In the words of the immortal Godfather, Don Corleone - it’s not personal, it’s strictly business. It’s not even my own business but that of the Ancient Mariner who after a decade of nagging has finally decided to get his foreign affairs ship shape before heading off to Davy Jones locker.
I’d forgotten just how hard the single beds were in my old childhood bedroom. Imagine sleeping on a granite outcrop covered by a few flimsy sheets of loo roll. Three bedspreads heaped onto a couple of moth-eaten prehistoric blankets later I finally managed to thaw out for some shut eye.
Only I’d also forgotten that mother masquerades as a wrinkly vampire watching TV until the wee hours. No problem with that except she’s almost as deaf as a post and even three bedspreads plus a closed door failed to tone down the volume. This does not bode well for the week ahead.
Alone in a house with two old dears that struggle to walk a hundred yards to the loo is going to mean no churros for yours truly. I’ll be that saddo tourist sitting alone in a corner table nursing a cup of hot chocolate slowly savouring the taste of deep-fried greasy churros which although not great for anyone’s waistline are such a treat that it’s almost a religious pilgrimage when visiting Spain.
It’s now just a case of picking the right moment to pop off for an early morning stroll down to a local churro emporium.
No comments:
Post a Comment