I found a bar.
It's down at heel. All the seats wobble. I went into the toilets and I'm sure parts of my clothing have contracted E-coli or whatever Bird Flu's called.
The landlord's manic.
I love it.
He has a laptop on the bar wired up to his speakers and he has his iTunes account churning out late 70s/early 80s power ballads all night. Not particularlty my bag but when you've had a couple of cervezas and you're mellowed out it 's kinda nice. Foreigner, Toto, Air Supply, Starship, The Bangles - you get the drift.
The tapas is dodgy too. First course was some sort of spam burger. Ok, not great but as an appetiser with the first 'cerveza grande' not something to quibble over. The cheeky smile from the serving senorita was nice too. The second tapas was what could only be described as looking like a discarded plate of vomitted tomato puree onto a ladle of boiled rice.
It wasn't at all bad.
Bladdy good in fact. The third (a long time coming, it has to be said) was a disappointing array of mixed nuts. I was forced to forage amongst the discarded bread baskets of the tables that had had formal meals (by this stage I was also pretending to read leaflets left at the bar and written in Spanish).
Still, I'll be going back.
I like the pub and I like the landlord. The music took me back to a time when I was an indestructable kid. Music, ale, food, the whiff of youth. It's an irresistable cocktail. And all for a few Euros.