mierda is shit in spanish (what's a fan?)

Have been cranking up my Spanish lessons to fever pitch during this public holiday time.
Suddenly it’s got helluva difficult and almost impossible to pronounce.

I put in four hours yesterday - four hours - I’m not here to ride ponies and have a picnic. I’m here to become Juan without testicles.

[Sidenote: Fuck naaing tits shit. Proposed British Airways strike. That’s what we fly to Mexico. Slap bang in the middle of it. Fuck. Will not panic will not panic. But to the people in charge: PAY THEM BETTER AND LET’S JUST GET ON WITH IT. GIVE THEM WHAT THEY WANT. GOD. DON’T MAKE ME HAVE A SHITFIT AT HEATHROW AIRPORT. DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE AND FOAM AT THE MOUTH WHEN YOU TELL ME WE CAN’T GO.]

Will focus on it being an idyllic Christmas for the moment. I am told it’s snowing in London! Lights, snow and log fires! And the Brit is making Beef Wellington for everyone on the day. Sorry, but heaven?! I can barely contain my excitement – how inexplicably British does that all sound?

Anyway, assuming our dreamy summer holiday will actually take place, and we won’t have to row ourselves manually over the Atlantic in a fucking kayak, I’m all Spanished out. There’s a limit that has been reached. Maybe I’m tired, maybe it’s because I’m trying to cram so much in.

So I’ll be making us lots of friends on the journey. But I presume any latino conversations will go something like this:

Cue right. Table laden with tacos, everyone is wearing a sombrero. Tequila is being poured from a freshly frosted bottle; the worm inside it hangs suspended. Dionne Warwick plays in the background, but I’m the only one who can hear it.

Peas: ¡Hola! Soy Peas. ¿Comé está?

Juan/Bonita/Pablo/Frida: th th th th th th th izquierda th th th zapatos th th th th th th.

Peas: Ah Si. La mujer conduce el coche rojo. [The lady drives the red car].

Juan: ¿¿ th th th th th th th th ?

Peas: Si, es verdad. Estamos delante un caballo y gire a la izquierda. [Yes that’s true. We’re standing in front of a horse and turn to the left.]

Juan: Er….¿¿th th th th??

Peas: De nada. Los perros son pequentas, la niña duerme el trabajo. Nosotros tenemos cocinan.[No worries. The dogs are small, the girl sleeps at work. We have cooked.]

Juan: [stand up to leave, because he doesn’t like my conversational skills]

Peas: ¡No No! Sigue derecho! El hombre corre detras el gato azul! Llava una faldo! [No no! Go straight! The man runs behind the blue cat! I’m wearing a skirt!]

And that, my friends, is how I plan to get our way across Mexico. If we fucking get there.

I’m going to Cape Town tomorrow for my cousins wedding. She’s marrying a yank in the winelands of Franschhoek. It’ll be nice to see Dad and his prospective side of the family again.

Sunday I jet off to the land of Spotted Dick, Vauxhall’s, and Innit’s. I hope it’s still snowing in four days time.