Jeremy Clarke Jeremy Clarke

Sharon took to the madness of Pamplona like a duck to water

She took my hand and asked if I'd like to take some amphetamine sulphate. I said it would be a pleasant reminder of my golden adolescence

[Photo by Jasper Juinen/Getty Images] 
issue 07 June 2014

Then there was the time I took Sharon to the Pamplona bull run. She looked very fetching in the traditional St Fermín costume of white T-shirt, white cut-off jeans, red sash tied around the waist and the red neckerchief symbolising the saint’s martyrdom by beheading. She wore her neckerchief in a big rumpled V at the front, like a cowgirl.

The Sanfermines last a week. Hundreds of thousands of young revellers cram into the old fortress town’s narrow streets and cane it. As well as the famous bull runs each morning, and the evening bullfights, there are fairs and parades and marching bands and pop concerts and a nightly firework display competition that is worth going for on its own. One year the Basque separatists exploded a bomb in a side street during the festivities and no one noticed.

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