The Nutters of Sevilla

nutters-in-sevilla

Daisy are you out there? Photo by D0282

I met a fair few nutters on my trip around the world. The scariest was a 6ft transvestite called Daisy, who I met while on a greyhound bus on the way to L.A. She told me she was going to see her Mum because she’d got her a job as a show girl. Also on the greyhound bus were a drugged up couple. One of which was wearing illuminous pink shades. They both got off the bus at every chance to pop another pill. And not forgetting the obese Chinese guy I met in Siem Reap who had a go at me for going to see Angkor Wat because he said I should prefer seeing natural wonders of the world.

You’d expect Sevillanos to be slightly saner, and most of them are, but there are a few nutcases. During my 11 years here I’ve seen plenty of crazy people walking about, driving about, or jumping out of boxes. It normally gets worse here in the summer months. You can see people walking about talking to themselves, slowly going round the bend thanks to the heat.

Here are the top nutcases I’ve seen over the years, in chronological order. Take it with a pinch of salt, it’s only meant to be humorous.

Mrs Paquete

This nickname was thought up by my wife and me as we used to bump into this guy, or gal, and his, or her box full of surprises on a regular basis. Mrs Paquete always hung around (literally) the Alfalfa area, and it seemed as though he followed me and my wife while we were out having a coffee, tapas, or just sitting about. He had this outrageous afro haircut which made him look as though he’d been sitting on a toaster before leaving the house too.

9 out of 10 weekends we’d see him wandering around in his fishnet stockings and short mini skirt, while chain smoking, revealing to the world that she was in fact a man.

One day we just stopped seeing him. I don’t think I have for about 5 or 6 years, which I can’t say I’m bothered about. He was a special case.

Mr Loud

If you’ve ever wondered whether turrets is the same in other languages, then have no fear that it is in Spanish. I actually felt sorry for this guy. He used to come down our road when we lived just behind Calle Francos, every weekend just after lunch.

We’d know it was him, because he was the only one shouting his head off. It wasn’t a footy chant, or even a saeta, but rather a stream of swear words. His favourite phrase was ‘me cago en su puta madre’ which doesn’t have a direct translation, but basically means ‘go f&%$ yourself.’

I found out from someone that he used to be a reasonable chap, but apparently he went travelling around Europe and took a bad drug which completely played with his head. Then he came back to Sevilla and his parents disowned him and kicked him out in the streets. From the way he shouted at the apartment just up the road, I guessed that maybe that’s where his parents lived.

Poor guy, I still see him when I’m out and about in Sevilla. He’s normally hammered, wrapped in a blanket in the winter months, and almost always stinking of booze.

The Idiots-in-a-box Men

If you walk down Avenida Constitucion, then you’ll see a fair share of nutters trying to make a few bob by dressing up as either monsters, strange caterpillars, or even fairies. To stand about all day like that you have to have more than a screw loose.

The ones I hate the most, and they are still there so beware, are the Idiots-in-a-box men who try to make everyone jump. They are normally hiding in a big silver box on the corner just up from the post office. I detest them because of the way they really do make me jump, and also my kids, which would have been funny had they not been just 4 months old.

The first time they really got me, I was on the way to the post office. I was deep in thought, probably excited about the prospect of finally receiving a letter from someone, when ‘bam’ the buggers squeaked as their heads popped out of the silver box.

The worse thing was that I’d stupidly forgot my passport, so I had to go home. As soon as I went back past the bloody box, they got me again.

But I wasn’t having it.

When I picked up my passport I also got a bottle of water, ice cold too. The third time they didn’t make me jump, but rather the other way round. They got a soaking. I still remember the whinnying noise one made as the water landed on his face. I laughed all the way to the post office, and home again.

Garbage Neighbours

I’m not directly slagging off the neighbours (unlike in these blogs) in my new area of residence, which is somewhere on the outskirts of Sevilla at the end of the metro line, but merely stating a fact.

Some of the neighbours round here, and it’s quite common, take their rubbish to the local ‘bins’ by either hanging the rubbish bags off their car’s side mirror, or even balancing the bags on the bonnet while driving slowly.

The first time I saw our next door neighbour doing it, I was pretty shocked, not only because the bag was on her bonnet, and almost fell off, but because she lives 30 seconds further from the bin that me, and it only takes me 2 minutes walking. The funniest thing was watching her reverse back up the road and go home. Maybe she was ill or something and didn’t have the energy to carry the rubbish out.

Since seeing her though I’ve noticed that a lot of people do it like that round here. I can understand some logic, obviously they don’t want to get the insides of their car dirty, but it’s just a bit mental resting the garbage on their car instead of just walking round, maybe they are in a rush or something.

What about you? Are you living in Spain and have noticed a particular gathering of strange people? Would you say we are all a bit barmy for living abroad anyway?

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