Vodka Hands

The moment you shake hands with someone, and immediately after, wish to bathe in pure alcohol.

Once again I am back in 'sunny' Spain. Its always a bit disconcerting when you arrive in Madrid to bright blue skies and enough sun to allow a Scots man's holiday to last a day, immediately fly home, and have a skin red enough to rival a lobster's. Then to step onto another flight and two hours later arrive in a climate much similar to the one you left in England. I.e. Rain, grey skies and enough fog to not allow you to see 10 metres in front of you. Please remind me who came up with this sun, sand and sea stereotype so that I can take them to Galicia; because it really, really isn't true.

Anyway, Mamma has decided that I should broaden my social life from my laptop, a bottle of Galician Baileys and my fan heater and that I should go out and mix with the youth of Spain. This would be a lovely concept if I actually wanted friends out here. Don't get me wrong, I'm very sociable, but the thought that by the time I've been able to stabilise enough friendships I'd have to fly home again doesn't really appeal to me. On the other hand I'm also a pushover, so a man date was arranged for Sunday between me and a Brazilian that potentially spoke English. Normally I would accept this meeting with arms wide open and a smile from ear to ear. Unfortunately this Brazilian was male and 16. If the fact that he was the same sex as me was enough to put me off, the fact that after shaking his hand I wished to bathe in pure alcohol was. It's not every person you meet, that you ask yourself. If you have that wierd yellow stain down one half of your hand should I really be touching it?

So here I am, Baileys on one side, fan heater on the other and laptop on my lap. Bliss.