By Public Request: Why I Don't Like People. Episode #8392

Although I have little time to be overly friendly with the keyboard, I've enjoyed a lot reading the Drawing Room comments, so I'm going to tell you about this other time I also decided to hide my heritage on purpose, and for no other reason than to annoy fellow spaniards. This one took place around...two, maybe three years ago.

Victoria again, Underground this time. I spot the only open info desk -the station has works in progress everywhere-, and I walk unhurriedly towards the last person in the queue. Suddenly, when I'm already slowing down to stop behind said last person, two human beings, He and She, with little and quick steps, push me a bit and stop just right before me. I have to stop in my tracks to avoid collision, and the person behind me bumps into me as a result, too. I say my sorrys while He and She smirk, as if what they just did is not childish, but the ultimate proof of quick wit and cleverness. 

'Spanish', I sadly think. And not only because Spain seems very small and we all look familiar, but because well, the behaviour is sadly familiar too. At that very moment, He and She start to speak, Spanish of course. Apparently they believe themselves clever and quick-witted -just knew it- but they are not as clever with English and London Underground general functioning. 

They start to look around. They look at us, we look Spanish too; nice compatriots that will want to help them. The very moment I read relief in their eyes, I open my mouth and start speaking, English of course, with all the British accent I can master. They look at me again, thinking that maybe they weren't right, and mumbling something about asking someone else. Mierda, I think they say, too. Minutes later they leave the queue, and I regain my spot and my language. 

Moral: As a general rule, and especially if you find yourself standing on foreign ground, refrain from being an arse without having a good reason.

Why I Don't Like People. Episode #928374

 Current Mood Warning: incensed/ashamed/incensed

Victoria Station. Platform 10. Waiting for my train to arrive. A couple stands next to me, young man and woman, both dark haired and both carrying several shopping bags. Both laughing at something. Going against my instincts, that whisper to me that a) they are Spanish, and not the nicest pair exactly, and b) I should run the further the better, I stay where I am, which is where I can take the most convenient coach for my platform at the Junction.

Just then, I start to catch what they are laughing at. They're laughing at everything and everyone around.

"Look, look at that one. She really looks like a whore, in this cold weather and looking like that?!"

"And she'll be thinking she looks so hot..." *insert crude comment about virility -which I personally question- and lack of attractiveness*

"And what about that guy...he looks like someone kicked his nose...maybe someone did, going out in that hair. Is that a wig??" 

And more merry laughing.This went on for about five minutes more.

Uff, I think to myself. Because my instincts had also warned me that they were, most likely, mocking something / someone, although I was hoping I was wrong.

Suddenly, She finds me there. I don't look back, just keep staring at the rails, because I don't like them and because they are mocking for the sake of it. As many others, one might think. True, but these two pieces are Spanish and I am being tainted by association.

"That one is Spanish," She says, apparently not realising that that one, as in me, is within hearing distance (or not caring, to be honest).  He looks at me. 

"Looks like she could be, but she hasn't looked. If she were Spanish, she would have looked at us already." 

"Trust me when I say that that one is Spanish" *she makes a gesture with her hand to catch my attention* "Eh! Eh tú!"

With all the calmness and British accent that I can muster, I finally look at her, confused. "Pardon?"

"Nothing, nothing" she dismisses me in very bad English, not even looking at me, and turning to her companion once again, smirking.

"Nah, you were right. She's an English bitch."(Nah, tenías tú razón. Es una inglesa gilipollas.)

I keep on staring at the rails, put my earphones on, and try to ignore the fact that the train is approaching and they are standing really, really close to the edge.

Two Spanish Londoners in Windsor

Current Mood Warning: ancient 

Highlights of our visit to Windsor Castle: 


- Tombs. LOADS. Henry VIII and Jane Seymour, George VI and Queen Mother...
- St. George Chapel in general
- Catalina de Aragón's bible. Wow
- Pistols and swords of all kinds
- Amazing furniture and rooms and...
- Audioguide in Russian for Miss V. 
- Stamp on ticket that allows me to visit Windsor for free for a year. 

Not bad indeed. 


Not so bright parts of the trip: 


- Me wondering about the castle's whereabouts while surrounded by its towers. What can I say, it was too early for me to be a person. 
- Miss V. and I wandering from café to café, to end in a Costa...
- Loss of yet another item of clothing, one glove this time. 
- Pictures NOT allowed inside Castle. Killed me, but didn't want to risk eviction. 



Another lovely trip. I am sadly suspecting that this has been the last one. Only three more weekends left to go, and no money to go to Scotland -fail- Cambridge or Liverpool -I'm the shame of my Beatles-fan family. 


Have a nice Sunday, lovelies. 

Myths and Legends. Episode #1

Seeing as I had planned to come in here to whine about my plans getting ruined by the rain, I'm starting the Myths and Legends series, because I just remembered that a) I said I'd do it, and b)London has nothing to do, sometimes, with what they say.

The first one being very obvious:

Myth #1.  IT'S ALWAYS RAINY IN LONDON, AND THE SUN OUT IS A RARE OCCURRENCE.

Myths and legends usually have a tiny microgram of truth running through their words, and in this case is plain to see that this one has it. But.

London weather changes at lightspeed. In Cádiz, when rain it's forecast, it's RAIN what you get, and you know that the next day, and possibly the next after next, you won't be able to leave home just walking with an umbrella, because it's just not possible. Not here. In here, when rain is forecast, you go and look at the skies and said sky is blue. "The don't get one right", you think, uniformed, about the Weather Forecast.

However, if you happen to look up again ten minutes later, they sky is dark grey and it's deluging. It doesn't matter, though, because then minutes more and you'll have blue sky again. Madness, I'm telling you. 

On the other hand, London rain it's nothing like ours. Anyone who knows me in real life knows of my ancestral hate towards rain. Rain turns me into a very unpleasant creature. Or used to,because, and I'm so pleased, I have managed to finally ignore the rain, meaning that I plan going to places without caring whether it will rain or not. Because most of the time in here, it's drizzle, and I can do drizzle with my little rainhat, or just the raincoat hoody.

Regarding the sun, it's not exactly true either that there's no sun in here. Ok, it's not andalusian sun, far from it, but I do see the sun almost daily. Less bright, yes, which is a win for me, being slightly photophobic/astigmatic person.

PLUS, dry cold weather, which means no allergy, less layers and fantastic hair. Yes, underlined. Win win. 

Therefore: 

Myth #1: FALSE 

 

Quick and Hasty Entry Because I Don't Really Feel Like NaNoing

 Current Mood: slightly lazy distracted

So I've decided that I could come in here and be keyboard-friendly and mentally organise stuff, while telling you in passing what's going on (crucial info for mankind's continuity as you will see).

• I need to catch up with my NaNo; we're on day 3 and already behind.
• Share my Halloween party photos. 
• Share my last Jane Austen's House photos. 
• My nose is completely blocked and I'm currently making such a Medicines Mix that I will probably end up running to the nearest Walk In Centre (which is in Parsons Green, so a good run) sporting twelve different types of allergic reactions, two of them still unnamed. 
• Haven't done English homework. I always do, so I hope this is one of the times that Will, my teacher, asks for it and forgets about me.
• Today a friend of M.'s -the father- has come to stay overnight and I'm having a bit of a challenge trying to a) look decent and not like the refugee I always look like at home and b) unimpressed by his gentlemanism and well, his stares. If I looked like, say, Monica Belluci, I'd probably be naturally unimpressed. But I'm clearly not Monica, not by a long shot, so it's sort of strange (especially when, again, I'm sporting my refugee look).
• Ollie just threw up on me, again, but it doesn't matter because the whole stuff was dropped on top of an already existing base of previus fluids. 
• THE WHOLE BOX OF FIENDISH FANCIES IS GONE. I need my fill. I'll try and post a picture of them, although I think you might guess just by the name. 

I'm off to my freezed attic again -I had to turn the heating off because my nose was feeling specially not ok today. I'm bleeding almost constantly lately.

Let's see if I can do something of use.