Wednesday, July 05, 2006

last night i dreamt of some baker, seems like yesterday not far away

It's only twenty eight days until Spain. And I'm reading portions of the rough guide and googling so I'll:

a. know what I'm looking at/for
b. avoid pissing off the local people
c. am not exposed as the fraudulant not knower of Spanish life that I am.

If I were living in a computer game, Doom say, well I would be running akimbo collecting facts instead of health packs, facts such as: Franco equals BAD, Gaudi equals GENIUS, Guernica is a sketch not a picture, Catalonia separate state discuss, Spain has a king, Spain were robbed of the world cup (just thought they might like that one... don't really know, personally thought the Germans were fab).

But it is all unravelling. I talked to someone today and it was a bit like this:

me: 'I'm going to Spain.'

she: 'I'm going to Pompeii'

me: 'Yay, holidays. What are you going to get up to?'

she: 'Well we'll probably just go straight for an Irish pub.'

In a mildly racist way, I'd always presumed that only English people felt like this. I know it's awful but this was based primarily on two events in my life. One age seven on beach:

english 7 year old: where are you from then?
me: Dublin
e7yo: that's in Scotland, in'it?
me: no.

Two age twenty five when I overheard this english woman in Rome in a restaurant. She was sitting at the table beside us and I was marvelling at the carving of a big Parma ham, until:

italian woman (patiently resorts to speaking English after many attempts in Italian)

Italian: you like to order that Pizza?
english 47 year old: oui
italian woman: what?
e47yo: Ja
iw: (is walking off. not happy)
e47yo husband: That was French Margaret
e47yo: What does it matter... French - Italian. It's all the same

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