Valencia 2010 - Crusty Takes A Pit Stop.

Whenever one has time to spare on a long journey in España, one likes nothing better than taking advantage of the food on offer in the location one is visiting. This was certainly the case when one found oneself at Barcelona Sants train station during the recent trip to Valencia.

As Chu Me tended to the luggage from the metro train, one ascended the narrow escalatorial mechanism into the bustling heart of the station and immediately made one’s way to the ARS over in the corner. It is, by no means, the biggest ARS one has come across, however, its wide entrance makes it ideal for pushing your luggage up and once inside yourself, one can feast on the fresh and tasty morsels packed within.

A gin, a filling tortilla Española sandwich and a few glasses of delicious Pere Ventura Cava later and one was refreshed and ready for the next stage of our journey on the 4 o’clock Euromed.

The usual 1st class service was provided by the two delicious young attendants. One in particular caught one’s eye; 6ft 3, slim and dressed in shirt, waistcoat and teasingly tight trousers. As the train got up to speed, he came into the carriage offering his tray of delights; Cava, orange juice or sherry. The liquids rippling in their chilled glasses as the hunky hombre swayed with the motion of the carriage.

One watched his glinting smile as he served the other passengers and one’s heart began to beat swiftly as he moved toward one’s seat.

“Buenas tardes, Dame Crusty. ¿Toma Cava? ¿Zumo? ¿Jerez?”

“One thinks a glass of Cava, dear” One replied in velvety tones.

“I have nuts too.” He continued in his delightful broken English.

One’s eyes rolled downward (like an off-licences security shutter after a quick yank) and focused briefly - and scandalously - on his downstairs area.

“Indeed you do, dear!” One flirted, leaning towards him. ”One will most definitely have a nibble on those.”

Imagine one’s surprise – and disappointment – when one was handed a rather nondescript, air-tight, foil bag of peanuts and dried fruit.

Anyhoo … the remainder of the journey was extremely pleasant, to say the least, and once the train had settled in Valencia Nord station, the delightful young attendant took one’s hand to help one step from the 1st class carriage onto the tiles surface of the platform. Standing erect, he continued to hold one’s hand before bowing in a gentlemanly fashion and kissed the back of one’s hand, “It was a pleasure, Dame Crusty.”

“And it could have be far more so, had it not been for the shrivelled up raisins.”

Taking a deep breath of the moist Valencian air, a smile emerged on one’s face when one thought a short distance by taxi and one would once again be in the penthousal perfection of Crusty Towers with those two magnificent erections standing proud outside one’s window.

Crusty - Devastated Once More!

Crustettes will know that one is currently enjoying a short break away in Valencia, at Crusty Towers, with my faithful houseboy, Chu Me. It is very sad that one’s time here is drawing to an end but Crusty can never tire of returning to her beloved Crusty Hall.

This morning, very early (I like to keep the staff on their toes), I telephoned the household to ensure preparations were being made for my return. A member of the staff informed me all would be ready and the Bentley would be waiting to collect Crusty and Chu Me from Newcastle International on our arrival.

I attempted to catch the girl out by confirming all news reports from my poppet, Mark makes-my-mouth-water Warr had been recorded on Sky Plus but as the girl tried to answer (forgive me, I don’t know her name – one can’t remember them all!) there was a horrrrreeennnnndddrrrrrous howling in the backround.

“What on earth is going on?!" I yelled, "I hope my Hall is not being used for an S & M club?!”

“No, Mistress,” she replied, “that horrible woman you dislike is back doing the GMTV North East bulletins! Her voice has set off all the dogs in the village.”

The poor dear seemed petrified as she broke this news to me.

“SHE IS WHAT???!!!!” I exclaimed. “Cancel ALL recordings she is involved in, Crusty does not want to see that face splattered over her 28 incher!”

I immediately slammed down the telephone and called one of my contacts via international Gusset-phone to ensure I was not being toyed with – like a kitten plays with a ball of string.

It was true! My levels of devastation were incalculable and even throwing an empty Cava bottle from the balcony of my eighth floor penthouse and hitting a tramp beautifully on the back of head as he rooted through the bins next to Torres de Quart made Crusty feel any better.

One doesn’t know what those in power at Tyne Tees are trying to prove in this perverse game they are playing; teasing us with my poppet and his glorious news delivery and those eyes – like cool, deep pools of tranquillity, placed artistically on a landscape of gorgeousness - for a couple of weeks, then thrusting the dagger of the squinty, eyelash flapping, canine vocal qualities of Helen PeengPong (or some such fancy) upon the North East of England and Border regions (Mariah Scary can hit a high C?… you want to listen to GMTV North East new bulletins, dear, this one can bring an aircraft down with the morning headline!)

Though my fury and devastation are immense and I am feeling vibrations of anger in places I didn't know existed, I must rejoice and take solace in the fact that I am still able to take my little Marky aurally for three hours on a Sunday afternoon or during the early hours of the morning, depending on the slot those clever executives at Smooth Radio give him.