Something traumatic happens every time I’m about to go away. Or so it seems anyway. Usually I run out of tea, a cup breaks or the teapot breaks. This morning my favorite cup smashed to smithereens on the kitchen floor. Smashed. To. Smithereens. It’ll never be the same. I’ve said my goodbyes already. That cup’s gone, to a better place I hope.
Tomorrow the young lad and I are going to Madrid to visit the folks. Apparently Germans are compelled to work at the expense of fun so we’re going to a place with chronic unemployment instead. Imagine the laughs! I hear people are taking to the streets there. ¡Fiesta!
It should be good. The young lad’s been drooling all week at thoughts of all the lovely paella he’ll be eating. And the folks haven’t seen him for a while. They’ll get a shock when he starts talking German at them. For you can’t talk German to people, you can only talk it at them. Survivors have spoken of the subsequent euphoria on hearing another language. But they never get rid of the scars.
Perhaps I’m bitter because I didn’t finish my latest course in Grrman (as it should be called). The last lesson is tomorrow at the same time as our escape to the Spanish capital, my original destination before I was snared by Berlin. I didn’t go to any lessons this year for reasons of decreasing and fragwürdig validity. Before that my head was so mashed I thought I might actually learn more Grrman by not going. I didn’t.
But all that can wait for another day. Madrid is calling. If the young lad allows me I’ll be at Rayo Vallecano vs. Atlético Madrid next Sunday. ¡Aupa Rayito! Hopefully he’ll adjust to his new surroundings and I’ll be able to go.
Real Madrid are also playing at home the night before, against Sevilla, my granny’s team, though she might have been a Betis fan for all I know. Maybe I’ll go to that too. When work involves watching football games there’s no better way to relax than by watching football games.
Work’s been pretty demanding of late – oh if I told you of the things I’ve done! Well, you wouldn’t believe me. C’est incroyable. There’s been barely time to think, no time to do all the wondrous things I wanted to do. When I do have time I’m exhausted. Yesterday I was so tired I went to bed at 10 p.m. – only to find I couldn’t sleep. Madness.
Maybe it is madness. Beckett said we are all born mad, some remain so. And where do you cure madness? Yep, you got it: Madrid.