Time to sleep
One doesn’t want to break one's routine of daily blogging while in the Ciudad, but sometimes it’s hard. ( Is it because nothing really happened yesterday? It’s never true, of course. Should I talk about the autographed shirt of Luis Figo which is going to be a hit in the forthcoming raffle? About the nostalgia for “porchetta” ( roasted suckling pig) I could identify in the moistened eyes of Italian expats in Madrid, at their annual national party? About the “arroseur-arrosé” situation that arises when a rolangaro-ish master of psychological manipulation sees all his shots dealt with force and elegance by the full forward advancing-to-the-net tactics of his psydversary? About late evening calls that challenge pajama-wearing inertia? Could I make from any of these items a 3-paragraphs story worth of a blogtext? I don’t think so.)
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