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Even in a little thing

30th May, 2009. 10:54 am.

Once upon a time in Spain, I had a one-sided conversation. It was at the train station at Tarragona. The day was around 40 degrees and I had a cheap green fan to keep myself sane. My hair had faded to sunlight because I'd just come from Provence. The guy standing in front of me turned round and said abruptly "Damned tourists. Delaying everything."

My Spanish exists, but it's not that wonderful. The minute I opened my mouth, I knew I would betray myself as a damned tourist. I fluttered my fan and smiled at him and he talked to me.

First he told me about the soccer game (I think it was soccer - I can never sort out football codes) he was there to attend. Then he launched into a ten minute description of his recent adventures.

The thing is, I don't remember a word about his recent adventures. What was he doing near Tarragona in 1995? I remmeber there was much up-and-down-hillness to it and he indicated this with his hands. They looked like they were riding their personal rollercoaster.

I miss that tale. Does anyone have a nicely invented one that can take its place in my memory? Remember, you're telling it to a short and round middle-aged woman with sunlight hair and a green fan.

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30th May, 2009. 3:52 pm.

I have been undertaking quality control of the highest order. Of the two 2007 liqueurs that I decanted today, the bletted medlar one is good but a bit rough. The half-bletted with allspice, however, is smooth and delicious and...

Yes, I drank too much of it. There is one full bottle left. Also, I have 4 kilos of new medlars and shall be making more. Oh yes, I shall most certainly be making more. It's my second best liqueur ever.

And for my next test, I shall see if any useful writing emerges this afternoon.

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