Summary
EIGHT years ago, I had a dream. Instead of frittering away the redundancy money from the football magazine I'd edited, which had closed abruptly on the eve of the World Cup finals in France while I was nursing a broken collarbone and bruised ego, I'd kiss goodbye to boring Blighty, move to sunny Seville and open a bar.
Friends would come to visit me, wandering the narrow streets of the Andalucian capital and asking for directions for El Wavy's, to which locals would respond, "Senor Hueve? Si! Si! This way, por favor."See the full content of this document
Extract
David Cottrell ; Bringing a Little Flavour of the World to Our City Centre Retail Therapy/Stuff
And there I'd be, leaning over a fancy balcony as the sun cast orange-tree shadows on the pavement, perhaps in a paisley dressing- gow...
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