Spring is here

Life is skittles, life is beer, and, where possible, life is adultery. There’s a lovely bit in Enrique Jardiel Poncela’s But … were there ever eleven thousand virgins? where he says that amor is Spanish for two people eating stew together. Resistance is futile, my dear, particularly with the roses up in the Cervantes gardens coming along so nicely. (The gates are scaleable and you don’t get chased by guards like in the gardens of the Pedralbes palace. If you do, make sure you at least keep hold of your keys.)

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