“I’ve been defrauded!”
How Count Prus’ words ring in my ears after having a meal in La Gran Cantonada. Admittedly the Count was taking about Elena Macropolus not giving him a sort of sensual pleasure that was outside the remit of the chef in the Castelldefels’ restaurant – but still, the price of almost 30€ for the meal that I had was not quite what I have come to expect from this town.
2.40€ for unsolicited bread; 19€ for a perfectly acceptable but unremarkable rape a la plancha; an an astonishing 10€ for what ‘Champers’ in Cardiff called ‘sea food salad.’ Yes, there was a little more ‘sea food’ than you’d expect to get in Champers, but some of that ‘sea food’ was in the form of crab sticks – the euphemistic name given to the chunks of luridly coloured and totally manufactured fish surrogate that masquerades as natural produce of the ocean!
Talking of misery; the ‘putting away’ of my books draws ever nearer. Today to El Prat and Bluespace which is a very impressive depository with locked spaces and closed circuit camera and code numbers and high prices.
I have hired a ‘box’ and on Monday I will have a phone call to let me know the cost of getting some muscle to cart all the stuff off. I have decided, as a point of self defensive principal that I am not going to do the donkey work. Simply moving the stuff a few feet when trying to find the computer resulted in almost complete prostration, and I do not intend to traipse up and down flights of stairs for the sake of a few (or even many) euros.
There is still time for me to make a few last minute changes to the selection of books which I have to hand; but the sheer physical effort of entering the small bedroom and trying to manipulate the Rubik’s Cube environment that comprises boxes of books in a small cramped space is more than I can contemplate with equanimity. But I might try: finding my books of short stories would make it all worth while.
I think. I’ll sleep on it!
How Count Prus’ words ring in my ears after having a meal in La Gran Cantonada. Admittedly the Count was taking about Elena Macropolus not giving him a sort of sensual pleasure that was outside the remit of the chef in the Castelldefels’ restaurant – but still, the price of almost 30€ for the meal that I had was not quite what I have come to expect from this town.
2.40€ for unsolicited bread; 19€ for a perfectly acceptable but unremarkable rape a la plancha; an an astonishing 10€ for what ‘Champers’ in Cardiff called ‘sea food salad.’ Yes, there was a little more ‘sea food’ than you’d expect to get in Champers, but some of that ‘sea food’ was in the form of crab sticks – the euphemistic name given to the chunks of luridly coloured and totally manufactured fish surrogate that masquerades as natural produce of the ocean!
Talking of misery; the ‘putting away’ of my books draws ever nearer. Today to El Prat and Bluespace which is a very impressive depository with locked spaces and closed circuit camera and code numbers and high prices.
I have hired a ‘box’ and on Monday I will have a phone call to let me know the cost of getting some muscle to cart all the stuff off. I have decided, as a point of self defensive principal that I am not going to do the donkey work. Simply moving the stuff a few feet when trying to find the computer resulted in almost complete prostration, and I do not intend to traipse up and down flights of stairs for the sake of a few (or even many) euros.
There is still time for me to make a few last minute changes to the selection of books which I have to hand; but the sheer physical effort of entering the small bedroom and trying to manipulate the Rubik’s Cube environment that comprises boxes of books in a small cramped space is more than I can contemplate with equanimity. But I might try: finding my books of short stories would make it all worth while.
I think. I’ll sleep on it!
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