Cycled down the road to watch Paco and group play out in the open. The new mayor is touting to keep in place in the next elections. He needn't worry. Nobody is going to vote for the old bunch of thieves. But anyway, one of the plazas is full of trestle tables, paper tablecloth, and rows of bottles of wine. It's eleven in the morning. Even too early for me to indulge.
So the opening speech to the gig goes like this.
"Hello everybody, these guys are going to start off the proceedings. They are going to play...erm...music...and...well, I don't know the name of the group because they said they don't have a name...but obviously they all have their own names...but not when together but you may have seen them play in the bars around town and on the beaches in summer or, if you in fact, go back to your pueblos during the summer months, you may not have seen them but here they are now and a big hand for...erm a big hand. Thank you, thanky thanky you very much. Take it away boys...."
At this point, the howling sea wind picks up all the plastic plates filled with potato crisps and shoots them through the air like thousands of small castanets. It is snowing large, salty crispflakes. The plates of olives rumble off the edge of the tables and scatter across the ground in an enormous green match of marbles. I love these events.
I am listening to Tony blackburn on Radio Two. Songs from the seventies which has put me in a really nice mood. I like to dance sitting down...
