Selling it
I suspect I'm not exactly selling my readers on Sitges this year.
Well, obviously that doesn't matter to Sitges itself – it can take the blow, I think – and most readers will have already decided, quite rightly, that the problems lie with me rather than with the town. But I'm thinking particularly of Patrick and of Mitchell – two friends who do read this blog, and both of whom received a lot of rather heavy-handed cajoling (from me, and in Mitchell's case also from Susan and Rob) to come along with us.
Well, it's true, you might find the gay community intermittently irritating. But if you were here we could go out together to places that would appreciate bears; there are definitely places where the non-perfectly-buff-and-non-circuit can have a good time – in previous years I've been to them – I just don't seem on track this year, sorry about that.
A bigger problem is the heat: neither M. nor P. are exactly hot-weather types (especially Patrick, who is not only metaphorically a bear but appears to actually be somewhat ursine, in genetic terms – perhaps a grandfather emigrated from Kodiak Island). And it is a very hot August this year – indeed all over the world, it's supposedly the hottest year ever. (Like all those who read newspapers, I can't help thinking – if this continues, and gets rather drastic, the era of visiting southern Europe for pleasure may be ending; and what that would do to the entire EU economy hardly bears thinking about.)
Oh well, sorry about that, boys. You know me: alternating polemics and truths....
•••
Storm clouds on the horizon... hooray. I am so ready for a tropical storm... in every way possible.
I'm off to catch a train to Girona (and yes I have my English umbrella with me). Ta ta.
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