by Sinclair Newton
As I was saying, were on our way.
By many trains and the inevitable ferry for the best bit over the Med at the end, of course. What a lovely bit of sea that is, all full of fish and spider crabs.
It sounds like a long way round to me, but if Rick wont fly then theres no other way.
This morning I went into the Co-op travel shop and asked for a thousand Euros. Forgive me if Ive got this wrong, but if theyre worth about 64p each, shouldnt a thousand of them cost about six hundred and forty pounds in old English money?
Well I realise you have to pay some commission, but the bright-eyed little girl said she wanted £750.
I wouldnt mind half so much, but it took me ages to find that pound sign on the new Apple keyboard anyway and it was only because of Michael who shall be nameless that I knew it still existed.
I protested, rather loudly as it turned out, and the manager came out from wherever it is that travel shop managers hide themselves. We have no such trouble at the Ibiza History Culture headquarters in Sant Antoni where the manager is called Pep Jordi and is a fabulous fellow and Im really looking forward to seeing him again next week unless hes off on one of his foreign adventures, which seems to be the perk of being an affable travel agent.
Anyway this chap tapped away on a computer and came up with a figure of £666.66p.
As theyll tell you at Café del Mar, where I shall be ensconced next week, Im not one to quibble over the odd few Euros, or even Pesetas if theyve got any left, but I didnt think that was right either. I wont tell you what I said as I left, but I will leave it to your imagination and I will seek out a similar Spanish expletive next week as the sun goes down over my large espresso.
And finally, because Im sure you are getting bored by now, I went to the good old Post Office and they gave me the lolly for £657.29p. It still doesnt seem right to me, but Ill check it out in Barcelona on Tuesday or Wednesday or whenever it is Ill be there, trains willing.
My Mum was telling me tonight that she went to pay her fortnightly newspaper bill which is £2.20p a week and the little Asian girl had to key it into the shops till so she could work out it was £4.40p. What have we come to? Ill let you know next week when Ive spent a week figuring out the cost of a night on the Costa.
I must add a special word of thanks to somebody called Denys who emailed me this week to say theres a lovely train from Malaga to Madrid that will get me there soundlessly and efficiently, pointing out that the different train tracks probably stopped Hitler from invading more of Europe than he managed when I was a dream in my mothers eye. Or something. I think thats what she meant, but on the other hand I dont know if she has a friend who wont get on a plane and has had to put up with all this sort of mullarkey.
I thought you might like this recipe for roasting a chicken, which my formation-swimming ex-mother in law just sent me:
BAKED STUFFED CHICKEN
1 cup of melted butter
1 cup of stuffing
1 cup of uncooked popcorn
Salt and pepper to taste
Preheat oven to 350
degrees. Brush chicken well with melted butter and salt and pepper. Fill cavity
with stuffing and popcorn. Place in baking pan with the neck end toward the back
of the oven. Listen for popping sounds. When the chicken's ass blows the oven
door open and the chicken flies across the room, its done.
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