Albaricoques

I WAS HEADING SOUTH TO SEVILLE AND HAD PROMISED TO SEE MY AUNTY ANDREA WHO LIVES ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF MADRID. I COULD SMELL LUNCH FROM THE LIFT-WELL ON THE BOTTOM FLOOR OF HER BLOCK OF FLATS. SHE GREETED ME WITH THE USUAL AFFECTION AND SCANNED ME WITH HER ONE GOOD EYE. SHE KNEW SHE COULD KEEP ME THERE AS LONG AS SHE LADLED OUT THE COCIDO, THE RICH CHICKEN STOCK FLAVOURED WITH JAMÓN, AROMATIC CHICKPEAS, THE MEATS AND SAUSAGES. I WOULD HAVE GONE STRAIGHT AFTER LUNCH HAD IT NOT BE