awful, awful, the ears are back! Good evening to all my friends, thought-or hoped-I had lost among the rocks and the water rides? New new, I have Pellacchia hard and every time back! I'd avoid to dwell in detail on the glycemic myeloma and definitely my week in Corsica with Tortello for me to concentrate on a new public service announcement to which I want to dedicate this post.
know that I usually generous to list the culinary skills of one or another place discovered, I will this time too, do not worry, I have in the Serbian-two niches ...- but first I want to make sure that none of you ever put foot in the hotel we chose, du Golfe Les Pavillions, and that the Columbus wisely decides to unseat soon.
Nothing to say about the cleanliness of the rooms a little larger than the living room of Polly Pocket, or exploitation of air currents which could be due to lack of use free-air conditioning-written agreement with a family of bees headed by our , now friend, Johnny (accidentally fallen in battle against the shoe of our neighbor's room). Nothing to say, even the greenhouse effect that this ... of closet cement ... generated due to the actual 35 ° C (humidity, forget that with the 42 ° C) or on the bed of polyurethane foam or something down there that caused ambiguous creaks with every movement-like bloating (Tortello I vowed that was the mattress! ). The reason why I strongly recommend immediate escape even from the website, is Mr. Pavillons du Golfe and, in general, the service.
Half course (or is said to Corsica??) And half Brazilian-born perhaps from the just mentioned urban legends tribute to the nation's Juliana Paperissima Sprint, T-shirts worn by the first day that we have seen up to our starting seven after-day, Mr. Pavillons I have the cut by small arms. He had something of that thrifty compared to the food that forces customers to a pizza dinner in the company ended.
However, apart from breakfast, we have discovered that the hotel's motto is
SEUL UNE FOIS!
(once).
The main meal of the day (or at least that's what we inculcate physicians, health-conscious guru and Kellogg's) was a buffet, but rhetorically. The passage with the tray was carefully controlled by a watchful eye, but slightly asymmetrical, Mr. Pavillons that in case of negligence, to have corporal punishment. Each customer could get a sandwich (20 cm x 4 x 4) or cereal, a croissant (Cm. 10 x 2 x 2) or a packet of biscuits, a microciotolina jam or baby food fruit (blood sugar 700%, beyond the tolerable limit cavities) or plain yogurt, a cup of something hot or a glass fruit juice. Each BIS was strictly forbidden, on pain of 52 flexion with one hand and with him sitting on the back. I saw friends spit blood ... it was awful ...
A boy, a little annoyed by the call of the day Mr. P. as a incaponitosi with orange juice, called Mr. P. himself to visit distant places in a hurry and to cease its activities battered genitals, surely you can imagine-so-friendly and completely quiet; all accompanied by a significant curve south choir from all the other diners. A family of Italian-bastard-, enjoy childhood innocence to obtain food, sending out a little more than another child of the counter, to collect food for all. But Mr. P. not done intimidated, because leaden heart transplant during the Second World War, and it did not take two minutes to fuck well babe, in tears, he ran from his mother!
And then he comes, the body builder: 200 cm x 150 kg. of pure muscle. And all I say all, the room trial was put there with my arms crossed to see the scene. While the Incredible Hulk filled the tray of croissants as large as the his little finger (and as my whole hand, so to speak), rolls, coffee, juices, desserts and bla bla bla, you hear clatter from the kitchen and a great cloud of dust comes off the door. Mr. P., with his head down and in position to charge, joins him and stands in front. Then he raises his head, almost 180 ° in order to meet the eyes of the customer the Adam's apple of Mr. P. Junoesque teased the boy's navel. One moment, a look, before his eyes against her eyes and then his eyes against the tray. Then nothing, Mr. P. was sprayed at the foot of Goliath and his pants were still clammy ... Lionheart ...
And all this just for breakfast, the meal you want to know? We'll talk about the next episode!
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