There’s a small boy in the street. He’s leaning way over, trying to make himself immovable. His free hand is pointing at the toyshop window. His other is held fast in the lady‘s glove. She is the irresistible force. She’s moving down the street, late for something. As the tantrum starts, she conjures a ‘present for a good boy’ from her handbag. The small boy is entranced and follows to heel.
That’s me that is. The small boy.
This place, and all us lot, we happy band of convivial souls, are the toyshop, do you see?
And the irresistible lady with the entrancing presents for a good boy, that would lead me away from you for so long?
Is an irresistible lady with entrancing presents for a good boy.
The Beggars’ Banquet.
Come, gentles all, for our table is near set. Soon the platters will be brought, piled high with all you could want. What is more, the curtain is about to lift on something that you should see. So a quick group hug, huddle in, and we’re off!
This time our stage is set in the summer heat of Castile, in a particularly hot summer, this very one in fact. We shall be as unobtrusive as an English tour group out at noon. I shall play the tour guide and you shall follow my raised umbrella. It will be our standard. Only eat the tapas if it’s cooked. We’ve seen the city walls, we’ve seen the old Moorish town, we’ve seen the cathedrals old and new. How about a lunchtime reviver? Let’s step from the loud heat echoing off the pavement, into the quiet cool of this charming establishment. We shall sit here, where we can watch everything. Oh look, how lucky, just in time for midday happy hour. Come, fill both your cups, and we’ll see what’s to be seen.