Well sad to say I’m totally Bucked Off

The pudgy little guy in robes was wandering around here again from two posts ago.

He wanders by as Yo and I are watching the ‘El Classico’ between Barcelona and Real Madrid and stands in front of the screen.  HUH!?  Standing in front of a football game, let alone this one, was something even our daft Great Dane knew to be suicidal. .. not from me from Yo!

We split to either side to peer around him – he craftily bent sideways to see ( and block) both of us.  We slam together to quickly peer over – he straightened up.

“MOVE!” Yo yelled.

“I have a message for the grasshopper.” His serene voice retaining a Chinese takeaway lisp.

“IT’LL BE ON YOUR TOMBSTONE!” Yo barked back.

“Calm yourself oh passionate Preying Mantis.” He wafted a milky open palm at my significant other.

This is not going well . I think about the likely damage to art work and glassware when the small man gets torn to bits by Yo and tossed about the living room.  She is definitely NO Preying Mantis (far to short and her feet – well that goes back to a post on toes, BUT the aggression factor in front of Footie games… yes I’ll give him that, he’s right there.  TOTALLY PREYING MANTIS

“Do you have a purpose or do you want to depart this life… now.” She asks though clenched teeth.

“I have a message.”

“Use bloody DHL!”

“No for him.”

I prick up my ears at a chance to diffuse my boiling Samurai Sweetheart and meekly whisper, “perhaps you could give it and go, kind of like a football 1-2 pass?”  I smile at the Preying Mantis hoping she would find the analogy amusing.  She didn’t.

The robed white bearded Confucian munchkin held out a searing finger to grill me and the bag of Doritos on my lap.  “Discipline is the horse you ride.”

The Preying Mantis whipped toward me with fire in her eyes.  I could suddenly see where the munchkin got the imagery… really clearly.  “YOU!  This is about you and that stupid diet before Christmas?”  I babbled something incoherently – fear can do that to the lips.  “Give me those Doritos and get ‘#31 Chicken Fried Rice’ the hell outta here!” She snatched the recently opened bag of Doritos from me and turned back to the game.

Thankfully the Munchkin had evaporated.  Yo was steaming.  Barcelona was winning.  And I had been told off for losing only a pound and a half in four days!!

Well back on the horse and I better lose the remaining seven pounds.

So to catch up on the twelve days of Christmas and weigh in here are the results from the last two days reaching  Day Eleven

two days ago 77.6

Yesterday 77.3

SO….

On the first day of Christmas my true love took from me,


every thing that was Hershey

On the second day of Christmas my true love took from me

two vanilla shakes

On the third day of Christmas my true love took from me

three mars bars

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love took from me

four glasses merlot

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love took from me

Five snickers bars

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love took from me

six candied apples

 

Barcelona Barking

This is not about dogs as was the las t blog. though there seems to be a link. Thankfully there is very little in the way of dog droppings on the streeet here in Barcelona.  I admire the Spanish and Catalans for that BUT there is more CRAp in them thar hills.

The crap to which I refer is not of the canine kind in fact we have only been confronted by it in the last four days.

The first appearance was at 6:20 in the morning.  I was already up as I am a stupidly early riser, but that does not mean I want to be thrust full on into the face of it.  It is deep, it hangs aruond for more than an hour.  (The 7:30 church bells have just rung).  It is uniquely un-Spanish, in fact at 6:20 and approximately 140+ decibels it is inhuman.

One has to appreciate the building structure in the gothic quarter of central Barcelona to understand why this is truly unfathomable.  Buildings are arranged in square blocks usually six floors high and as the streets are only 2.5 meters wide, (often less so forget the rental car) light is an issue.  It is wonderfully sunny in Barca and in order to get light down to the inner areas of the buildings there are small open courtyards that filter the light down to the center of the buildings.  More windows more natural light it is a win-win situation … almost.

What comes down must go up.

On the ground floor a retro deaf hedgehog seems to have taken up dormancy.

I love Chuck Berry… but first thing in the morning I don’t need to practice telling time – I’ll rock when I bloody well want to!  Then it is Elvis… what is Elvis doing screaming up to me before the morning church bells – what happened to quaint Europe?  This is followed by The Twist by… I don’t know Chubby Checker… in truth I couldn’t give a rat’s ass!  Then we move into some sort of viva la Mexico number.  I still can’t hear the church bells and they are 50 yards away.

The sound is echoing around in my head God knows what it is doing to him – something painful I hope.  In Jakarta the call to morning prayers was a subtle lift from the dregs of sleep but the radio downstairs in this building needs to be put to sleep WITH its owner.

Worst of all I don’t have any form of retribution.  What should I do – crank up my laptop, hold it out the window and let the headpins on my itunes compete with the hedgehog’s blaster… pretty limp.

Oh my God a flush!  Yes! (The sewer pipes also run internally to these courtyards).  He’s gone.  His morning ablutions have past.  After the barrage of tunes my mind is toast, in fact I need some now.  I hope he takes a Ryanair flight home to his hedge soon!

 

Dog gone lost the plot

Dog gone lost the plot

Have to apologize about the frequency of blogs recently; miles of walking and drooling over architecture, art and the glory that is Barcelona.  Yes, still in Barcelona and though it has been an amazing week it seems I have at last managed to find a complaint… there’s always one!

But it is not easily corrected as it appears to be a psychological aberration (not sure on whose part).  My family is perhaps weak at the back, not just between the ears, as we prefer to NOT bend down just to toy with man’s best friend.  I don’t want my best friend wrapping itself around rose bushes or being julienned into slices in a tricycle wheel.  My friend needs to leave his mark, make a statement, not a pathetic dime sized raindrop or almond sized turd.  If someone steps in his statement they will know it immediately because it will flow around and even over the top of their shoes (too graphic sorry).  I don’t want the statement to be something you discover accidentally in a taxi cab with a your boss, something that sneaks up to embarrass you.  No, be out there let that statement smoke.  (Clean it up of course.)

You see my version of man’s best friend is at least mid thigh high so they’re easy stroke.  Ears should be scratch-able at belt height.  The statement can usually weigh in between 1.5 -2 kilos… shovel not pansy-assed scooper!

Their intelligence… well ok… we’ll move on there.

But what is happening in Barcelona…  the city of architectural wonder, leather shoes, late night tapas, beaches and jewelry galore?

CHIHUAHUAS

I mean what kind of a name is that?  It sounds like a drunk asking for another tequila or directions to the toilet.  Now Great Dane – that is a name!

Chihuahuas seem to be everywhere in Barca.  Poppey-eyed, twitchy eared, wanna-be dogs/cats/rats.  They are carried in purses and bicycles.  They have coats and fashion accessories.  It is a Dog. (I think).

Women carry them and cuddle them as if they were a new found wonder, men have them as if they are an accessory to catching women – didn’t it used to be pecs, biceps, a flash car and hair like Andre Agassi (before it left).  What are they doing walking with a wind up toy?  Get a dog.

I am sure they are very loving and fill the canine void in some dog lover’s lives but, but, there are so many!

So there rests my only (thus far) criticism of this fine city.

Apart from that it is doggone wonderful.

 

The best laid plans of mice and men…

I feel I have to explain partially the last blog – 50  Waaheeyyy.

It all relates back to the saying above and everyone knows that as soon as someone says that phrase, a condescending or sympathetic glaze crosses the speaker’s eyes as you feel the undertow taking your aspirations to drown them.

It is the gloomy moment of ‘Oh dear I smell it too.’  You glance at the sole of your shoe and ‘Yup’ you stepped in it.  But before treading into the muck of it all I’ve always wondered what the mice in the above phrase look like.  (It’s mice – not mouse, so there is a pack of the feisty little buggers!)

Research at upward gravity from the second floor (there is obviously no ground floor – think about it – there would be no one there – geez) has shown that it is in fact a gang of three.  Roberta, whom we head hunted from the program Criminal Minds, prior to that she was Gil Grisham’s advisor on CSI but left because they never gave her a speaking role, is an adept criminal profiler and has developed a composite on the three felons.

A clear visual wax mock-up image is not available because Tony, Roberta’s hot hunky boyfriend who is a pastry chef, made her brulees in the lab and after he caramelized them Roberta was overcome with her hot sugar boyfriend – which led to passionate groping, petting, etc yada yada yada.  ANYWAY the torch for the sugar was facing the model – now we have only a puddle, no model, BUT we still have words!!

The leader of the gang, code named Morris, is Atypical.  Sure he is a common white lab mouse with pink tail and nose but there the sweetness stops. He is ruthless in his pursuit of dreams.  He bores into them with a rancid disregard for others.  He is distinguished by his long hair flowing down between his cauliflower ears (he was a rugby rat in his youth) and tied in a ponytail below his fedora.  He is a snappy dresser.  Typically he wears a blue striped suit, well-cut, always Italian, with pale fashionable pink shirt (too wide collar wings).  The blue fedora with white band is always tipped to the right.  His cologne is Gouda

Second to him is Angelique.  She is the love interest and is the cause of the constant conflict that leads to the ‘Vic’s’ dream breakdown.  Angelique, which we believe is an alias, has the curves that bind.  She is a blend of the American Pet store plaything and the Asian Vamp rat.  She is totally irresistible to any member of the rodent underworld.  Think Marilyn Monroe in beige Gucci suede on all fours.  Her fragrance is Lust Red Leicester.

Morris’ rival for her affections is Yoshu.  Yoshu is the dark underbelly of the rat world.  Loyal to no one but himself, he lusts for Angelique and is the rodent who tosses in the wrench that screws up the best laid plans.  Having crawled from the Japanese Yakuza sewer world he is heavily tattooed except for his four feet and face.  His tail has a cobra image.  He is not a flash dresser like Morris but is devoted to pursuing Angelique like a fly in the French sun circling melting Brie.  His scent is Slasher stilton.

When Morris picks the mark and then encircles the plans he does a detailed recon of the aspirations with the gorgeous Angelique, who is always on his arm.  But it is Yoshu who sabotages the situation invariably leading to a cavalcade of ‘unforseens’ and leaving the Vic devastated by the ensuing mayhem that engulfs their plans.  It is at this time that the three pranksters are able to unite in glee.  Typically they will find a locale near the distraught Vic and kick back with a Cinzano and seven in one hand a nibble of aged Canadian cheddar in the other while they watch the Vic’s plans unravel.

Well… the threesome hit our hood and the unraveling ensued.

So rather than be on our way to Italy in our beloved Karmann Ghia we find ourselves under cover in Barcelona but more on that later.  We are off to the Sagrada Familia today.

But beware – when the MAY MAY gang: (Marvin, Angelique and Yoshu) hit your plans – it won’t be just AWOL / Tits up/ or pear shaped –  it’ll be

MAYhem!!