Down here in Nerja, it's not much like Spain. No biscuits with your coffee; ditto tapas with your wine; and too much noisy English conversation around me that I can't screen out as well as I routinely do with Spanish. All of which proves – once again - that the more tourism there is, the less you get for a money. Think Venice. For a truly dyspeptic view of the Costa del Sol, click here.
But it's certainly cosmopolitan. I've heard 3 or 4 languages I haven't recognised. Though I suppose they could all be Portuguese.
So, the collective term for bordellos? I can't deny the virtually-nil result for suggestions was a tad disappointing, with only Alfie Mittington and Perry having a go. My personal preference is a disgrace of brothels, by analogy with a pride of lions. So I won.
My sister's kitchen back home knows only two states:- 1. pristine, and 2. Stalingrad after the war. At the moment, she's going with the first of these. And so it is that the Battle of the Toaster has broken out. I use it and then, next time, find it's back in the cupboard. You know the rest. Perhaps we should call a truce and have it half-in and half-out of the cupboard. As if.
Spanish Corruption: I'm sated. Things are so bad my half-Spanish (ex)step-son told me today that Spain was now little more than a banana republic. Or it would be if it weren't a monarchy. For those wanting more on the subject, read the top 3 or 4 stories here.
With little else to do but sit in the shade, I've been able to make a start on Antony Beevor's Berlin. The Fall: 1945. Not for the first time, I've concluded it's easier reading an English book translated into Spanish that an original Spanish book. Maybe it's got something to do with shorter sentences. Or a less flowery style.
And, if you've a lingering interest in knowing where fault lies for the recent meat scandal, this will help.
And this may make you smile: A pack of wild dogs broke into Tesco's warehouse last night but by the time the police got there they'd (w)hoofed it.
And this is an update of the fate of the Priors, the unlucky British couple who were the only ones out of many thousands of candidates to have their house bulldozed by a local council. Which did wonders for foreign interest in investment in the Spanish property market.
And here, for Spanish speakers, is one of a new (but predicted) class of Spanish article, about how the EU dream is now a nightmare.
Finally . . . Is this not one of the best lyrics ever?:-
Every time I hear that march from Lohengrin,
I am always on the outside lookin' in.