Last night I could hear shots and explosions which could only mean three things. That Barcelona had won, there were public executions going on somewhere, or civil war had broken out. Apparently the police in Barcelona wanted the youngsters to piss off so the cleaners could move in and tidy up for the predictable celebrations that night when Barcelona would slaughter Manchester United. It was the typical scene, police in riot gear manhandling the kids who got a beating and some disturbing scenes of a cop firing rubber bullets.
Regarding the botellon the other night, or rather morning, the headline that accompanied the article on it in the paper was Una Noche Complicada which I thought could include most of my nights out too. For once there were numerous complaints and phone calls to the police as hundreds of students went and got pissed and due to the rain did all the usual illegal stuff and lovemaking in doorways. The photos of the wreckage left after this, legal, botellon left me in no doubt that we never had it so good.
As for my complicated night out, I remembered the next day that some bloke from the CHA, the Aragonese political party here, handed me a paper napkin with the words Rum Tum Tugger on it and demanded in that Aragonese way, what it meant. Explaining that the words were impossible to translate as they didn't mean anything he insisted so I started to say that Rum was a drink in Spanish called Ron and then I stopped and I thought, 'why am I doing this? Again'. I've lost count of the times people here have thrust bits of paper under my nose with pieces of prose, titles of songs, words from adverts etc. I said 'it's just a name of one of the cats in a TS Eliot poem'. He didn't understand that bit but did say something about 'don't you know it is a poem by Tesse Liot?
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