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and also I suspect NOT true BR species. But who cares really.

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Surely you've heard the story. A shipload of Scandinavians were wrecked on a desert island.

A year later the Danes had formed a co-operative. The Norwegians had built a boat and sailed away. The Swedes were waiting to be introduced.

RNJ

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I've posted it if interested.

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estebanana

I would be remiss if I did not place an additive on this comment, suffice my writing to stand in for a post script that the esteemed Mr. Jernigan is too modest to write himself.

The beast days of the 1960’s Ramírez shop were also the shining epoch of another Madrid institution, for these were the times of the Hotel Wellington’s famous Jernigan Suites rooms. The lair of Richard Jernigan who was also known about town as Tres Pulgas, because his alzapua was so devistating it’s if he had three thumbs working together to ratchet out notes like an air driven hammer. The Jernigan Suites were on par with the American Academy in Rome as a meeting place of the most cultured tertulias in the city. Most importantly the suites were a humanitarian oasis fulfilling a complete agenda spanning the sponsorship of great authors in residence, a science foundation dedicated and co operated by the Cousteau family, and finally a setting where the moral virtue of wayward senoritas was preserved.

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Lest newcomers should be puzzled,

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I once mentioned casually that I had staid at the Emperador during a recent visit. Vega disparaged me for being a rich tourist, while he virtuously stayed at a pensión, associating freely with the common folk.

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ORIGINAL: Richard Jernigan

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estebanana

I would be remiss if I did not place an additive on this comment, suffice my writing to stand in for a post script that the esteemed Mr. Jernigan is too modest to write himself.

The beast days of the 1960’s Ramírez shop were also the shining epoch of another Madrid institution, for these were the times of the Hotel Wellington’s famous Jernigan Suites rooms. The lair of Richard Jernigan who was also known about town as Tres Pulgas, because his alzapua was so devistating it’s if he had three thumbs working together to ratchet out notes like an air driven hammer. The Jernigan Suites were on par with the American Academy in Rome as a meeting place of the most cultured tertulias in the city. Most importantly the suites were a humanitarian oasis fulfilling a complete agenda spanning the sponsorship of great authors in residence, a science foundation dedicated and co operated by the Cousteau family, and finally a setting where the moral virtue of wayward senoritas was preserved.

Lest newcomers should be puzzled, or suspect that my friend Stephen has gotten into the shochu once again, a word of explanation.

I used to stay at the Hotel Emperador in Madrid, on the Gran Via. It was a bit down at the heel, but had an imposing exterior. The hardwood floors were comprehensively scuffed, the rugs worn out, the bathrooms clean, but tiled in glaring maroon from the 1940s. It was respectable, but inexpensive, despite its sonorous name.

Several years ago Charles Vega (RIP) frequented the Foro. (I think it was this one.) Vega was a highly skilled machinist, employed by the Physics Department at Johns Hopkins University to build specialized equipment for experiments. He also made guitars. One in particular was beautifully made of spectacular birdseye maple.

I once mentioned casually that I had staid at the Emperador during a recent visit. Vega disparaged me for being a rich tourist, while he virtuously stayed at a pensión, associating freely with the common folk.

I pointed out that the label in the only one of his guitars I had seen read "Carlos Francisco Vega," and asked whether this was how he introduced himself in Spain, while associating with the common folk.

Then I posted some preposterous bullsh1t about the Emperador, making it out to be far more posh than it was in fact.

After the death of Franco, the Gran Via began to be populated late at night by young women, scantily dressed even in winter, looking for customers. I wrote (falsely) that, out of a charitable impulse I sometimes rented a few rooms at the Emperador for them, so they could periodically warm up indoors.

Stephen and Bill Barkell chimed in with further exaggerated claims about my apocryphal "activities". Hence the "Jernigan Suites" and other fantasies.

For a while, they continued to make up humorous baloney about me. I thought it had died down, but Stephen has come through once again.

Despite this explanation, I'm not ruling out the possibility of shochu being involved.

RNJ