"Miss Devlin, I really have to put down the phone now, I have other applicants to inform..."
"Yu...yu..you! Of course you do. Listen I don't blame you. It's not your fault, into each life a little rain must fall and you; you sir are a mere messenger in these matters. What was it? Was it lack of financial awareness? Because I can get all Warren Buffett up in this bitch!"
"I'm not really sure I can be of any assistance feedback-wise..."
"Was it the "Who would you most like to interview" question? Because I swear the seance with Gadaffi was a joke! A JOKE! You hear me?"
"Goodbye Miss Devlin"
"No wait! I'll change! I can change godsdamnit! I have no scruples! Ask Putin!!"
".............."
"Oh, titties..."
The above conversation will be heart-achingly familiar to those of us who have read variations of the words "We regret to inform you" and possibly "Each year we recieve a huge number of very able candidates" and the ever ambiguous "We appreciate your interest in our firm." Job/Placement hunting's a painful process and my thoughts are with everyone who is nodding along, raising a glass and crying "Amen to that, honey. Tell it like it is woman!" Because in my mind you all come from the Deep South and permanently nurse iced bourbons on a white painted porch...
I can do nothing to assauge your woes but take you into my confidence and let you know my coping mechanism involves Nutella, a spoon and Barry White. I believe in miracles too Mr White...Actually it also involves getting lost in my interview with Michael Parkinson in which my sparkling wit wins many a TV viewer over. Now purists might point out that The Parkinson Show has been off the air for three years but they can sod off, it's my imagination. Sir Michael'll do the macarena in a sombrero and fake moustache if I want him to!
This time however the flatties have come to the rescue in a most spectacular fashion. The best ideas often spring from nights out on the town...and some of the worst because as Giovanni de Simone will attest trying to sketch an outline of a belltower after a few Amarettos led to generations of tourists taking kitsch photos propping up Pisa's blunder of the world....and it was with getting out of Madrid and taking in some sights and sun we decided to head off down the A12 to the little known Pantano de la Presa.
I say little known and we all know I mean what I say, for we hopped off the autobús in the middle of nowhere. The word of a little old man who tapped his nose conspiratorially and pointed into the distance was our only clue we weren't about to end up in some sort of "Deliverance" scenario. When the bus left the silence came washing back, the sun was scorching down and we set off past a field of sheep wearing honest-to-goodness bells.
The little dirt track let us up and up into the hills and it was on the crest of a peak (poorly used geographical terminology there) that we suddenly looked up and beheld the promised land...well, the promised water.
It was a lake nestled in among rugged hills dotted with those small trees I always see from the window of a Ryanair jet on descent and which I have no idea what they are. There were boats hanging out in a marina on one end, the sparkling water swept away into the distance on the other. You could see miles of blue sky and there was a rainbow corona around the sun, cause by I know not what. What I did know was that we were lucky sumbitches that day because we shared the little beach shaded by trees at the water's edge with a sum total of nine other people.
There was a lull there; a quiet broken only by the buzz of those wee airplanes floating out over the landscape. It was beautiful and had me despair of how to paint you a picture of it with such clumsy things as the words water, trees and green. So I'll stop trying and let my past self know just to relax, kick back and for Chrissakes put some suncream on or you'll have Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer sung at you by the wee terrors you teach! You're welcome...
Of course there's only so much reading and lolling one can do and we were for the lake like moths to a flame. Well, I took a bit more convincing, a bit more coaxing and a lot more towel right at the water's edge before I wandered into the water. But once I did...
....it was pure magic, lads. I've never swam around in a lake before. The bottom was sandy but littered with sticks and stones that made you jump when your foot landed on them. The water was green and clear as a bell. It got deep, quick as the sand shelved away from under you at two foot from the shore. You could swim around like a mad eejit and when I looked into the water it let the sun shine so far down I could see my painted toes waving at me. The splashing about kicked up silt from the bottom, but the predominant stone in the region were granite, see? That meant that suddenly the water was filled with teeny flashing grains of granite and it looked like the glitter of fools gold. That and the green hue meant I suddenly had the feeling I was splashing about in a Paddy's Day cocktail.
The view from the water would have done your heart good. You could see across the gleaming ripples to the hills on the opposite shore. You could also see the other Erasmo lads and lasses that had found the beach larking around and surreptiously 'aving a glance at the talent. The bikini clad beauties sunbathed, the lads threw rocks in the water to try and get at the wee fish I later made friends with but mainly to see if the ladies were a-looking. And the damn flirting were like cheesy lines out of a terrible sit-com. "Be careful or I might throw you too!" "I'd like to see you try" "You need me to do your back for you?" I made scorecards and held 'em up every so often. One poor San Franciscogian got null points every time. Come on lad, you dont suggest a lady'll get a better tan if she takes off the bikini top! You make her think it was her idea. I should run a course...
Anywho, speaking of null points I'm off to a Eurovision party! At the flat of a good friend celebrating the day of birth of another very dear friend! And I got me money riding on Engelbert Humperdinck to knock the socks off every act there tonight. Even Jedward, God help my lack of patriotism. But enough! I must go think of drinking games, use all my useless trivia and generally have a ball. But stay fast everyone. Next week we find the penultimate blog and a last hurrah for Spanishness entire!
xo
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