Lawrence Upton

Barcelona

"Listen to those two," she said. "They're talking cliches."

"They sound o.k.," I said.

"Oh, you and how things sound!"

"Well, they do."

"They sound as they sound. To me, they're boring and a bit stupid."

"Well, that's what they're saying, perhaps. I'm not listening to their words."

"So you agree with me." (It is, she thinks, understood between us that I agree with her; but she likes to be sure.)

"Not at all," I said. "I'm not listening to them. Showy dressers. Showy people."

"But listen to them. He's just said: 'I had this perfect dream.'" 

"Perhaps he did have a perfect dream, or thought he did," I said.

"What's a perfect dream?"

"Oh boo!"

"I see. So what he means is: 'I had this perfect oh boo.'"

"If you like."

"I don't like."

"Mind you, I do wish people wouldn't say this when they mean a or the."

"Yes? It is common."

"It's sloppy."

"Brits abroad are an embarrassment. Except I and you, of course. Sorry. I mean: me and you. Another drink?"

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