THE RAIN IN SPAIN

Barcelona I have arrived:

The events in this story is all real, they are places I have been things that were said and actions that were done. In other to keep the players of this story private, I have changed their name so that they are not recordnised.

In the movie my fear lady, Liza sings that the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain. Some people hate rain, some people love it. Some bag for the rain to come and well here in England others just about had had enough of the rain.
Me I say let it fall, I nor hate nor like it. The rain is the rain, it is a part of nature, and every part of nature plays its part. To me the rain is just the perfect conclusion to a great time like I use to have in my younger more wilder days.
It was December, and though my original plans were to find some way to San Francisco, Spain was so much closer not to mention cheaper. So on the 11th of December 2009 I was leaving the cold of Berlin (that’s another story) for Barcelona. Boy i had no idea of what I was getting myself into.
When I got to the airport at Barcelona the place was empty, no one was around so I quickly got the only bag that I had and got the bus to central Barcelona. The weather was warm; I could not believe that it was December and that a few hours ago I was in the cold of Berlin.
The bus drove through place espanya and I knew that I was no longer in any other place that I was before. It felt like arriving in the middle of a scene from an old gladiator movie. On my right was the old coliseum where they use to hold bull fights, on my left was a palace transformed into a museum that two giant pillars served as gates to. It was majestic like stepping into ancient Rome of the past, my breath was cut short. I could not believe my eyes.
The next stop after place Espanya was place Catalonia where my bus stopped. I made my way to my guest room which was suppose to be somewhere of Las Ramblas. Let me just say this, you can never imagine Las Rambles unless if you saw it for yourself. The whole street is nothing but a market filled with colours where anything and everything can be bought. I saw people selling toys, others selling flowers, human statues all along the way standing still in anticipation that a coin from you would bring them to life for a few seconds. There were human statues of Cleopatra, the devil, silver bicycle men, dwarfs and so much more, and my favourite of all the headless men that scared kids and made parents giggle.
On your left after a few streets of Las Ramblas is the Boqueria, which is the most beautiful market I have ever seen, and trust me when I say this I have seen quite a few. My room is just two minutes away from the market so I spent quite some time there. I fruits the food, oh my god being in London I had forgotten what food like that was. Being in Barcelona I rediscovered the pleasure of eating, the sensuality of taste and the beauty of life.

It comes from the person you least expect

You would think that i don’t slump that i am always happy, my cheeks are always red and rosy. Well think again. Being kept in the icy cold can get to you’ it creeps up like creepy crawlers starting at the nip of your toes and no open fire or warm sentiment can change the feeling it leaves with you.
I am suppose to the last symbol of hope when everything is black and bleak, when you would kill for some warmth or rape your own mother to climb back into the womb that begot you. They live they love they fornicate and when there is no more pleasure to be sucked out of the morrow they cry and they cry calling on me putting up my colours, chanting my name singing my praises. Expecting me to come swooping from the sky giving them gifts of more pleasure.
What of my pleasure? Where is my peace, why is my merry merry days? No all i have is days of cold hidden at the depths of their minds clawing at a chance of freedom, hopping that one day i might be free.
Three hundred and sixty-four days i what so that they may set me free. And what of my freedom?
It is nothing but to work to bring them more joy. Well this year i say no more. Gone the red and rosy cheeks, gone the gifts and the good will to man, dead is the spirit i so boldly represent. This year they live without me, let them celebrate the sadness they have created, they have been babied enough.
Tonight they i ride no more, the sky’s will not hear my ho ho ho, and if i was to fly i will leave behind me a black trail of smoke and despair, the red i wear will be the blood of their veins. Let them climb out of the pit of their own making let them suffer the cold of the days.
And what if they still believe in me, i believe in them no more. Gone the days when i say merry Christmas to one and all and peace on earth. This year i say feel the cold of heartless souls.
To you all merry fucking Christmas.
Yours no more
Santa Clause