You know I live in a modest neighborhood that if they go out in the pictures or the press, is always in the events section
(see a nice portrait) . Is a neighborhood of alubión and residence of those of the years seventies Pegaditas the Almudena cemetery (height crematorium) at the confluence of the cream of Vicálvaro and San Blas. In the last ten years has a noble, which are the new houses were built taking advantage of the gap left by the demolition of "The Lights", with its gated communities, their garages with access to ground and pools. But I live in the ignoble, and in this part, the attractions and amenities are all very homespun, namely the usual bars (Iulius, the terrace of the square of Tatchenko ...), the kiosk, the military institutions, Troy gym that occupies the ground floor of my block and, of course, the Carrfour.
In this neighborhood we know all the neighbors one on one with our own idiosyncrasies and we have no secrets for each other. It's like everything always happens out of doors in the independent republic where if it is only the mystery during the two seconds it takes some versed in undo. This helps the most is the Tatchenko which is the official keeper of our four streets and keeps us all current, up to date and well informed even what we would rather not know. But we also know that fulfills its essential and invaluable work much better than we would anyone.
For example, this year let's blase. For those who do not know, the panda Blas are jóvencetes thirties, no civil office but with a substantial income and profits of those who neither claim nor appear in any statistics other than the criminal, and are healthy as they have. The Curro were blase, the tattooist beautiful neighborhood, with sexapple so overwhelming that made these four streets seem a delegation from the Yakuza, as painted in ink and walk all easily swayed by his charm. Blas was the names to the Blas gordote huge man, shaved, tattooed absolutely full color and with a look that gives but very, very afraid, but somehow I and without questioning their professionalism in the trade, is also often tenderness made bait. The rest of the gang are several satellites that revolved around these two bases (the Güendolín, a total fan of Julio Iglesias and the Monegros Festival, the Mandarin ...). Well
Curro returned to his homeland with his wife and his girl pushed by the crisis (and the lack of her skin without tattoo on his camper this natural) sigh leaving many of the girls of institutes and some of their mothers, and became independent Blas pushed by their parents and their patients buoyant financial situation and left us in the ignoble to go three streets up to share a flat with other Blaser in the noble and cock. I can hardly imagine what will won those blocks with bombs jumping competitions in the pool.
One day this winter when we had become accustomed to the silence of his absence, we awoke to the news of a murder in our neighborhood. More even block the father of Blas Blase and even more of the same Tatchenko which is also the president of that community. The event is featured in the media as follows: "
the wee hours of the morning of the weekend, a son of a resident of that portal was made in the house of his father which was no longer living lately, visibly hurt by alcohol intake (and very possibly also of psychotropic drugs), and carried away in the violent discussion that led the conversation, his father sold off several hits with carving knife. "Having breakfast with the data, you can imagine our shock, that I was seeing my Blas Blas of striped suit and photo of the front and profile stations.
At nine o'clock, quarter was half leaning on the little window of the kiosk closed, all hungry for news. The Tatchenko arrived on time and as required by the situation seriously and its domain the scene we gave a brief "
he has not been" that solved our concerns and settled more than half of the audience. This also prevented several attacks and threats of trouble if adelantadillos suffered were careful not to confirm the good news given by the course and were presented at the father's house to offer condolences Blas directly and in person at the deceased who came to open up the door.
This spring sharing a beer with the blase Blas, who had not seen for eons, I said he had rarely been a year, who had called him throughout the global world which for decades did not speak with excuse that finally find out whether he had killed his father or not (because the news did not give names), and that it had recovered through an incredible amount phone numbers. He was surprised how her friends were willing to support you in whatever trance, even in the case of parricide and did not know if that comforted him and made him very nervous. And I understand perfectly that there are joys poisoned, and if not being told his father, who has not yet digested the emotions of so many tokens of affection to his family.
Well as you can see, this routine class neighborhood of Z, abandoned live Gallardón hand, and there never opens anything, nothing opens, so we have no need to go breaded with the action that we will creating ourselves, we are autarkic.
And one of our shows is safer and concluded that we let the fire every time they come to our neighborhood.
In fact this year we had an event of many bells, when my neighbor's window across from my kitchen forgot a pressure cooker fire while pressure ventilation, and the pot broke out fired through the window, accompanied by step by the microwave, and making a hole in its facade for what. I spent a couple of days getting his cabbage in my kitchen. But that's nothing, because they were months without being able to enter their home and had to completely redo the room.
That was a tremendous explosion, followed by screams, smoke and calls at a rate of one per neighbor, emergency services, we could hear each other through the exchange (
"Mari hangs, I've already called me and your children you are asking for a snack, I hear it perfectly through the yard "). In ten minutes the street was cut off and blocked by fire trucks, and police cars and ambulances Samur. And in fifteen firefighters were all marching calendar 2009 (although this time fully clothed) in front of my window. Ada bf, I winked at March unfortunately, but I think he thought I had entered charcoal in one eye and after looking at me I stared for a few segundillos dismissed as minor. You see yourself.
In order that this was a community landmark that enjoyed much everyone. But the staff, the cornerstone of my life here in my neighborhood has happened this summer, and I have not even heard what I had to tell. Which is a poor wretch.
The fact was the following: I had been the first of the summer solipandis Rodriguez at my house without my burgeoning who is on vacation from day zero from beach to beach house and a mother's paternal grandparents, without Inti I had to mount his show on English beaches, and no cat is always late. My life ran from office and bar and bar and office (as the bar is that it is very handy, a couple takes a summer Tintillo with other neighbors who also consume and the pair that made a giggling, va free dinner of tapas that gives us consumptions in Madrid, and thus saves but a wool, if a lot of time and Fairy guisoteo).
This daily routine when he returned Inti walked a bit ahead of schedule to coincide with the weekend. It was him and that I lit the little body all to a party, no doubt a physical fact very encouraged by the scarcity of previous days. To celebrate as he deserved, I organized a romantic getaway that would allow us not just as solace Him in good companies, but also, and as a bonus, a bit of sun and water.
The plan was low-traffic road (the A1 road to the mountain poor, discarded, the A2 is stuck even in current day and what remains is a wasteland, the A3 road from Valencia as the A4 ruled Andalusia because in summer are preferred destinations, the A6, the richer the mountains further ruled that poor. discarding A5 Conclusion: Extremadura) and objective means any reservoir with camping (ideally with the worst campsite of the world not was sobreocupado as are all in summer).
Still, I am very cautious in my way, and my store is camouflage but fuchsia, that way I assure you view it from anywhere in the environment, no matter where you start or what to tide through other stores, brown, green and dull: mine always stands out. The problem in life is that every time I plant grows a circle of children who come to watch closely and very communicative and always want to know many things we ask. But hey, my girl, who is the most communicative of the world, is blissfully happy. Inti however suffers, but in silence and endure.
Anyway, that after three hours of starting the trip, I was sweating like a chicken and holding onto my steering wheel in my car because the air conditioning is opcinal I vent or ride the car, and when the circle, then turn it off. Inti had become almost entirely the emergency Rubik's Cube that I carry in the glove compartment and we had not even advanced fifty miles, in row two and a caravan, when we suddenly jumped from the ditch a sign that said "BOG OF CAZALEGAS "the triangle of a shop drawing. Swerved to the right and we had found destination.
Camping certainly met my expectations, if not the worst, was nearby. The neighbors were colorful but all were all impeccably furnished. Plot on our right, with the barbecue drum cut in half FORTA welded legs, which appeared in the movie grill "Fried Green Tomatoes" and the three days we were not stopped burning steaks at any time or day or night.
seemed spectacular to me, but appeared to amateurs when compared with neighbors of the plot on the left that had directly to a gas kitchen cabinet of its four burners, his cabinet for butane and oven two trays, planted on the grass (all transported in a van Seur double life). And the plot was already beyond Despiporre because she was busy for an entire camp Aleluyas (I think the correct name is the Ascension Evangelical Seventh Day) with its thousand huge pavilions and all identical in color crema and Colonel Tapioca and its Christian rock Castilian put all of 6:00 to 2:00 in the morning. We got up with God and the Virgin I lay down, or vice versa (I do not know exactly how this works.) The
macrochiringuito camping neighbor had the original look of its foundation back in the years of development, and dirt and painting dating from the same period, as its football alignments equipped with Real Madrid and Atletico Aviacion. Accompanying caps had all the subtle intention of encouraging fluid intake, so were all the same style and lots of peanuts bonded salt or salty shelled and pasted, or pipes attached to much salt or salty bacon stuck. Finally, each rod was consumed served you a drink and after three had even more thirsty than before.
When we believed that we could not dry out more, we went to look at the edge of the lake, with its fresh brisita with its lights reflected in the urbanization of the opposite bank, with enlivening Castilian Christian rock in the distance, with the stars of San Lorenzo rain clear sky, and we sat in that orillita Inti and I getting carried away by the atmosphere, imbuing him and the quiet and solitude, and as adolescents obviously we are not, to be drawn by the passion and excitement to the full magreo romantic. We were, with our furtive giggles of little sin, when we heard a cough that made us stop and pay attention around us, now, with eyes accustomed to the surrounding darkness. Naive of us who had thought that
"
what is more intimate than the night in the field in the middle of nowhere at the edge of beautiful lake? " as the English Court on the first day of sales at seven o'clock. For example. There was, Pegaditas us do not know how we do not stepped on, a real camp to reserve sleeping in the open water in front of the next morning. We apologize, we tidied up and went dead all, thinking they are a little higher for these boasts.
for a long story short, the weekend was great, we had everything, a fire spread and damaged a car that exploded like in the movies, with a helicopter and all, taking water from the reservoir to pour a little further to out the fire (what applause of the audience at every evolution), exquisite cuchifrito galore, and lots of laughs and entertainment. So much so that we postponed the return of Sunday to Monday willing to extend maximum enjoyment at the cost of arriving early to the office appropriate.
The fact is that tidied up a bit before we go to work at home, and on arrival we discovered that although my bedroom awning if it was where it should be (height window from the outside), everything else, which are the anchors that attach legs and stick it unfolds, were on my bed. And obviously, but sometimes I can be a little left, I had not prepared well. Inquiring
inquiring, I knew there had been none of my thousand folks who have keys to my house (almost all of my friends have a copy of those by way of case). Inquiring inquiring I learned that Friday night a strong wind blew on my street, and waving the sheets, and that of my room broke their anchors, and lurching beat and the neighbors were afraid, and they were bored because in summer and weekend do not put anything on TV, as they called the fire department to see what happened. That came a truck and found that indeed there was a risk, they called another truck with scale-down, and another came over (and there are already two) cuajadito more fire all year round. Who displayed the scale, which climbed the four floors on the outside, they dismantled the tent and entered through the window of my bedroom in the dark of the night for just letting me up my bed. Ada: January, February, MARZOOOOO, April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November and December everyone in my bedroom leaving stuff in bed and I ¡¡¡¡¡¡ go!! !. (Who would have known they stopped making a beer, they will not be less than Santa Claus and Reyes).
Come on, now every night when the wind blows hard, I lower my blinds, I open my windows wide open, and sleep well coiffed and made up as in the movies. But if you want rice catalina, I think I have covered my share of spectacle and will not touch me ever again in life. Bitch
my luck. Happy back to everyone.
> The Village President 
> Dario Azzellini 
