A coronal, a captain, a masseuse and an Irishman walk into a restaurant,
Pretty sure that's normally the start of a joke but it was more like an education on life.
A family fight, racism, dancing with a beautiful woman and listening to Frank Sinatra, I guess That's Life.
I wanted to leave at the family fight but my friend the pilot, stopped me. "This is Spanish life, this is normal, just relax", he said.
Joining the captain and me was a mutual friend who was a masseuse and we went to her brother's restaurant where we met an American coronal who was drinking there.
The restaurant owner's wife was incredibly quiet, all night. Young and beautiful, I wondered if she was a Russian bride as she seemed subservient and so much younger than the owner.
Talk drifted from maintenance costs of a Porsche to owing a Ferrari to Africa. The owner advocates for white supremacy over the darker continent and the natural suppression of the strong over the weak.
My defence of humans and humanity proved unpopular and I started to think that his wife must be Spanish as I can't imagine him tolerating any other nationality.
The masseuse's daughter was bored at the end of the bar and played with her cousin in the corner but I suggested leaving as the kids were wrecked tired. Some classics started to play and the dancing began.
The masseuse danced, beautifully with me, then the captain and then her brother. That intoxicating feeling of dancing with someone who really knows how to dance.
Can I be Frank?
I've never really enjoyed Sinatra much before and like Al Pacino's character Coronal Frank Slate, I'm completely blind. "I'm in the dark."
Dancing blindly to the scent of a woman.
She switches to the pilot and then to her brother with an unnatural closeness, the coronal just watches on.
Being Irish I'm not used to the beautiful and sensual way Spanish women dance but my friend, I believe, had dated a Flamenco dancer.
We sit and we drink, I order a Jameson.
Then talk of a Safari comes up, my friend the pilot suggests that a big group of us should go to Africa and that it will take two weeks.
An expensive trip, I'm not invited to.
I've never owned a German or Italian Supercar with a horse on the hood unlike some in the group and I'm not about to swim to Africa.
I'm sure my friend could easily Fly away.
My friend explains the dangers of Johannesburg, "Imagine this bar, you keep your back to the wall, watching the windows, a 9mm pistol hidden under this handbag," as he points at the masseuse's handbag.
"Thiefs and rapists will check for weapons first, the gun is loaded with a bullet in the chamber."
Suddenly I appreciate our bar, my only danger the owner, jealous or over protective he wants to kill me when his sister sits on my lap.
I suggest clay pigeon shooting instead of safari and the NATO tank commander chimes in, "That's the cruellest of all sports, they clip the
bird's wings so they fly in a circle. It's easier to hit them" the coronal continues, "I could never kill an animal." I'm not sure what sport that is but I don't think it's in the Olympics. I showed the coronal a plate and said, this is what you shoot. "Oh, Clay discs," he says deflated,
Yeah, shooting clays, the cruellest of all sports.
I don't know if I had a good night or a bad night but I certainly had an education in life that night.
Thanks old blue eyes
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