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Sunday 12th Dec 2004
And then we get into Sunday . . . this must be Bar Santiago, the last pub/bar that night for me, M****, MouseSimon. I remember trying to get a whisky here, saying to the bar-man, "Yeah. Can I have a, erm, whisky? Something like Glenmorangie but not Glenmorangie, if you know what I mean," and then this girl waiting at the bar to my right goes, "You're very rude, you know," but I didn't know, and her tone of voice wasn't at all accusatory . . . more as if she was saying, "You're a very odd person, you know," as if it was neither good nor bad. "Sorry, were you waiting to be served? I thought that, er . . . " but I think she was drunk and I couldn't work out what she was going on about. Then when I was trying to decide what whisky to get, she kept going, "Yeah, get one. It's nice. My dad likes that one," which really wasn't helping. Anyway . . . that last picture there, those are mysterious orbs, evidence of psychic phenomena, the spirits themselves, lost souls, ephemeral lifeforms at the very edge of human perception . . . or is it just water vapour? Rain, or something . . .
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