okay – i admit that i stretched the truth a bit in my last post, but only a bit. i do not speak in a beautiful irish tenor, though several women have told me i do speak in a nice tenor voice, but my admittedly unorthodox proposal regarding researching portfolio managers did get a mixed reaction, and get me all-expenses-paid to Ibiza for five days, sans dogs, sans partner, with the result that i am now temporarily less white and, more permanently, now and forever loathe drunken tourists from england. michel houellebecq’s observations in his novel lanzarote seem to me to be wholly on the mark:
It is apparent that the Englishman is not motivated by a keen appetite for discovery. Indeed, one may observe that he is not interested in architecture, landscapes, in anything whatsoever. In the early evening, after a short trip to the beach, he is to be found drinking bizarre cocktails.
drunken english tourists: right fuckin’ wankers & tossers they are.
the evening redness in the west 