After a rainy start to summer in London and a scorching two weeks in Madrid, I'm back in my hometown, enjoying all the delights my native land has to offer:
I smell manure. Ah, good old fresh manure, evoking memories of car rides during which Bro and I would pinch our noses shut and, in annoying nasal tones, accuse the other of farting.
I feel a breeze. And people think it's hot. HAHAHAHA. IT IS NOT HOT HERE, PEOPLE!! 38 degrees at 10pm is hot. No breeze in the city is hot. Sleeping with ice packs in your bed is hot. MADRID is where the hot's at. (London friends, just to clarify, it is not hot there either!)
I hear the familiar voices of CBC radio presenters. How I've missed you all - you are why I drive places I could walk to, even though I am slightly concerned that I will turn into the wrong lane (thank you, England).
I take a bite of succulent wild blueberry pie. My mouth waters just thinking about it! And when I chant, "blueberry pie, blueberry pie, if I don't get some, I think I'm gonna die!" people get it.
I see one number on a price tag and a different one on the till. GAH! Included tax, it's only been four days and already I miss you. I look forward to meeting you again when I'm back in Madrid. Where it's really hot.