I burst out laughing when I walked past this shop window for the first time last week. It sits on Calle Mallorca, sandwiched between the brassy credit-card-maxing designer boutiques on Passeig de Gràcia and the slightly more genteel antique and art shops of Calle de Pau Claris.
It was love at first sight – An entire shop dedicated to sex furniture. Mobiliario erótico!
Sleek leather recliner/chaise lounge hybrids, variously shaped floor cushions which probably need user manuals, and the pièce de résistance, a convulsing white bed in a pool of soft focus light.
In keeping with my carefully cultivated blasé city slicker attitude, I ran home and told everybody. I even threw in some enthusiastic pumping arm movements by way of illustration, but my (truly blasé) friends remained unimpressed.
A lesser journalist would have abandoned the story by now, but not me. Somewhere in this city there was a lonely unappreciated bed convulsing obscenely in a window, and by god people were going to know about it!
So I walked by yesterday, equipped with my phone camera on video mode, but as I rounded the corner I saw a couple of workers taping up a giant bed sized cardboard box on the pavement. Did someone buy the bed? No. Much worse. There were more cardboard boxes, brown paper blocking out the windows, and written in big scary pink letters across both windows – liquidación!
Oh hell! The damn recession claimes another victim. Civilization is in serious trouble when erotic frolicking takes a hit. Is nothing sacred anymore?
For those of you who care, this is what we lost –