Franco my dear, I don't give a damn

"Shake, shake, shake señora; shake ya body line!"

Back in the USSR boy...that is to say in Banco de España Metro station where three lads, possibly from Jamaica, possibly taking the piss, are giving the steel drums the beating usually reserved for Rangers fans who, after stumbling the wrong way out the pub, drunkenly find themselves looking at a sign saying Falls Road. Well, would be if the sign weren't covered by a tricolour. There, Harry Belafonte, the Beatles and Northern Irish political homour all in one. Who says you don't get value for money?

Anyway I wouldn't mention the dynamic trio but relentless Caribbean rhythms coupled with a now rare sunshiney afternoon have induced me to just go for it and shuffle out a one-two step while going past them. They love it and Award for Most Dreadlocks gives an extra special drum roll. Fellow metro passengers suspect I may be higher than a kite.

Of course we're back in Madrid!

But all is not well in the Pridelands, Simba. The term "credit crunch" has been given a new and dreadful meaning as a series of unfortunate events conspire to leave us pondering the ultimate "get 40 credits or its strike, yer out" from Cambridge, there is the curious case of the noises in the nighttime coupled with the magically disappearing electricity bills. Roll up roll up folks, see the mysteries of Spanish banking. Watch as we transfer money to Natural Gas, marvel as you continue to recieve notices of payment due!

There's the Virgin Mary perched atop the fuse box we are afeared to take down least the "electric seetiation" gets any worse (blog soon to be available in Ulster Scots). There's the sensation of sheer defeat as we turn our radiators on and don winter coats in the capital of "sunny Spain." One enterprising chappie has scratched the "S" off the tourism board's disgustingly cheery motto leaving the slogan "Smile, you are in pain." Well done that man; its enough to make you want to take your Erasmus grant and run off to Benidorm; sun loungers, Irish bars, expats, you name it, we've got the stereotype! Ah, maybe in the interests of plausible deniability you should all forget I was drawing up this grand scheme.

But not to worry, as Jane Austen said, "Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery!" Or other keyboards and it is on that note that I must draw your attention to an astounding bit of good news and a bit of an in joke!

It all started when I wandered into that famous Starbucks, the friendliest in the world, last week. I had been overjoyed to see their Holiday menu proudly displayed on a cheery green and red background and had at last, seeing as it was now December, decided I could now treat meself to a Toffee Nut Latté.

I wandered in, shrugged off my coat and, like Houdini sauntering out of the audience after they've seen the chest he was locked in crushed under a ton of steel, the response was instantaneous...

"H'Aileen!! Pero, adonde te has escondido? Pues, no importa mujer, que hay?
Aileen! Where have you been hiding? Ah, sure it doesn't matter, what's new?

At once, I was wracked with a terrible realisation! The dear staff of Starbucks hadn't seen me in a month for when my darling relatives came over in the autumn time they brought me a laptop! A laptop to swap with my own poor excuse for an internet-recieving model! One day I'm a regular caffeine addict tapping out entries from my seat in the corner and ordering "lo normal" my usual, the next I've woken up on my bed, still fully clothed, cradling the laptop, surrounded by Stumbleupon, Facebook, Sporcle, Wiki, Imdb, Watchseries and all sorts of unbelieveable internet garbage. I had abandoned my beloved Starbucks! Of course explaining all this requires an advanced level of Spanish or at least the will to communicate so I summoned my best "sorry to have jilted you" smile and uttered;

"Que hay? Pues, parece que hay Navidad! Teneis el toffe nut latté? No lo hubiera perdido por nada!"
What's new? Christmas is here! Do you have the toffee nut latté? I wouldn't miss it for the world."

And so all was well.

Apart from that there's quite a lot to get caught up on! I realise Paris took over from those heady days of Halloween and internet explorature (because I don't trust them thar new fangled Chromes and Firefoxes) and so you missed carving pumpkins (messy fun) and introducing Cambridge Formal hall to our piso (even messier fun, damn international rules) and the realisation that if I won the Lottery I would invite the Cambridge expats of Madrid and environs to a lunch on a Wednesday, then triumphantly tell them all to get the f**k home quickly, grab a bag, I've got us flights, hotels and formal tickets WE'RE GOING TO CINDIES TONIGHT!

Then of course, miss out on all of Thursday, come up smiling on Friday morning, gather those that Erasmus made us leave behind in Cambridge then tell them to get the f**k to College quickly, grab a bag, I've got us flights, hotels and as much free entries with chupitos as possible WE'RE GOING TO SPAIN!

Of course, granted by Sunday there would be a lot of confused, still hungover people making an involuntary exchange pan-Europe with no idea where they are nor why they've woken up cuddling a policeman's helmet but sure, that'd be half the fun.

Lessee, what else...There was the switch on of Christmas lights in Sol square, presided over by not even one token celebrity but a sterling mariachi band, finally realising that "Tienes fuego" means "Do you have a light" not the literal translation of "Do you have fire?" thus stopping my reply of "M'not Prometheus mate" and the visits (plural) to the great Prado museum where I saw Goya, Picasso, Monet, Matisse, Caravaggio, Rubens and much much more and what has now become my favourite art gallery. Mind you I could count the number of art galleries I've been to on Captain Hook's remaining fingers. Reason for my fervent admiration is that I've never been so sure the best way to experience a place would be to wait til 'twas empty, then slide across the vast echoing halls of marble on stockinged feet to Shaggy's Mr Bombastic (the Mr Bean version of course). Superb stuff...

But there I leave you, for I am now watching snow sweep across the UK with an expression of glazed horror, occasionally shaking my head and muttering "No, no, no, no, no" for, though at any other time the seasonal precipitation would be welcome, I swear by all the gods I will NOT be snowed into Madrid on Christmas Day." If things should deteriorate so by the 23rd December (otherwise known as date I flee the Iberian penninsula) Ryanair cancels its flights I have already designed my hitchhiking route from Madrid to San Sebastian to Orleans to Paris to Callais to Dover to Birmingham to Holyhead to Dublin to home. And I promise, if this should happen, I will make a special live blog and keep you all updated and amused this Yuletide season.

Before all that though, there is time to worry about getting snowed into Frankfurt which is our destination this weekend and, if all goes well, my first time in Germany should make for an interesting blog.

xo