In the meantime it was almost eerily quiet.
Although some bars were busy, I suspect may of Puerto’s inhabitants were viewing at home, possibly a crisis measure.
I trawled around the streets, accompanied only by life’s detritus, a stray dog and a stray man pushing his home in a PADILLA trolley. If ever we think there are problems in our lives there is invariably someone worse off.
An Argentinean I know who runs a bar proclaimed esta noche somos rojos…I wonder what would have happened had the albicelestes made the final…and yes after my recent peregrinations around that part of the world I had been fingering a rather large Argentine flag in my possession…however my landlord bade me not hang it from the balcony.
Evidently at some point the Dutch manager publicly stated …his team were there to win not entertain… Sadly, the guys in orange team did neither, although were La Selección much better?
And so, I ended up standing at a hut that is a bar outside the church…the final whistle finalized proceedings and started the party …whisking me from sublime tranquillity to an almost electrical torment in one chaotic step …
…¡ESPAÑA….ESPAÑA…ESPAÑA!
Anyone for Brazil?
