Monday, 21 November 2016

travelling notes (xi)

There's always a great feeling when a noisy group of British youngsters barges into a bar and starts ordering red wine and tries to do it in the language of Paris and Madrid and Rome. The barman frowns and cringes and winces and tries to explain that he speaks perfect English. But they do not care. They absolutely have to impress. Oddly, they always do.