Good Madriddance
Just back from three days in Madrid on a stag party. Tired. So very tired.So, not much of a post. I’ll just tide you over with a single tale from the weekend .
We had decided to go to a club. Fortunately, we’d been really well organised and prepared, so we had the road name for the club scrawled on a scrap of paper.
This we’d shown to a taxi driver.
The taxi driver responded with a torrent of Spanish which, lacking any linguists in the group, we decided meant ‘You’re ‘aving a larf mate. It’s only over there. I’m not going that short distance. Not crossing the river at this time of night, ‘ere, you’ll never guess who I had in my cab the other night, etc. etc.’
Well, the first bit anyway. He seemed to be saying it was quite close.
Meanwhile, others of the group were trying the same with the cab behind us in the rank, but with much more success.
Off he drove.
Realising that if the club was just around the corner, all we had to do was ‘follow that cab’ two of our party set off in hot pursuit. On foot.
We watched them run off and turn into a road on the left. We followed this unorthodox caravan, but at a rather more leisurely pace.
Now imagine our surprise a few minutes later to see the same cab coming back down the road towards us still with the (now sweating heavily) pursuers still running desperately after it like a pair of junkyard dogs.
That’s right, the cab had in fact driven in a large circle, all the while with two English idiots chasing after it on foot.
It turns out the club was actually miles away. Goodness knows what that first cab driver was trying to tell us then.
Although maybe there is a clue in the fact that the receptionist at our hotel, when learning that we had gone there, advised us, "You must be careful. This is a dangerous area."
It was that kind of a weekend.
And if you don’t believe me, what do you think is the natural thing to do as your main activity whilst on a weekend in Madrid in August?
That’s right, we went skiing.

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