In the late 1980s, Tim Parfitt talked his way into a job at Condé Nast in London and, from there, into a six-week stint in Madrid to help launch Spanish Vogue. But six weeks soon turned into nine years, and helping out transformed into running the company. During his stint, Tim discovered a booming city in hedonistic reaction to years of fascism, where the evenings lasted until dawn, sleep was something you only did at work, and five hour lunches invariably involved a plate of bull's testicles. Frothing with a language designed to make foreigners dribble, hospitalized by tapa-induced flatulence, and constantly frustrated by the unapproachable beauty of the women parading through the Vogue offices, he nevertheless fell in love with a city, a country, and its people—despite the fact he rarely has a clue what they’re talking about. Tim Parfitt's rise from unwanted guest to paparazzi-pursued mover in Spain's glamorous social scene is a hilarious comedy of errors.