Back
in Spain, there's growing fury at what seems to have been slipshod
procedures around the treatment of 2 Ebola-infected missionaries
brought back from Africa. The result has been at least one and
possibly two infected nurses. Not terribly encouraging, is it?
Down
in Utrera in Andalucia there's an unusual Catholic church. It belongs
to the (schismatic) Christian Palmarian Church of the Holy Face
Carmelites. As these things go, it was established in 1968 on the
spot where the Virgin Mary appeared to 4 schoolgirls. Lourdes,
Fátima, Utrera - it's always young girls. Virgins, presumably.
Anyway, after the Vatican refused to pay ball and allow the place to
make a fortune, a local accountant proclaimed himself Pope
Gregory XVII. Under his aegis, the Church produced a calendar of
saints' days including such fascist figures as Saint Adolf, Saint
José Antonio Primo de Rivera, Saint José Calvo Sotelo and Saint
Luis Carrero Blanco. Things went well, in terms of parishioners,
until the accountant died but new notoriety has now been achieved by
erecting a set of statues which includes one of a haloed St Francisco
Franco. Which is surely illegal. Where are all those Vatican guards
when you need them?
The
Local has issued a timely list of what else to be cautious about
in Spain, apart from Ebola. Click here for this. The worst way to die must
surely be beneath a British cretin who's just leapt off his balcony in
a drunken stupor.
According
to my pedometer, my slog through sand yesterday took exactly zero
steps. Today I remembered to switch it on and the number was 16,399.
This works out at 12.6km, or 7.9 miles. It seemed more. The
compensation was a delicious fish stew in a tiny fishing port.
Finally
. . . The suntan cream I bought this weak was not cheap but I was
gratified to note it also serves as an anti-ageing agent. Meaning, I
hope, that I'll look younger by the end of this week than I did at
the start of it
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