Rest day by the pool
There are an incredible number of Russians here in Spain, Everywhere you go you come across them. They seem to have taken over from the Germans (who seem few and far between) for top performance in boorishness, rudeness and arrogance. The men all look like Dennis Healey but funnily enough all the women are the complete opposite, they all look like Russian men.
How can they all be so fat on a diet of failed harvests, mouldy bread and sausages made out of sawdust and grass? You don’t put on all that weight just drinking vodka do you? Perhaps you do.
I suppose if they can afford to leave Russia and enjoy foreign holidays they must all be Russian Mafia with their wives and mistresses. I just made sure that I didn’t make eye contact with any of them.
Boris was telling me though that there are only seven shops in the whole of Moscow. Five of them are empty, one sells only turnips (Turnips-R-Us, 24 Red Square) and the seventh sells food but has a queue outside every day stretching back as far as the Ukraine, especially when the new Marmite jar is put on display.
The bloody waiters have done it again! Humiliated me l mean. He stood there and waited for me to struggle through “Uno agua mineral, uno cervesa grande y uno vino tinto” and then said, “OK. One bottle of water, one pint of beer and a bottle of red wine. Thank you sir.” Why do I bother? You try to make them feel at home by making a bit of an effort and this is what happens. Well sod them, these bloody dagos are all the same as long as they can take your money and get in a bit of humiliation as a bonus then they’re happy.
Went into a bar earlier and asked for a beer. The barman said ”Cruzcampo?’‘
I put my hand on my hip, pouted and with a flutter of eyelashes said, “A beer please.”
The barman said, Cruzcampo?”
“I just did - oh I see, yes a bottle of Cruzcampo beer please,” I said in a deep manly voice.
I tried to sell a pair of my Tesco jeans to a Russian for £500 today. No luck. He already had a pair of Gucci ones.
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