Britain, Britain, Britain
Everyone has their hobbies and habits. Some people have to go down the street by stepping into the square of pavement, like my friend Diego, while others have to cross themselves every morning when leaving home, like my friend Diego. Wow, this has made me realize that Diego deserves a post! But what we are. As some have some manners, I have mine, and one of them seems to be that when I'm unemployed I'm going to England. It is customary involuntarily, because when I'm unemployed I'm not really going to spend the money, but good practice nonetheless.
So here I am in England. Luckily one has good friends who will provide a home and welcome you, so I made a nice combo type Havana / Varadero is Newbury / London. I love England. Possibly because we all always like what is different, because it seems that ours is always worse, and probably because England is very nice, really.
I do not like just for its landscapes and cities, all colocaditas, all of low-rise, with those houses and those pubs that seem all artistic monument, I am fascinated by the English. First by the peculiar physical makes a terribly attractive (I is that I am a bit of Saxon type, we're going to do, I like the pale-faced blond guy and some redheads) and other terribly ugly,
While the box collapses Spain Castilla la Mancha, England are in a very succulent. A minister has gone (or has gotten (No Pun Intended)) in a mess thanks to the vices of his wife, who paid with public money a descarguillas porn.
This is the lady, Jacqui Smith, none other than Minister of interior, the poor aunaque not know what happens at home. To give thanks for not being a minister in Spain, because it would have to listen to the jokes of Fedeguico. Vegüenza should give this guy (the husband, not Fedeguico) waste of public money pornography, not because they see porn, but because there is free porn on the internet, and the country is not for many joys and expenses. The truth is that deep guarrete news of the minister's husband is almost a joy in a country whose covers this week are monopolized by two dead: Jade Goody, and Natasha Richardson.
world is curious press in this country. They range from the ultra serious newspapers like the Times or the Guardian to the tabloids that necessarily have to carry fabricated news, which also has merit, even to tell what really happens, it is shown that most journalists do not. The issue is especially Jade Goody sensitive to this phenomenon of the invention, and I fear that I will not take anything to see a cup of Jade, with his bald head, next to one of Lady Di with her tiara. Yesterday there was a plot had to post photos of Jade in her coffin, large front-page news. Anyway have not invented anything, that this issue did for a couple of days when they died Carmina Ordonez and Rocío Dúrcal, respectively.
are also worried about what will become of their children. The kids have a father and certainly a powerful legacy to his late mother worked to do just that, left in place. And arranged these concerns, it now appears that walk with the funeral arrangements, which, according to The Sun, will be Michael Jackson, who said it.
Following the press, the first thing I did when I arrived to this country was to go to the newsagent (the kiosk) to the airport, to see how popularity was Posh, aka Victoria Beckham. When I was here last year and half, Victoria was the queen of covers, from celebrity magazines to fashion magazines through the "women" who are the magazines like "Love" or "Mine" but much more specific in its content. Could appear perfectly at 30% of the journals, which, really, is be very very famous.
Well, one year plus later, except for a small battle between the spice and the former Big Brother (duel that will end very soon and of course for the first time), my favorite is still skinny bitch HGM (her majesty Greatest), well above its husband, who had to currar some good passes to Rooney on Saturday to earn a couple of squares on the front pages.
Okay, back to my days in England. Today was the day of park. Basically because today it was sunny, and when you see the sun in England becomes a predator and takes to the parks as a lion to a gazelle. Why? Because if the lion thinks "one never knows when to hunt and eat" any visitor thinks, "one never knows when to see the sun in London.
Actually, I have enjoyed as never before. I addicted to i-pod, I left my ears free to hear more squawking, barking, screaming children, and even a full-fledged big men in suits and ties playing frisbee.
Anyone can look like a bullshit, but when you have months without giving you a bit, take a walk through a park and see people living becomes truly enjoyable. So that the day is past, between Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens, a small garden in the middle of two streets called Sussex Gardens and Regent's park. There have been several things that caught my attention: The belligerents are ducks, able to fight very hard and quite bad baba, really horny when I have come to collect video, to me that I did not like documentaries animals.
Following the time Gerard Durrell, also tell the squirrels have left me quite amazed. Animals first because they are very small, of those who see and do: "Ohhhhh," and second because they are fast and cunning, and hide the jamársela food instead of all at once (or so it seemed to me).
But I have recognize that the time has come tear the day in small squares, the British put in banks. I've always heard of the British people who are cold, but I'm beginning to not believe it. Write wonderful love songs, and some other awful romantic soap opera, and today I saw a guy say goodbye to his girlfriend with a kiss and stare until she has gone with a goofy look that made me wish you a slow and painful death the blonde slut to wrest such a guy (well, if it is to remove it, the better a quick death).
Today I also demonstrated that love to tell everyone what they feel, but is writing it in banks. In those small plates of which I spoke earlier. Is not the first time I see it, because almost three years ago that these chips in New York fascinated me. I've been walking and reading each plate (at least when there were people in the pews): "In memory of my sister Lily," "My dear Mary for her 60 birthday. David. " In a beautiful rose garden I found a beautiful, "Anne Wicks, who loved his roses as we love it." But I particularly liked this:
Then I remembered the Walker, and I have called. I replied in a hoarse voice, as very constipated, and I said:
"I know what you do when you die"
"What will you do, damned?"
"For well I see you is short. Go to Parc Turo and make you an insert to read: In memory of Joan, who came here all afternoon. "
may have thought that I am a coner, but I think that there is better way to remember someone and make others remember him, or think how wonderful it must have been Anne Wicks, or Lilly, which his brother recalls. Gordon and Malka O, musicians, inspiring their children to consider. I wonder if when I die there will be a nice park where someone wants to put an insert to talk to me. Something like: "In memory of Silvia and her nice tits."
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