A Nice Bit of Marketing

Mel's dad collects stamps. I say this not to cast any aspersions upon George, nor to pass judgment on anyone else who does the same. Because in Madrid there are quite a few people who collect stamps, which makes the weekly stamp and coin market in the Plaza Mayor a pretty big deal. Today was set to be the day that George truly enjoyed...

An hour and a half, roughly, he spent, pouring through albums on only a couple of the stands (there must have been about a hundred) and though complaining about some of the prices (apparently the sellers were mainly using some big Italian guide to prices that puts them higher than the equivalent UK guide) he came away with a small set of Iceland stamps that he was particularly happy with. For my part I stumbled across a stall selling Soviet memorabilia and picked up a couple of pin badges that, really, I just thought were pretty. I'm not a very good collector.

But while George was indulging his passion Mel and I had wandered to the nearby Mercado San Miguel, a covered market that was given a facelift a few years back, and which screamed at us to return for lunch after a quick trip to the Reina Sofia 'Centro de Arte' to see Picasso's Guernica. There's something odd about art. Some pieces completely live up to expectations; a very few completely exceed them. Guernica, which I'd been really looking forward to, got me thinking... Hmmmm.... Really.... Not sure I can see what all the fuss is about now. Unlike the Bosch in the Prado on day one. At least the gallery, despite being a Modern Art venue, lacked most of the pretentious twaddle on boards explaining the 'meaning' on everything.

And so the pull of the Mercado, and quaffing Cava over tasty and cheap morsels while standing at a long shared table in amongst the bustle of a growing dining crowd. It was fab. Could have stayed there all day, but from there we hit the metro to a footballing Mecca, the Estadio Santiago Bernabeu, home of Real Madrid.

I kind of feel sorry for the 'little' Madrid team of Athletico, but the Bernabeu is the stadium with the cachet. The stadium wasn't as grand as I was expecting, but it can seat 85,000, and boasts an impressive history. The tour was a little too 'spend money now' for my liking (with two points where you could get your photo taken, once with a fake trophy, the other with a digitally-added-so-not-really-there footballer, and in both instances, no way to bypass the operation). Oh, and halfway round is a bar, which is open, and which had as its only patrons a group of Carlisle United fans who, after imbibing a few, proceeded to sing songs as they came out into the open air of the stadium and (bizarrely, this being a stadium tour and all, not a match) unfurling a banner with some message of praise for their wee team. Took a bit of the gloss off. But then it being a Mecca this place is a bit of a pilgrimage, which would account for people getting photos taken in various poses beside trophy cabinets (not sure I get that), and pouring over glass-cabineted football boots that are worn by the player (note, not likely their actual boots, but rather the type that they wear). I grabbed a shot of a display about the Eintracht Frankfurt European cup final in Glasgow (7-3 in the end) and a pair of Puskas boots, and left them to it so I could play at being Mourinho.

There was still time in the day left for us to freshen up, and eat at the hotel, before hitting a nearby Flamenco venue. George likes Flamenco, so we rounded off the day with a highly praised show, in a place that brought to mind an Edinburgh Festival feel, with some dancing that was really rather impressive (as well as guitar playing, the wailing singing I could do without, but reading about it afterwards the singers are apparently the life and soul of a Flamenco performance, not the dancers). It did seem improvised in parts, and so pretty traditional and non-touristy, but I have to confess to utter ignorance of the subject, and simply sat back to enjoy.

The main thing was, for the first time since arriving, George seemed genuinely happy with everything that we'd done during the day, ebulliently declaring the constituent parts 'fabulous'.

Job done.