The sea, the sea

Kalimera !

1.I know and mispronounce six and a half words of Greek, but it seems that the Greeks are used to it. I feel useless and cheap, a member of the colonialist Easyryan brigade. Which I am, I suppose. But it’s that or not buying any fruit.

2.We thought we were going on a retreat, desert island style, but as it happens we have neighbours. Our favourite is about 12 years old, an overgrown cub, chubby, already double-chinned, equalled in loudness by the friend who calls him out from the street:
-Adonis!
….
-Adonis!
…
-Adoniiiiiis!
The poor boy has a lot to live up to with a name like that.

3.We almost didn’t leave London. The day of our departure coincided with what will certainly go down in airport history as The Big Mess. After being searched, we had to abandon all hand luggage. My SLF had to leave her cigarettes behind; I was quietly rejoicing until they also tried to take my food away from me. (Never were 2 Berliners eaten in such haste.)

4.Our flat has a sea view, and was described by the letting agent as ‘romantic’. We can see many reasons for that epithet:

- there is no television (we have to talk to each other)
- the curtains have lacy bits on them (how they float in the sea breeze!)
- there is nowhere to sit apart from the bed. (it’s very cosy)
- the toilet door doesn’t close (we have bonded)

all factors which, without any doubt, will do wonders for bringing a couple closer together.

5.Time to go and swim a little, perhaps float on the Inflatable Madness; then smile a lot and point in the fruit shop.


Ah, the sea. I watch it, sleep by it, swim in it, breathe it in, drink it (but mostly that's when I'm not paying attention).
I do hope that the guy who walks along the nudist beach casually holding a camcorder with the red light on and pointing at the naked lesbians doesn't drop it in the water by accident.


Back on Thursday. Be well!

Looks like I’m back

1. I miss..

Trying out all the bars in Granada, and dining on the tapas they bring you with every round.

The breathtaking black fake marble grandiosity of my flat’s bathroom, complete with gold fixtures and, right above the bog, a scene out of the Greek mythology, exquisitely rendered in (more) gold, red and blue.

The hours spent sprawled on the velvet sofa, late at night with my Italian flatmate, drinking beer and watching Spanish TV. It was just too hot to go to bed before 2 or 3 am.

Bitching about said velvet sofa that you end up sticking to in that hellish temperature– que putada es este terciopelo que te pega al culo.

Having an excuse to have ice-cream instead a proper dinner.

Getting hopelessly hooked on chat shows and ‘Cita rapida’ (blind date).

Starting to do our ‘homework’ after 1am and a few beers. How inspiration flew! I have rude poems to prove it.

The neighbour’s Sunday morning mix of flamenco and heavy metal. It does exist.

2. I don’t miss…

Waking up drenched in sweat at 3am every night and having to take another cold shower just to bring my temperature back down – to make sure that I’d live to see another day. Exaggerating, me? Never.

Daring myself to sit out on the balcony and trying to forget I’m terrified of heights. Then running back in.


3. London is boring, polluted and cold, therefore my SLF and I are off tomorrow for two weeks. There will be lots of swimming involved. Be well!

1. Bloggente, I'm coming back to England on Saturday. Not that it makes any difference to you, but to me yes, since it'll allow me to stop sweating to profusely for at least a couple of days.

2. I'm having trouble with English at the moment, so only popping in to say hello. Hello!

3. Now for homework I have to write a story de que te cagas for tomorrow, so I better go find something to drink, just to make sure that the muse doesn't fail me. It's worked wth every single piece of homework so far. The poem I wrote for today was de puta madre. Really. Want to read it?

Hasta luego, chios y chicas.