Could someone remind me to go and pick up my laundry from the lavandaria at 5pm, please?
(I was just waiting for the elevator and the thought of doing that as a blog post amused me no end. Then an old Argentinian man came and waited next to me. He spoke English and was pissed off that his keycard was playing up. He looked like he’d spent every day of his life in the sun, and was very friendly. When he finished telling me about the keycard, he paused for a beat and then said “FUCK!” really loud, then smiled like he was really proud for remembering the word.)
Update 5.11pm: Yes! I got my laundry. And had a, I don’t think “conversation” is exactly the word, but the woman in the shop and I discussed the price of my Liverpool FC shirt.