Canada – Evil Seal Killing Assassins

…at least that was the view of about 30 people protesting outside the Canadian Embassy on calle Goya in central Madrid today.

This was a real pain for your correspondent because he lives only a street away. With their screaming through loudspeakers and the windows open to let in fresh air, it got really boring for a while. “ASESINOS” screamed the leader, “ASESINOS” screamed his gang of loser hippies in reply. “VERGANZA” (’shame’) squawked deputy leader. “VERGANZA” they shouted back. And so on. And on and on.

Fortunately, it started to rain at about 3.00pm, heavily so, and everything went quiet. Nice. But an hour later they were back at it again.

I had to go out and buy a packet of fags (that’s cigarettes for any of you American readers – lest you get any ideas) and the kiosk is right opposite the embassy. So after picking up my packet of Fortuna Lights I wandered over to see who these people were, wasting their time and annnoying the rest of us.

Boxed in to a small corner of the pavement opposite the embassy you had the usual assortment of losers: smelly students who should have spent the afternoon doing their laundry, dreadlocked hippies, batty old women with matted hair and faintly scary Richard Warman types with nerdy glasses. They all had banners and flags with scrawled messages like “Canada kills” on them, cute pictures of baby seals, or the maple leaf flag with an image of blood running from it. One guy had stripped down to his underwear and was rolling around on a white sheet splattered with red paint as his cohorts pretended to club him. It was a bit parky out, what with the clouds and rain and all, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. I was going to pick up a club myself and batter the twat but there were policemen about to control the, err, crowd, so I contented myself with taking some of their proffered literature then ostentatiously binning it. Although I don’t think anybody saw me to be honest. My futile effort versus theirs.

Don’t these people have jobs? Stupid question. And what, precisely, do they hope to achieve? Canada will do what Canada does and a bunch of deluded crusties on income support shouting at their Spanish embassy won’t change anything. Do they think any media coverage will stop people buying Canadian goods? Well, maybe. Maybe two people. Oooh, that’s gonna hurt GDP. Oh well, I suppose it keeps ‘em out of mischief. Better they waste their time drawing banners and shouting a lot than doing real damage, some shop owner probably sold a few tins of red paint and the shop assistants from the various ‘tiendas’ on Goya had their afternoon livened up.

They eventually packed up about 1800hrs, no doubt wet but happy. Hope someone kept club man’s clothes dry for him otherwise he’s got a long, cold journey home.

Déjate Besar

¡Hola! ¿Qué Tal? A mid-week drink to catch up with Zipper sees us down a couple of cañas at pub / club / bar de copas Déjate Besar on Calle Hermanos Béquer 10. Opening at ten in the evening it’s the sister place to 69 Pétalos, a popular Saturday boite that features artistas al desnudo bopping about on stage. They do the same thing here, have these semi-clad dancers pole dancing and what-not, but on this night that only meant one particularly ropey tranny, a black cuban girl with a body to die for and another girl who’s legs were really stringy. But no, we were not interested in the go-go dancers, Zipper was instead bringing us here to check out the Argentinian blonde babe behind the bar. Heart meltingly sweet and quite laid back she seemed a little out of place next to the flashy talent waving their bottoms on stage. We let Zipper do his thing and retired to a small alcove behind the stage to watch the action.

The music is from a live DJ and its pop, pop and more pop, but actually very well done. You think it’s cheese but you find yourself bopping along and enjoying the tunes anyway, old and new. On Saturdays the DJ is some chap called Jorge Albi, who is famous in Madrid. Never heard of him myself but then unless it’s house or electro I ain’t got no idea. It’s not a large place and can get really, really crammed at weekends, but has been fitted out very well with a top sound system. It is frequented by professional types often still in their suits from work. A definite ’singles club’ where yuppies come to flirt and maybe score. The US embassy is just up the road, no more than a 100m, but we didn’t hear any Yank accents the night we were there. But then again, we only had eyes for Miss Argentina.

Villa Rosa – Plaza de Santa Ana

¡Hola! ¿Qué Tal? Two boys, two girls. Three can dance one can’t and it’s two left legs Madrid-Uno who needs a stiff drink. On the corner of Plaza Santa Ana is Villa Rosa, reputedly the oldest bar de copas in Madrid and this is our destination. Guarded by 6 bouncers (do they really need that many?) with as many people spilling out as trying to get in this is clearly a popular spot. As we enter, Sabrina negotiates a free shot for the lot of us so it’s a good start. Opened in 1914 by some famous picadors the place used to be the haunt of aristos and celebs – Hemingway frequented – and was a centre for the art of Flamenco. Now it seems a tad more downmarket (hell, they let Madrid-Uno in! And he’s wearing trainers!) and is a standard nightclub, but Sabrina explains they still do flamenco here on special reserved nights. She points out the special floorboards in a part of the main hall which are slightly sprung veneered mahogany or other hardwood designed for professional flamenco dancers. The club is divided up into three main rooms. There is a smallish lobby bar doing the shots, a large dance hall with a couple of bars at the furthest ends and a small stage with dancers on, and a third bar area in an L-shaped square recess and where the VERY LOUD music is muffled somewhat by a wood trellice. The most amazing thing about the place is the walls which are covered in the most splendidly detailed ceramic tiles (azulejos) featuring Andalucian country scenes from the past. And many of the fixtures are made from delicately carved, dark veneered wood. The place reeks of history even if tonight it reeks of a Ritzy’s in Croydon or Cinderella’s in Romford. It’s Spanish pop music (pachanga), salsa, merengue and other latin american dances with the odd bit of euro-house thrown in for fun. Sabrina proves to be a wonderful dance teacher and after a half hour or so I can at least pop a couple of steps. Fair play, this style of dancing is great fun. It’s so liberating to actually work in harmony with your partner, to feel her body pressed against yours and to rock and sway in unison. Drinks are 7 euroweenies for combinados (cocktails / spirit combos) and 4E for beers and soft drinks. Open Wednesday to Friday from 8.00pm to 1.00am and until 6.00am on Saturdays.

Club El Sol

¡Hola! ¿Qué Tal? A gig at Club El Sol, just off Gran Via, featuring artists from the Madrid music label Pueblo Records, home to local bands ‘Insecto’, ‘Lava’ and ‘Dead Capo’ and a few other Spanish music groups. Pretty good sound system (Bose monitors are noted) and the club is packed – Madrid-Uno can barely get his mobile phone above the heads to record a segment onto the flash card. After the concert the place turns into a northern soul / indie club with DJs but we’re too busy in the ‘green room’ quaffing beers and complimentary nuts etc. Very nice Mexican stylist who impresses Madrid-Uno with her knowledge of Cambridge; apparently she did a language course there so we swap Parkers Piece and punting stories for a while. One of the percussionists from one of the bands is from Cuba and Madrid-Uno makes the mistake of telling him he’s glad that Fidel is on his last legs. Oh dear. Cue impassioned defence of Castro and all he stands for. Note to self: must learn Spanish quicker if I’m gonna hold my end up in this city. Later, outside the entrance, as we get our group together to move on to the after party, we are accosted by some of the ugliest putas Madrid-Uno has ever seen. “Papi Papi” they shout (more of Fidel’s compadres) as Madrid-Uno hold’s his jacket pocket tightly to his chest and feels their hands quickly and expertly frisk him. These ladies should do airport check-in duty not walk the streets. Terrorists wouldn’t get through with so much as a tooth-pick. We escape to Gran Via.