A city break

I forgot to tell you about Trotter and Fings weekend vacation to sunny Spain.

They left on a Friday morning and arrived early at Heathrow, where they sat in the VIP lounge and ate the free nibbles and drank the free drink. Trotter on half a lager shandy, with Fing having a crisp Chardonnay and a bag of salted nuts.

The flight passed quickly, they arrived and got their taxi to the 4 star hotel, where they were delighted to discover that they were on the edge of the gay area, Cheuca. They quickly unpacked and popped out for a bite to eat before an early night.

Saturday was a day of utter delights. They took the metro down to the Sofia museum, where they marvelled at Picasso's Guernica, and Trotter got told off for using flash photography and Fing was moved by the anti war art.

They left the museum and decided on a cooling drink in a nice little bar on the square, only to be harangued by a blind beggar with eyeballs the colour of milk, which quite put poor Trotter of his tapas. The blind man was quickly followed by a Gypsy woman, heavily laden with small child and an imploring hand, which they dismissed out of hand. Once you've seen Julia's Romanian beggar impression, you've seen them all.

They moved on to the next museum where Fing wanted to see Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights, which proper twisted little Mr T's head even more than the milky bar kid eyeballs.

They decided on a leisurely stroll back to the hotel. But after 45 minutes in the schorchio heat they needed to stop for a beverage. Gran Via seemed the best place to stop with its lovely plaza full of tree's. It turned out to be a lovely plaza full of lady's of 'the night' who didn't seem to mind that it was tea time. Everywhere they looked another lady popped up in death defyingly tiny outfits and perfectly manicured eyebrows. One lady turned up and promptly sat down in a garden chair, so Fing whispered it was probably due to an arthritic hip for being too long in the trade. Trotter, sipping his coca cola through a straw, had no idea what he was talking about and asked if they could go back for a siesta.

They spent a perfectly agreeable evening in the square at Cheuca, where the gays and a motley assortment of tramps seemed to mingle without fear of resprisal. Indeed, it appeared that the tramps did a fine line in morose flamenco and seemed quite happy to clap and wail while the more affulent around them drank and ate plain crisps with a decadent gayness.

All in all it was a most agreeable weekend away.