Bloody Madrid

Bloody Madrid! Just had a flashback to the airport and that nervous feeling, high with elation, dragging my case into a strange city late at night with a language I haven't got the confidence or the vocabulary to use.

I know exactly where the where the machines are for the Metro, even as I walk down the travelators – I hear the buzz of the wheels behind me and I know that I’m free. I don't need to look up at the signs - I know exactly where I'm going. Madrid: next home! Break me loose of these f***ing chains!!!!!!!

I picture the route in my head.  Linea 8 to Nuevo Ministerios, 6 (the grey line) to Cuatro Caminos, then work my way out.  Bravo Murillo exit, though it doesn’t really matter, then left past McDonald’s and the phone shop. Easy. Tercero planta, derecha.  Found it. 

It’s good to reach the platform.  I was on the London Underground a few weeks ago, but this is the one for me.  Airy, modern, opening to sunshine and Vodaphone Sol.  - Vodaphone? - Well...  Vino tinto, plazas, friends and Tango.  A future instead of a past.  Who could ask for more than that?

Now I’m speaking to you. Next time, please can we go to the Mercado San Miguel? You don't have to read this ‘til you’re awake. Although, it would be quite amusing to be in your dream thinking about plates of oysters.

I'd like to be dancing Tango. Work on my posture, steps, awareness, all of that. Among other things. It's another means of expression. I wish I lived here.  Oh, I wish, I wish I lived here.

Only a matter of time, I say to myself.  Only a matter of time ‘til I’m cold and stiff in a mortuary fridge.  For f***’s sake, I need to do this now.