Barcelona. Shop no 1 is closed at 11:30, well within its normal opening hours. The iron street blinds are down and there’s no message posted, so I walk across town to shop no 2. Yes, no problem, pay now and we’ll confirm the delivery date in a moment. The call comes a couple of hours later:
– That model isn’t available right now.
– When will it be?
– We may be able to tell you later this month, so to save trouble why don’t you just buy this more expensive model?
– No thanks. I’ll be over later to get my money.
– Oh, we’ll have to see about that.
I tend to try to buy through foreign suppliers and I pray for the day when the Chinese will be running everything. Call me a racist, but it keeps me out of the loony bin.
It’s getting light and tipping it down as firemen cut through the shop’s metal blinds to fix the electric heater. A woman peers out of a first-floor window, and her neighbour shouts to her from the street:
- The mugger mugged
Several Chinese have whispered me grossly inaccurate versions of this story, so here’s the truth, from the mouth of a horse who wouldn’t want his mum to read this kind of stuff on his blog:
I was having a drink in La Penùltima on Barcelona’s Riera Alta when in came what turned out to be
- The metro to Nou Barris
Pictures of houses and a Derbi.
- Barcelona and the great European fire sale
And an explanation of why “La gata sobre el tejado de zinc” is, in metallurgical-roofing terms, an inappropriate translation of “Cat on a hot tin roof”.