Home thoughts from abroad:

So it’s only us Scots who get drunk? Borderline racism. That must have been some coach trip that time I was in Manchester years ago at shutting time. Fuck me, it was like the set of Zombie Aloholicapocolypse. :)
It's not the fact that the sweaties are the only ones that get drunk it is the fact that they are the most obvious when they are. If there is a raised voice in a bar it is usually a jock. The last one I can across was belting out flower of scotland whilst sat outside a bar in KL. Why??
 
It's not the fact that the sweaties are the only ones that get drunk it is the fact that they are the most obvious when they are. If there is a raised voice in a bar it is usually a jock. The last one I can across was belting out flower of scotland whilst sat outside a bar in KL. Why??

To attract other Scots who could keep up. Simple
 
It usually ends up in an argument when they do attract another especially if one is from Fife!!

Fifer’s are known for enthusiastic disagreements. My Mrs was born there, so I know what I’m talking about. She spent most of her life in Edinburgh, but, scratch the surface and you better be fast off the mark. :)
 
It's not the fact that the sweaties are the only ones that get drunk it is the fact that they are the most obvious when they are. If there is a raised voice in a bar it is usually a jock. The last one I can across was belting out flower of scotland whilst sat outside a bar in KL. Why??
I actually think Kiwi's are worse, they start Fair dinkum..img I beat this guy up, that guy....intolerable
 
As we descended back through heavy cumulus into Mancunian airspace we hit dreadful turbulence.I screamed as one does when staring death in the face and the passengers surrounding me in row 26-32 screamed back in fatal recognition of that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller may ever return. And breaking those clouds oh,to be in England and an honour and a privilege to return to her safe bosum : /

Home thoughts from abroad:

And breaking the clouds
Oh, to be in England
Now that April’s there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!

And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows !
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray’s edge—
That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children’s dower
Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!


Is that grass always greener in foreign climes or have we all been programmed by holiday-esque Jet 2 matrixes and whelped and whipped into a fervoured vision of paradise that will break us free from life's unenviable drudgery as working class heroes.Sunsets romantic walks down the promenade emerald coloured seas or maybe just a heavy portion of Piehella and slip of the foreign tongue ? In fairness we could readily buy steak ale pie chips and peas on a tray with gravy and half a chicken and chips and full English breakfasts but only in our own quarter.If we ventured outside it reverted back to sardines fish pilchards more fish and tapas.Same with the entertainment as we had Shoe-waddy waddy Bruno and the Rodfather but outside it was just samba rumba linedancing and more incessant warbling.

So without even knowing,is that paradise we all long for on our our doorsteps awaiting continuous eye.The emphasis throughout that above poem is on the unconscious aspect of nature and our own unconscious enjoyment of it when we are surrounded by it every day and come to take it rather for granted.If we live in the hills as we both do we do not delve into its bosum intent on finding our inner self.If you live by the seaside you do not necessarily go for walks along the prom every morning.Its escapism pure and simple yet REAL beauty abounds nearer to home.

I really missed you England and our next holiday shall be in Blackpool come Easter.Better food better ambience better culture and then money permitting will be Whitby.Weather is not everything as we English folk do not do heat well.If its hot for more than a week then most of us hope for a drop of rain just to break it all up : / Seek and ye shall find.



I am sat in an old bar in deep Andulucia, not a brit for miles, 10 am local time. What a privilege to be amidst such an atmosphere of community. A bottle of beer, or a glass of vino, tapas being consumed, gossip exchanged, a feeling of goodwill and bon vie.
A couple of days ago I was in an ex pat urbanisation in Murcia, a necessity to watch City. Full of binge drinking foul mouths Brits, on all day sessions. It may be simplistic to draw comparisons, yet easy to conclude the stereotype of the Brit abroad. I will continue to sample the simple delights of rural Anduluz for a couple more days, before heading to the coast for City v the chavs, probably an appropriate opponent for the type of bar I will probably need to view it in.
 
I am sat in an old bar in deep Andulucia, not a brit for miles, 10 am local time. What a privilege to be amidst such an atmosphere of community. A bottle of beer, or a glass of vino, tapas being consumed, gossip exchanged, a feeling of goodwill and bon vie.
A couple of days ago I was in an ex pat urbanisation in Murcia, a necessity to watch City. Full of binge drinking foul mouths Brits, on all day sessions. It may be simplistic to draw comparisons, yet easy to conclude the stereotype of the Brit abroad. I will continue to sample the simple delights of rural Anduluz for a couple more days, before heading to the coast for City v the chavs, probably an appropriate opponent for the type of bar I will probably need to view it in.

It sounds excellent but if you peel back the layers then your Andalusian session in the sun may be taking on a different persona.We can get embroiled in the romanticism of the moment focusing on a given situation in its entirety preoccupied with the minor details of the sangria and pleasant diatribe.Maybe the waiter took your order went back in the bar and said ..

"fook me Gabriella another Brits just come in for his breakfast" ..
"Don't worry Juan Pablo hes from Manchestor .. bung him some tapas a glass of red and n he'll be buzzin" ..
"But Gabriella I remember well the piracy our ships suffered in the Caribbean and the the sinking in peace time of Nuestra SeNora de la Mercedes close to Spanish shores.Our painful defeat @Trafalgar and the abusive extension of our Gibraltan space in clear violation of the Utrecht Treaty"
"
Shut your daft mouth Juan Pablo hes up from Murcia for the atmos,bang some Ricky on and we'll clean up.

Have a great day Asa clack that vino down by the goat bag and dance the dance ..“de nada”

 
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I am sat in an old bar in deep Andulucia, not a brit for miles, 10 am local time. What a privilege to be amidst such an atmosphere of community. A bottle of beer, or a glass of vino, tapas being consumed, gossip exchanged, a feeling of goodwill and bon vie.
A couple of days ago I was in an ex pat urbanisation in Murcia, a necessity to watch City. Full of binge drinking foul mouths Brits, on all day sessions. It may be simplistic to draw comparisons, yet easy to conclude the stereotype of the Brit abroad. I will continue to sample the simple delights of rural Anduluz for a couple more days, before heading to the coast for City v the chavs, probably an appropriate opponent for the type of bar I will probably need to view it in.

Can't beat the atmosphere of the Andalucian 'venta'. The Mrs' dad lives down near Cadiz. I'd mosey on down to the bar and have a few glasses of very cheap beer and maybe a bit of sherry. Hardly anyone spoke much English, yet entirely possible to communicate what you want by pointing at it. Few bowls of olives, bit of cured meat...perfect. And at a non tourist price.

Or, you could go to Benidorm....
 
Can't beat the atmosphere of the Andalucian 'venta'. The Mrs' dad lives down near Cadiz. I'd mosey on down to the bar and have a few glasses of very cheap beer and maybe a bit of sherry. Hardly anyone spoke much English, yet entirely possible to communicate what you want by pointing at it. Few bowls of olives, bit of cured meat...perfect. And at a non tourist price.

Or, you could go to Benidorm....

Or in ex pat urbanizations in the Murcia like Asa : /
 
It sounds excellent but if you peel back the layers then your Andalusian session in the sun may be taking on a different persona.We can get embroiled in the romanticism of the moment by focusing on a given situation in its entirety yet being preoccupied with the minor details of the sangria and pleasant diatribe.Maybe the waiter took your order went back in the bar and said ..

"fook me Gabriella another Brits just come in for his breakfast" ..

"Don't worry Juan Pablo hes from Manchestor .. bung him some tapas a glass of red and n he'll be buzzin" ..

"But Gabriella I remember well the piracy our ships suffered in the Caribbean and the the sinking in peace time of Nuestra SeNora de la Mercedes close to Spanish shores.Our painful defeat @Trafalgar and the abusive extension of our Gibraltan space in clear violation of the Utrecht Treaty"

"
Shut your daft mouth Juan Pablo hes up from Murcia for the atmos so get some more Ricky banged on and we'll clean up !


Have a great day Asa clack that vino down by the goat bag and dance the dance ..“de nada”




A most enjoyable reposte. Though 20 years now I have wandered the backwaters of Spain. The mosaic of Christian and Moor.
Today only an hour ago my path was blocked by a shepherd and his flock. The Shepherd and I passed pleasantries, then we moved on with our separate lives. He, and his way of life , enriching mine in those few minutes of idle chatter.
Maybe you are right, and I delude myself that the human spirit , has been lost to Thatcher and America, in a way that saddens me. Today I dream on towards Seville, dreaming of Walled gardens,bars where they chalk your order on a slate, Flamenco singers and Moorish ghosts, a little less idealistically after the realism encountered in your post.

Hasta luego,
 

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