I'M ONLY HERE FOR THE FEAR

In th early hours on Friday I was serenaded by the screams coming from what must have been one of the biggest botellons, piss ups for quite a while. I am tempted to say 'vaya crisis', 'bring on the recession' but what to do in times of crisis but drink, stand in doorways and smash up things that don't belong to you as folk round here have been doing since the time of 'espanYa va bien'.? As in previous botellones there were hundreds of people walking around screaming and enjoying the rain which put a stop to my idea of throwing a bucket of cold water over the ones underneath my window who were making what sounded like animal noises. A couple of times I thought I could hear people being murdered but I did nothing but roll over with the apathy I have learnt to get a decent nights sleep here. The alternative being the only one concerned and the only one ringing the police.

Later that day I told a student who happens to be a soldier in the Spanish army that I had glibly mentioned in another blog 'how long will it be before the police or army are called in?' to which he replied 'oh, don't you know about the 120 odd folk who have been injured in Barcelona?' The police there, or Mossos D 'esquadra, steamed in as police do when told to clear an area and managed to beat up a few youngsters. Even later the same day I was given a leaflet by a girl who was carrying a daisy, compelling us all to go down to our little square with some flowers in support for or rather against the violence in Barcelona and to manifest the idea that a better world is possible All very nice and what I would expect young people to do as when you are young you believe a better world is possible and you may go on to be someone who enables things to improve.  Problem was, they hadn't thought it through and on the leaflet it told us all to be there at 7 o'clock. It was now five to eight.

Much much later and after a supper of lamb's tonsils amongst other delights we found ourselves in the Bar Rugaca, where we famously didn't go for about six years on account of Babby, the head waiter, who gave us a roasting for teaching an imperialist language etc. We have started to go back as it is a nice bar, the only problem being a lot of the fauna that go there can't wait to say something like the comment last night that my Spanish was better three years ago. This remark wasn't helped by another woman entering the conversation and being told ' speak more slowly, as she (me), won't be able to understand you. I added that I could understand every word perfectly to which I was asked  to 'go on then, say what she just said'. This conversation ended with me walking away telling them I wasn't going to talk to them if they were going to be like this and within seconds there was such an eruption of madness with the husband asking me why I had upset his wife who was by now in tears that I could walk away or protest even. He even said I was mala which made me laugh even more. I think it's a Catholic thing as I felt absolutely no guilt and even added that I was Jewish to get the point across but by then people were shouting and screaming as if I had just massacred their families. So, another six years of self barring. Reminds me of the good old days in the Coach and Horses back in Soho, London.