a one hundred and forty ninth story...'norman's thirty ninth letter'.

Querido Rosalinda!

My ferris wheel, coconut shy, my slot machine - como estas?

Are you still at the same direccion?  Still living in Londres?  It has been a while!

And you may have been wondering whether I found El Cid (or for that matter Sophia Loren).  But it turns out El Cid has been deceased (muerto) several hundred years, and Sophia remains alive by the grace of God (albeit living in Italy or Hollywood).

You may have been wondering too what in King Juan Carlos' name I am doing with myself, save at this momento writing to you.  Well, I am at last living among friends!

London: home of the brash, outrageous and free, or so it used to be - but now London is dead!

Albaceta is my new surround, a small, dusty little town that happens to be the home of a fine circus band, run by a charismatic dago named Willy Zavatta.  Willy and company are currently wintering here, waiting to go back out on the road when the weather gets warm again to perform the most important service known to man: entertainment.

Willy, proud loud and hairy, lives in an Arabian tent, and only emerges when it is time for rehearsals.  Rehearsals are a fine spectacle, mind you, with Willy addressing via a megaphone (like a demented General Franco) his troop of juggling clowns, transsexual acrobats, mustachioed fire-eaters, and catapulting dwarves, putting them all through their paces - Quite a sight to see! (Also part of the show are two donkeys, a lion (possibly kidnapped?), and a baby elephant apparently from North Africa).

They (we) are a merry band of misfits (largely thanks to a copious intake of sherry) ... BUT IT'S OK ... Don't worry about me (them), Rosalind, I am (they seem) 'fino'.  And I don't miss city life one iota (is that a Spanish word too?), and neither does anyone else here.

No, I feel satiated!  We live in a cosy corral of rusty old caravans, and though we are poor (Willy keeps a tight rein on the purse strings), we have a mercifully simple life, we simple, happy few. Meanwhile, one of the transsexual acrobats is a marvelous cook, has us all well fed, can do eggs two hundred different ways! And if you've never been aroused by somebody peeling a potato ...

So, where do I fit in to the whole carnival?  Well, nowhere and anywhere; everywhere and nowhere.

I may not have stumbled on El Cid, yet I may just have found El Dorado instead!

There is, after all, gold in the Gypsy's palm!

Yours richly,

Norman.

... trainee lion tamer.