It doesn't happen too often thankfully, given my propensity for frequenting bars of notoriety, that I get into an unresolvable disagreement with a fellow fool. Thus it was last Saturday that a gentlemanly disagreement compelled me to turn a chair over a chap of minimimilist logic. He left quickly.
I felt badly afterwards but felt much worse when a fellow patron of the bar pointed out the poorly executed alteration the fleeing fuck-wit had made to my jacket. I was however relieved that I managed retain some dignity; my silk pocket square stayed in place during the entire cuffufle.
I usually remove my hat before embarkation, as this usually signals to any fellow wrangler of my unhappy intentions, i.e. To instill a firm understanding of “The Gooobye Look.” He shall be hearing from my Tailor!
I have been eating out and in Andalusia Spain, a lot. It is not the greatest place on earth to be a vegetarian, I imagine that place to be devoid of a single living creature to slaughter. I'm not even considering being a vegetarian, so I don't know why I am going to keep mentioning them.
Why don't we make meat look like vegetables?
If you wish to be assured a lengthy and healthy life you should become a vegetable in Andalusia, you’d be completely unfettered here. This is a haven for those who like to kill and eat an entire pig in one sitting, and why not? There is little else better to do in the long restful hours between breakfast and dinner.
Here my friend Antonio tucks into his luncheon
I know a chap in Barcelona, Oli Max (Renaissance Drinker) who's epically long lunches verge on Dangerous Sport, he and Dorian Crook (Comedic Vegetarian) have monikered their gastronomic marathon with the term “Extreme Lunching.”
Why drop out of an aeroplane when you can drop into a restaurant?
Andalusia produces incredibly lively cheeses, aged in olive oil that the carnivore might consider as a meat substitute.
I do think we should consider fashioning cheese into the shape of some sort of animal carcass
The Thing is, things can be good. People can be good … obviously, sometimes quite easily. A barman found an orphaned baby bird. So he made a house for it out of an old sherry box.
I've watched him feeding it with great tenderness for the last 2 weeks. He seems devoted to preserving the life of this scrappy little thing he calls Pepito (Whilst Pepito is the diminutive of the name Pepe, it's also the name for a meat sandwich). Pepito had just been given a bath in a saucer of water before I walked in.
Yesterday I went up to see the ruin of a house that I have just bought. The soul resident is a potted blood red geranium burning bright against the stone wall. A flower had broken off. I considered putting it in my handkerchief pocket then changed my mind. It might bleed. So I put it in my hat, and forgot about it.
I walked into a bar. The familiar old men cheered me up to the counter, exchanging curious glances with me and each other, then one blurted it out: “Nice flower!” They all caved in laughing. I imitated a Flamenco dance move, badly, which stirred them up further. After several drinks one of them asked which of the two colours of tissue table napkins I preferred? An odd question? Perhaps some kind of sexual entrapment? “Both” I replied, adding “I like both of those colours of paper.” Seemingly contented with the answer he sat down and fashioned this with great care.