Monday 4th November 1991.
Estrella rang me just after I got up and my mouth doesn't work too good. I'll write her.
Meet the guys in the bar and everyone's fucked - except Dom T - who's being annoyingly happy. Did he? He says not. Fucked if I know.
Shake hands with the guys, they're staying and I'm flying home. It feels bad to go.
At the airport I get upgraded by Sean Something Smith to business class despite trying to take a hand-grenade lighter through customs. That didn't go down too well.
Lee, Geoff, Omar, Graham, Dom T, Raeff, me....we came through, so to speak.
Goodnight, Madrid.
DFR - Madrid, 1991.
No comments:
Post a Comment