I’ve received a lovely invitation to a “friendly breakfast and chat” with the Andalusian Minister for Tourism, Francisco Javier Fernández Hernández, next week up in t’big city. Why, it was addressed to me personally and everything. Except for the gold rimmed border.
Now, I’m not sure if I received the invite because:
- I am an important and respect businessman in the expat tourism sector;
- I once foolishly took out an advert with La Voz (who are sponsoring the shindig) and they are no-holds-barred in trying to get me to repeat my mistake
I shall pretend it is 1) whilst secretly knowing there is a great deal of 2) mixed in.
Anyway, let us imagine that I am bored enough to turn up:
What tourism question would you ask this Personage that would make him choke on his jam tostada?
(Bearing in mind that I don’t know the Heimleick manaeouver, although I assume his security detail does).
Joking aside, I used to get quite a few of these invites. I remember one with President Griñán – as I left the Parador cafeteria I politely tapped the shoulder of an elderly grey haired bloke who was in the way and asked him to shift. I was quickly surrounded by nasty looking men in black suits – yep, it was my one and only meeting with the President of Andalucía. Oh, and he didn’t move, he just looked at me as if I was something on the end of his shoe, and his flunky stepped aside so I could continue. (Thinking quickly, I shouted “muchee grassyass, viva españa” over my should so he would assume I was a holidaymaker, and not set his goons onto finding where I lived so he could crush me like a bug. So far, it’s worked).