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The Iberian Horseshoe — A Journey

Part IV. North East

A Very Scottish Name

Steve Porter

Global Fiction

First publication: May 2007

http://badosa.com/n250-53

The receptionist shows me into the boardroom where classes will take place. There are various technical journals on the desk and a pipe in the ashtray. The door opens and a man in his forties, with black hair and a dark freckled complexion enters.

“Jordi?” I ask. “Jordi Ros?”

“That’s me,” he says, with a big grin. “Take a seat. Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks. In fact, I already feel at home because your name sounds familiar. Do you have any Scottish relatives?”

He lights his pipe and looks mystified. “Scottish?”

“Yes. You are not the first person I’ve met called Geordie Ross. Only the spelling is different.”

“Is that right? Jordi Ros is a Scottish name?”

When I tell him my name he laughs too.

“And you are Steven Goalkeeper.”

“That’s crossed my mind before.”

I ask if he is a fan of Barça.

“Well, I used to be but it doesn’t interest me any more. The players earn too much money. Barça is just a business.”

“So you don’t like football now?”

“Oh, I still like football. But only for the taking part. My boy plays and I’m the coach of the team.”

“Great. Did he play at the weekend?”

“No, the season starts in a couple of weeks. Last weekend I went to pick mushrooms. Lots of people go out in the country for that at this time of year.”

“That sounds like a peaceful hobby.”

“Well it can be. Until the trippers from Barcelona arrive with big stereos.”

“I see. They make a lot of noise, do they? One thing, Jordi. Your English is quite good but I would call these people ‘day-trippers.’ If you call them ‘trippers,’ some people might think they are picking a very special type of mushroom.”