Having acquired these volumes years before, I only recently am able to make direct application of their knowledge, and even find links between books sitting at opposite ends of my library.
I like that, just as with clothes, books can start off several sizes too big.
has got to be selling something special. And for me that summat is butifarra negra, which the internet reliably tells me is a blood sausage native to Catalonia. As testament to its heart attack quotient, the lady at the counter gave me a knowing smile and said: ¿Nada más..?
Speaking of things of beauty, guess it figures that they would have a post office that has embellishments like this!
And as if my sabbatical weren't already replete with eye candy, I was greeted at my study venue by a Russian model. Sorry, no pictures.
I've worked out that it takes me about a year before I get restless and tetchy. This is even when working in a domain I love, even when things are largely going right and the aggravations are trivial.
I've also worked out that the perfect holiday for me is a learning holiday. Last year I hopped off for a short course on the East Coast (and having a new job to look forward to didn't hurt either).Following that successful turn, I find myself once again on an East Coast in 2011 - not of America but the Iberian peninsula.
I have a large soft spot for Spain. Of all the places I've conducted fieldwork, Spain ranks second only to my prime postgrad stomping ground. It's so enormously rich, historically, gastronomically, and of course, geologically. It's also put me through plenty of physical pain and suffering, which in more delicate language could be termed a 'formative experience'.
My hotel's an odd fish, converted from a 19th century nobleman's mansion which is in turn glued to a 15th century marquis' palace. Late Autumn temperatures (between 10 and 18 deg C) give all this sun-blasted stone architecture a ghostly chill. The interior of my hotel is equally schizoid. The stairwell is a marble-lined set from an Anne Rice film adaptation, cold draughts, mysterious stains, ornate bannister and all. My room is a modern marvel with a bath fixture featuring "hydromassage jets" (this told to me in 5 different languages).
The roof at least is congruent with my old memories of Spanish hostels. The door to the roof manages to display both a green "emergency exit" sign and a red "no exit here" sign. When I finally satisfy my curiosity by giving it a push, I find the door can't open fully because a TV antenna and some kind of aluminium-wrapped cooling duct is in the way. Somehow that makes sense.
accomplished
knackered
