I just want some writing paper

Viv wanted me to post a letter so a trip to the Correo was in order. As luck would have it, the internet bill arrived just as I was about to leave. I hate queuing there so it saved me an extra trip. Inside I took my number, 74. The number on the display was 60, so I thought I was in for a long wait. Then suddenly the numbers rolled up, lulling me into a false sense of security. There was a woman at the table near me filling a form in, she started asking me questions about it. “Don’t ask me, I can’t even use the bank machine” I thought, but instead I just said “soy extranjero” and she seemed satisfied.

Next some guy came up to me ranting about how slow they are, (Well it’s your country mate) I told him he should try coming earlier, but he just went on about how inefficient they are. Well I can’t argue with that, actually I cannot argue with it, I didn’t have the words. When my number came up I was glad to get away, but so befuddled I got Vivs shopping money mixed up with my bill money.

I got to the dietetica still confused and gave her too much. My mind now so mixed I could not even say I was having a bad day. It went better in the chino, and I came out with the fruit and steak for tonight.

At Salon Canning we arrived early with Paloma and Hubert and sat with them in our usual place. As is normal here early on there were few women but Viv still struggled. When she was up with Hubert I had to miss one tanda as all the women were up and there were still men to spare. This situation did not last but the numbers never reached there usual level.

The couple from Cumbria were here, they did not dance much and always together. We thought about getting them up, but thought better of it, we will try in Fulgor on Sunday.

On the way back we stopped for some lemon for Vivs throat and an onion for the steak. These veg shops never have air con and the guy was sat outside, never the less happy to have custom. On the next block is a libreria, Viv wanted some writing paper, so we went in.  Sat in a chair was a guy who had served us before who spoke English, but the guy standing was not letting him up and rushed over. He’ll regret this.

“Un block para cartas?”  I asked, blank face. “Papel para escribir?”  I tried, he still looked blank. “escribo” there was a spark of recognition. Then he showed us a reporters pad. I was of course forgetting that anyone under the age of thirty has no idea what a letter is. We gesticulated the spiral binding, having no idea what it was in Spanish. “No esto” eventually we got a writing pad, but it was hard work and the guy who spoke English was just loving it.

Then it was home to the steak. And they tasted of the steak and it was good.

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Filed under Argentina, milonga, Tango

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