Dawn

Dawn

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

El Mundo is boasting that - thanks to its non-stop campaigning – 67% of Spaniards don’t trust the findings of the commission of investigation into the Madrid bombings of 2004. I’m sure they’re right and that, without this campaign, the figure would have been as low as 66%. Or even 65.

Here I go being positive again but I had a not-unpleasant chat with my mobile phone provider today. They seemed at pains to ensure I knew the consequences of me changing my tariff to bring the cost of my calls to my daughter in Madrid down from the stratosphere. And they were very courteous. Of course, I had to give all my personal details at least twice - my ID number alone not being enough - but this is par for the course and I am almost inured to this now. Plus I employ a pet parrot for this part of the conversation. And to be positive yet again – I have a sneaking suspicion I’m being better treated on zebra crossings these days. Perhaps the city’s drivers have all heard of the crazy Englishman who challenges them to stop by walking in front of their cars in a bad impersonation of an arrogant and fearless matador.

Here in Pontevedra we have several distinct types of beggar. The lowest class comprises the emaciated drug addicts, constantly in search of funds for ‘a sandwich’. After them come the Romanian women who populate the traffic lights and approach every car, with a success rate of about one in a hundred, I guess. Then there are the gypsy harridans selling charms and who are only too eager to curse me for refusing their entreaties and asking them, in effect, to go away. Above these are a couple of reasonably dressed middle-aged men, one of whom goes about his business by thrusting his face into yours before whispering his demands into your nostrils. At the top of this unimpressive pile are the better-than-reasonably-dressed middle-aged men who either stand in the middle of the pavement offering you packets of tissues or, even more pathetically, sit on a doorstep gazing fixedly into the ground in an attitude of total despair. These always have a little bit of folded cardboard in front of them, telling you they have no job nor recourse to assistance. They look so respectable I’m invariably tempted to ask why on earth they have sunk to these depths. And why they – alone in Spain – have no family to help them. Or no rights to assistance from the state. But I never do.

I forgot to say yesterday I get 30 SPAM messages a day to each of 3 addresses. Or 90 a day in total. It might be more; I never check the fourth address.

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