In a development that has sent tremors through the wine-dark heart of the Costas, a Spanish train has spectacularly departed the rails during a tapas festival. The incident, which occurred near the picturesque town of Cambrils, has left the UK tourism sector aghast, not at the casualties, but at the sheer lack of foresight in the beverage service. Early reports suggest the driver may have mistaken the throttle for a particularly aggressive chorizo.
Meanwhile, the British Foreign Office has issued a statement advising holidaymakers to 'exercise caution when choosing between the calamari and the paella.' One witness, a Mr. Algernon Smythe-Ponsonby from Tunbridge Wells, was quoted as saying, 'I was halfway through a rather decent tortilla when the world turned sideways.
The sangria held up admirably, though.' The train, an Alvia class 114, was carrying 137 passengers, many of whom were mid-graze. The UK tourism board, in a display of characteristic stiff-upper-lip-ery, has warned that 'certain levels of endangerment may be considered acceptable when balanced against the cultural enrichment of a good patatas bravas.
' One can only imagine the boardroom discussions: 'Safety is paramount, but have you considered the profit margins on churros?' The cause of the derailment remains under investigation, but preliminary findings suggest a combination of human error, track conditions, and perhaps an over-reliance on the idea that 'Spain is basically fine.' The irony of a train overturning during a celebration of small dishes is not lost on this correspondent.
It is a metaphor, if you will, for the entire British relationship with Europe: a wobbly, overcrowded vehicle hurtling towards a gastronomic delight, only to end up in a ditch. But no matter. From this wreckage, I have salvaged a valuable lesson: never trust a railway that insists on calling its first-class carriage the 'Croqueta Cabin.
' Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a sudden, pressing need to drown this sorrow in a vat of rioja.
