hurrengoa
Dear diary    Me and Imelda were in Madrid two years ago around the end of June. They say dry heat is better than close heat, that it’s supposed to be more bearable. I’m not too sure about that myself. The heat then crushed down on you and the asphalt-tasting air just scorched up your nose and into your mouth. All the same, I don’t really know which is worse; trying to bear up in that heat or trying to keep up with Imelda in that heat as she tore around Madrid stopping off at absolutely every window display she could find. Window-shopping recharges Imelda’s batteries. The more stops she sees, the bubblier and more sprightly she gets as she dashes from street to street. She never lets up until the last shop has shut shutters down on the day. I, on the other hand, have to concentrate every last drop of my energy on just keeping up with her. I have to think of ways to conserve energy just to be able to make it from one shop to the next. I can’t talk, well, I can’t walk and talk at the same time. Especially in that kind of heat.

We’re off to Madrid in June again this year, on the 28th to be exact. We have a couple of days off, so both of us are gonna head off to Madrid. We’re off to the same huge festival that’s held o Gay, Lesbian and Transsexual Pride Day that we were at two years ago. And I know that I’ll once again have to try and peel my melted self off the streets of Madrid in that unbearable heat, unable to recover, just as I was two years ago.

I’ve just been having a quick think about the events where we all get together and I think this is the only annual protest bash where we all meet up. Not that we protest about much mind you. We get together to let it rip. We’re more the frivolous types, like. If we were different, or, I don’t know... what if we were, say, mountaineers? Would we wear walking pants, hiking boots and raincoats instead of heading off to these macro-fests? Christ, thank Jaysus we’re not like that. I much prefer high heels, a dash of cleavage and a smattering of eyeliner myself. I’m not much into mountains really. I am, as Imelda was kind enough to point out to me last year, a “Mariliendres”: a hetero girl who likes hanging out with fags. The name for that in Spanish is “Mariliendres” but I don’t know how you’d say it in Euskera. I couldn’t find it in the dictionary, anyway. I couldn’t find it in the Spanish one either. There’s a lighter version in Spanish which is “gay-hetero”. Seemingly a “Mariliendres” are more of a pain in the arse, you now, they never leave their “queer” friends alone. They say that “gay-hetero-s” aren’t as bad. I personally think that “politically correct” is a more accurate definition of the term. I don’t know really, I prefer “Mariliendres” myself, I’ve grown quite fond of it.

I’ve started to ponder on what we’ll get up to and the festival and I’m really starting to buzz at the idea already. If The Balde lets me, I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. If they don’t... I’ll just have to write about it somewhere else!