Saved To Memory in 2014: The Year That Was

Maybe there’s a Louis Armstrong tribute on this evening? Or perhaps the hotel I’m in has chosen to supplement its income by doubling up as a retirement home? I turned up to the Sunday morning breakfast buffet 5 minutes after it had opened where a swam of OAP were already in drowning copious amounts of coffee whilst I suffocated on gawd-awful volumes of perfume.
- I wonder at what age peoples’ sense of smell deteriorates to the point that they wash themselves in fragrance.
Fortunately I survived and no one had a heart attack hence my second fear (of having to give mouth to mouth to one of the old dears) wasn’t required.

Madrid’s a strange place to visit as a tourist. There’s no beach, little water, and a hell-of-a-lot of concrete. You’re never especially far from a pharmacy, people happily let their tiny dogs crap on the pavement, and the placing of crossings in relation to the direction of the traffic appears quite mental.

For possibly the first time in my life I don’t appear to be the coldest person in the room. Even the chilliest of nights are entwined with a dryness in the wind I’ve never experienced. For the first time in my life, I found myself, in December no less, eating an ice-cream with a bit of a sweat on from the sunshine!

With no real camera just now I’ve taken to walking the streets where I save the images to my heart.

But I digress, yes, my love of Madrid so far, it’s not the buildings, or the monuments; the inexpensive beer and food, or cigarettes, or even the mighty Real Madrid stadium that I’ve been to a few times now, nope. My love so far stems entirely from the people, the brightness in an ‘Hola’ and the cheerfulness of tone simply in asking ‘como estas?’