:: The Wendy House ::

cafés to the left.    cafés ahead.    cafés to the right.     

Cafés on the edge of the Lavapies district of Madrid. 

Perfect places to eavesdrop,  observe locals,  and tourists. The wait-staff of the two empty cafés ahead hold conversations across the street and physically perk-up whenever potential customers, people, walk down the street between them…

There may be a time in every bidet’s life when it waits on the street. 

The silver Moped appears to be gaurding the silver Bidet from random attack by a misguidedly malicious person that may well hold a grudge against bidets in general due to unfortunate accident in their formative years.  Its possible.  The attacker is unlikely to have been raised in the US where people are protected from high-risk,  irresponsible, youthful escapades with bidets. 

Do you think this bidet is visiting the Hotel?

In Spains Catholic religious capital Cathedral, Toledo, the burial places of Cardinals are marked by their hats being suspecnded from the ceiling above.  The hats hang until they decompose.  They add an eerie feeling to the cathedral as they gently swing in the silence.

The man in this photograph was giving the lady a personal guided tour of the Latin Quarter of Madrid.  In English. 

I followed them,  at a distance,  for a couple of miles hearing all sorts of lovely little details.  They nearly discovered me once when they walked down a dead-end alley and turned round to come back out.  Luckily I was still in Hitchcock sleuth mode and managed to scarper without being spotted or falling over any parked Mopeds.

According to the guide this is the oldest door in Madrid at 500yrs old.  Madrid is a fairly young city by European standards.

they do not drip messy wax,  they do not blow-out in the gentle church breezes, securely collecting donations,  equal lights for each prayer, only the bulbs need replacing and the cover eases dusting and cleaning.  These prayer installations were in both the Cathedrals I visited in Spain.

Progress? 

The emotional, sensual, experience of an electric prayer barely touches that of lighting, smelling, watching real candles. 

not the name of an English pub.

A Madrid morning moment.

Infront of a Musical Opera shop where Nun and moped pretend that they have never met before.

After taking the photo I joined the game by pretending that I was in an Alfred Hitchocock movie and followed the nun.  Just incase.   I think I managed to stay incognito,  following from a distance,  wearing dark reflective Ray Bans.

I jumped right in and fell-over on my first day in Madrid. 

Nice scrape there on my knee… …and what colour and style are those pants I’m wearing….a shade of khaki…a version of cargo….have I succumbed to the camoflauge of the masses? 

Oh fickle me and my grazed knee. 

We are sat at the beautiful Madrid airport watching the rain……

the RAIN  in SPAIN waiting for my PLANE

The Spanish locals are wearing the pants of the cargo khaki.  They are internationale.  They are slightly smaller than the US equivalent.  They look like they fit the wearer.   They are all over the place here in Madrid.  Should I be scared or simply make sure I extend my wardrobe to contain the now essential khaki pants des cargo?

forty-third in a series of posts describing the experience of taking tea,  or not taking it in this case,  English style.

Thursday Tiffin #43: withdrawal

It is highly likely that I haven’t had a cup of tea for days by now because I’m on HOLIDAY in SPAIN where its probably too HOT for proper tea. 

When I know for sure where I am and what I’m doing and whether it involves tea or not I’ll write a comment on this post about withdrawal symptons.    I can’t really be sure what’s happening because I wrote this blog entry before I left for SPAIN and used that automatic post-it widget doobry to post it now. 

Gosh,  I hope I’m alright

fifty-third in a Wednesday series of posts attempting to uncover the many mysteries of my singleness

Reason #53: see reasons 1 though 52

I’m on Holiday in SPAIN,  Madrid,  its and exotic place,  surely you can’t expect me to write sensible reasons for being single when I’m on HOLIDAY.  You’ll have to satisfy your curiosity with a bit of re-visiting earlier gems of delightful rationality because I’m GONE.  Let’s say it together, with feeling,

GONE

MADRID

SPAIN

HOLIDAY 

(gosh,  I hope I’m alright)

friend: there was something else I wanted to tell you about but I’ve forgotten …..
wendy: interview, driving, kerouac, exam, Budapest, spa, Spain
friend: Spain!

by and by she told the story of the testical salad, alas, an unpublishable urban tale

Guest entry from Barcelonean WhitePrince.

I’ve taken minor editorial liberties.  This is risky given Eyan’s profession and my punctuatory skills.  I love the way Eyan captures frustrations of his everyday work, translating, and side-benefits:

It’s easy to get distracted when researching technogyl terminolgy and follow links to something totally unrelated. Today I have read about:

1. Queen Victoria and her offspring
2. London City Airport
3. Luxair (and edited some rather dodgy English in the Wikipedia entry)
4. Tony Blair’s woes in the Scottish by-election
5. A 19th century train crash in Northern Ireland
6. Stairway design get the work done. It takes longer than it should. I could bspoke German until she w