If I'd had less Campari, or rather if Campari were less toxic, I'd point you to a profusion of posts re the mistranslation of possessive pronouns in Romance languages, occasioned by confusing the third person with the polite second person form - su, or in this case el seu:
Since there is no stopping this train anyway, let me career into a Bad Santa punishment hallucination. Kindly soulds have been carefully explaining the grammatical differences between Iberian dialects and peripheral patois for at least 500 years, so some kind of beating is clearly in order, and maybe your man is concealed behind the boards, flogging all comers. If I've lost you, let me tell you that the real Bad Santa - Terry Zwigoff's - is, like his Ghost World and Crumb, simply splendid, and that its viewing might be of some comfort to anyone else condemned to spend the next few days dressed and burbling like a golf club arsehole.
(WTF do Sould Park do? I checked the website, but apart from figuring that they're in the sheds to the left when I go to Sant Antoni de Vilamajor I'm in the dark. Which may be my fault.)
(Thank you and a happy Götterdämmerung to Anon and all!)
(Discreet enquiry from upstairs: if this blog really has several hundred readers, why have only six converted themselves into members, or whatever it's called?)
(I actually like golf. One of my first steps on the path to dishonourable poverty consisted in stealing golf balls from the nooks and crannies of a rural course and reselling them at a discount.)
Labels: Sould Park