...where they have no cyrillic letters. If those morons only new what I am using their rotten press-center for!

Well. Guess what. There are palm-trees here.

Palm-trees! Now go look outside. See the point?

Now, dear diary, I only ventured into this funny press-center because I wanted to share with you the notion that those people are weird. Real weird, so they are. They iron my shirt and they charge my bill for that, the BMW company pays the bill, so the BMW company pays for their own pleasure to see me here in an ironed shirt, all nice and shiny. On the other hand, they also pay for my beer, unlimited. Can you see the paradox? They can't. They ARE weird. Some of them even speak Spanish: Buenos Dias! Others speak German; their are senior and that's them who pay for my beer and for the shirt and all.

It is only 9.30 in the morning and I have already had some fun and now I am going for a wee walk. I will see the city of Valencia, where they say there is a river and a big church. I think I will go and see both, and then I will come back and have some more beer.

Bye-bye, dear diary! Give my love to all! all! Kisses.