A Croc of White

I went for a haircut in Nerja today.

I had clocked a Barbers last night, and my sweaty semi comb over wasnt doing it for me or the Spanish population.

I braced myself for language issues and, taking Li'l in as a shield, sat and listened to the barber fluently converse in Spanish with the guy before me.

As the last wisp of shorn locks floated to the floor, I started to get anxious- I cursed French as the language of my schooling, I wracked my brains for tidbits of sensible speech, I damned my accursed Sangria hangover, I reviewed Marcel Marceau's hand actions.. too late. I had to sit.

And was greeted with "Awright Mate! Heard ya speaking to yer gel!"

He was also called John. He had a First Class Honours in Spanish and had settled here 10 years ago after 10 years on Costa Rico where he met his wife.

He also translates, sings in a bar band, and gave me the heads up on a cool Punk Rock festival nearby with big names.

And a lovely haircut. He threw in a free trim for Li'ls fringe too.

He was aggrieved that he had narrowly missed the job as Robson's translator for Barcelona too.

Cool and lovely people. Everywhere. No matter how freaked out or worried I get.

I love our little global village.

PS in other breaking news Misssy had to take Li'l on a sharp detour exploring a beach today. Some young folk were erm..."Meeting Sandy Lovepole".Ah the joy and cringing embarrassment of youth.....

Heehee.

JM.