I almost never eat churros. In fact I usually only have them when I am in Jerez and can go to Manuel’s churrería in the square in front of the central market… his family have been making light crispy churros in that same spot for 3 generations. But today it was get-up-way-too-fucking-early-after-not-having-slept-in-order-to-get-blood-work-done day. Ufff.

So there I was, up way to early, feeling like crap, knees killing me and on my way to the health centre. Peter came with me as the plan was to stop off somewhere for a nice breakfast on the way home. Things at the centre were quite backed up and I didn’t get in for my turn until about 40 minutes after my appointment time. On the plus side the nurse was fantastic. I held out my arm and said “good luck!” (they can NEVER find my veins) and she just laughed, pulled up her sleeve and said “hey, I’m the same!”. In the end she got it in one poke and I was out of there. But of course it was now peak breakfast time (10.00 am).

I knew exactly what I wanted. I could almost taste it, feel the textures in my mouth… a soft toasted mollete with olive oil, tomato and jamón Ibérico. At first we thought about going to a place that does just that, but then I foolishly said “let’s look for somewhere closer to home” (this place was a bit further away and… KNEES). And thus began the long and painful trek home peeking into possible bars along the way. There was nothing. Either the toast looked like crap or (the good ones) were packed full, some even with a queue. In the end I did get my wish, in a way, stopping in at Doña Carmen, a mere two minutes from my house. At that point it had to be churros because I just didn’t care anymore. And they were fine, but not as good as Manuel’s. Anyhow, doctor’s appointment coming up soon to check test results and see if there is anything at all they can do for my knees. Some hopeful news (???) is that I have been assigned a new GP. Fingers crossed.