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.
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