saw a Spansh tapas and walked in. I ordered con gas – which predictably they had and picked up the local rag as I waited for my tapas. This is what I saw!!
What an amazing story and one which made me so proud to even be in their country even if I can’t add Spanish to my passport.
A one-legged Once salesman kept a winning ticket @ 35,000 euros safely for a regular customer who had been away a few days so had not paid for it. Obviously the salesman could have kept it, cashed it and nobody would have known. What an amazing story. As the waiter came over, I asked whether he had read it and he said, yes, and he knew the guy. He’d been selling in town for many years. Wow, I said, “What a gent!”. The waiter nodded and smiled. I guessed he felt that a fellow Fuengirola citizen had brought honour to the town,…..and in some ways it rubbed off on him. As I was leaving, he said, “By the way, take the paper if you like, we’re closing in 10 minutes.”
Just look at the difference in hospitalty! I guess the English bar will be closed within months and I guess the Spanish one will pass from generation to generation. When will they ever learn?
When did you realise that you were more “local” than whatever it says on your passport?