Someone had the good grace to invite me to the planning meeting for the village fiesta in July. I didn't feel much like going along as we'd just had the quotes for the roof and I was toying with the idea of downing a bottle of Scotch or two, but it seemed churlish not to try and do my bit.
There were about 20 people there and maybe five or six babies and children. Usual sort of meeting with more conversations than people, lapses into the local Valenciano language at machine gun speed for individual group discussions and lots of exchanges along the line of "Well Pepe's lad could do the tables - Silvia charged us too much last year" which obviously left me completely nonplussed as I don't know many names. I kept up for a while, I even wondered about making a suggestion or two but I was too scared to speak, and then of course I started to lose the thread - my thoughts drifted back to the whisky.
Recent experiences with attempting to participate in community meetings have all been pretty disastrous. I'm wondering if I shouldn't join the Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding brigade - stick with my own.
An old, temporarily skinnier but still flabby, red nosed, white haired Briton rambles on, at length, about things Spanish
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