I’d love to see El verano de Andalucía or Andarushía no natsu. Having to win the Tour the same day your brother marries … your girlfriend is something so many of us have experienced. (The Japan Times credits Kosaka his pickled eggplants, but says he’s still short of cultural mulligan stews. Can’t please everyone…)
Unlike motorcars, bicycles take you through village centres and allow you to park outside at any interesting-looking drinking hole you encounter. Friday afternoon on my way up-country for a weekend engagement I stopped at a village café in the mountains between Montseny and Montserrat, where a nice but weary barmaid was serving brandy to some…
–Why don’t we do the deal Monday so we can do the transfer-of-ownership bureaucracy at the same time? –I’d really like to have it this weekend. Look, I’ve got the cash with me. –But you haven’t seen the car yet! –No, no, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Let’s go and get it, I’ll pay you,…
Normal food is repackaged here and sold at a premium as healthy Dieta Mediterránea. And so the woman asked the supermarket assistant, “Excuse me, have you got any Mediterranean Diet beer? It’s for my husband.” What would Homer say?
I think this is a shame. Even if you take away the memorials, the bits of plastic and glass and mangled tree left by the towtruck can still be seen, and having a thicket of crosses on sharp bends serves to warn drivers and cheer cyclists (except of course when they were done wrong).
I can understand a guy stealing a coach, particularly if there’s nothing better in the vicinity, but why then go into a bar and steal 19 sarnies and 19 cans of beer? Was there a football team waiting for him somewhere or was he going to consume the lot himself?
Apparently there’s an urban legend in circulation in which, as a cult initiation ceremony, the occupants of an unlit car pursue and murder the occupants of the first car to beep at them–and they’re not actors.