As it’s Sunday, today’s blog is confined to another 3-year compilation. The compensation is that it’s on the subject of WOMEN. So, lighting the blue touch-paper . . .

2003/4

It is one of the admirable features of Spanish life that mothers and daughters are often seen arm in arm. This can present some remarkable sights, with the daughter being 20 per cent taller but at least 50 per cent thinner. I’m told that, to achieve their low weight, the daughters subsist on a diet of cigarettes and fruit. One is left wondering at what point they throw in the towel and bow to the counter pull of at least some of the genetic factors. After the first child, perhaps.

In a local newspaper, the women of Galicia have been categorised as follows:-

La Coruña: The most fashionable

Vigo: The most modern [No, I don’t know the difference, either. Perhaps it means they wear shapeless trousers and trainers]

Ferrol: The most beautiful, because there is a large naval base there

Pontevedra: Not mentioned. One lady friend has suggested ‘The biggest snobs’

There has been quite brouhaha here about half the new cabinet posing in the Spanish edition of Vogue. The female half, of course. Some felt that this was all rather demeaning and damaging to the image of a [socialist] government which has positioned itself as pro-women and anti-machista. I was rather more interested in a short headline in Spanish which managed to incorporate not only fashion but also new-look.

It’s an ill rain that brings no good. Our delugial August has been bountiful, it seems, for the sun-bed businesses of Pontevedra. These have been overwhelmed by young women desperate to go back to work in September bronzed to the colour – and in some cases the texture – of a walnut.

Only 74% of Spanish women breast feed their babies. It must do something to the figure. Or interfere with shopping and talking.

It’s the fur coat season so lots of mink in town midday today. Under an unseasonably strong sun, the temperature was actually above 20C but such a piffling detail is of no relevance to ladies who are determined to strut.

I see that, back in the UK, young women are becoming more like young men and vice versa. But not as was hoped. The men are spending more on grooming and the women on drink. In fact, British young women are now said to be the heaviest drinkers in Europe. Is this really what their mothers fought and died for in the Great Gender Wars of the last century?

2005

Two more interesting social surveys this week. The first revealed - to my surprise at least – that Spanish youngsters are now the fattest in Europe after those of Malta. The second informed us that – in the space of a single generation – young Spanish women have reduced the average age of first sexual intercourse from 21 to 17. Needless to say, this too came as a surprise to me.

I’ve been asked to draw some comparisons between Merseyside and Spain. So..

The most obvious similarity is that both Scouse and Spanish women look rather brown. In the former case this owes less to the sun than to the tanning salons that dot the more depressed areas of Wallasey, Birkenhead and Liverpool.

On a similar theme, the most obvious difference is that, whereas Spanish women have faces that are colour-coordinated with, say, their legs, Scouse women sport a leery orange hue above the neck. Maybe this is the cosmetic fashion. Or perhaps cigarette smoke reacts with the tanning creams.

In both places, young women display a considerable amount of flesh, especially around the midriff. However, Spanish women wisely leave this until summer, whereas Scouse women eschew coats and even jackets when the temperature is as low as 7 degrees and an icy wind is blowing through St John’s market.

Finally, both places are noisy, reflecting the ebullience of the local/national character. If you got on an EasyJet plane for Liverpool thinking it was going to Luton, you’d soon become aware of your mistake. Likewise a train from Euston to Lime Street. Spaniards probably love Liverpool. But, then, everyone tends to. Once they can understand the irreverent locals.

The Organisation for Women has asked the relevant TV channel to alter the words of this year’s Spanish Eurovision entry, on the grounds that they’re sexist. The ditty in question is a ‘love song’ from three Andalucian sisters, containing the words ‘You dominate me with just a look” and “You don’t need ropes to tie me down.” With sisters like this, who needs macho mayors?

It was 30 degrees here both yesterday and today and I have been hugging the shadows so as to keep the sun off my melanin-poor skin. The sun and its warmth are welcome of course but spring temperatures at this level are clearly confusing the locals. The young women don’t know whether to stay in their winter coats of go for what we might call the ‘almost nothing’ look. Happily, several of them have opted for the latter.

A final comment on my filming experience of last Friday. Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of an interesting day was the heights of coquettishness achieved by one of the female members of the film crew. This is an art at which Spanish women excel but I’ve never seen it done better. Sadly, it wasn’t directed at me but at the other British shipwrecked corpse. I rather got the impression that, if I hadn’t been there, she’d have been only too pleased to administer the kiss of life until the poor man expired again of other causes. He just seemed bewildered.

Stimulated by the events of Friday, I’ve been musing today about Spanish women. In this I was assisted by the fact it was another very hot day here in Pontevedra. I do hope I don’t live to regret saying this but it’s hard to imagine there are women elsewhere more feminine, more willing to chat, more responsive to even the mildest compliment and more tactile in their conversation. All of this would be hard enough for an Anglo-Saxon male to deal with if Spanish women dressed like Eskimos. But, of course, they don’t. Or not like the ones outside the igloo anyway. So it’s hardly surprising that my young English friend is very disconcerted by what has hit him since Friday. He has a rendezvous tomorrow with the lady in question and hopes to clarify a few things. I am not optimistic on his behalf. But we will see.

My young English friend didn’t get things clarified last Thursday. After days of protesting her infatuation for him, they temptress called just before the meeting she’d demanded to say he should know she just wanted to be friends. He didn’t believe her. And he was wrong. So, he’s even more confused now. Ruminating on the implications, we’ve tentatively concluded that one reason for Spanish women playing these games is that their menfolk don’t look down on women who throw themselves at them. In fact, in a macho culture, they may well demand it.

The Galician President, Mr Fraga, said on Friday that no-one could be more supportive of equality for women than him. In fairness, one would have to say this must be true as his daughter was a minister in the last government. Doubtless on merit.

Mr Fraga returned to the subject of women yesterday, when someone asked him why he thought there were so many Don’t Knows in the opinion polls. ‘Well’, he said, ‘People don’t always tell the truth. Like, for example, when you ask a woman how many men she’s slept with’. Needless to say, his response to the storm of criticism this provoked was that he’d been quoted out of context. I say ‘storm’ but, in truth, it was a very small one, the feminist movement being virtually non-existent in Spain.

It’s been sunny and very hot for several weeks now but officially summer only began yesterday. What this means – in this informal/formal country – is that we men can now wear shorts in town without being looked at askance for getting ahead of ourselves. Needless to say, this restriction doesn’t apply to women. Especially as what they wear here seems specifically designed to get them looked at. It certainly works with me.

In Spain, coffee comes in two forms – 1. basic strong, Columbian, and 2. even stronger torrefacto. The latter is double-roasted and fine ground until it is what John Hooper has called ‘the gastronomic equivalent of ‘Semtex’ [The New Spaniards]. As he says, the Spaniards’ addiction to this brew is ‘all of a piece with a nation in which there is very little that is bland, gentle or reassuringly soft’. Including the women, I might add.

Looking at a picture of a group of local young women last night, it struck me that the photo could have been taken any time over the last few decades. For, in truth, young Spanish women have looked pretty much the same throughout this period – long dark hair, figure-hugging top and tight, flared trousers or jeans. To be sure, sometimes there’s been a little more midriff and/or underwear on display than at others but essentially it’s the same outfit. In 5 years, I can’t recall seeing a single young woman in Pontevedra wearing anything like a shapeless, unflattering pair of baggy trousers. Nor many older women, for that matter. And some of the latter would certainly have benefited from a degree of bagginess.

I read in a UK newspaper today that ‘Women designers have sounded the death knell for thongs and mottled midriffs’. I wonder if this is connected with the onset of cooler weather.

I’ve noted before the Spanish are very informal unless they are extremely formal. This applies to clothes in particular, where ‘smart casual’ is nearly always the order of the day. But it still comes as something of a shock to see a [lady] government minister turning up for a TV interview in her jeans. But, then, this garment – being flattering and provocative – is the most essential part of almost every Spanish woman’s wardrobe.

So far at least, October’s weather has been even better than September’s. So confusion is still rife on the fashion front. Some young ladies are still in their summer uniform of very little above the hip bone and jeans below, whereas – at the other extreme - there are those determined to show off their new tweeds and boots. The former seem decidedly more comfortable at this stage.

Spain’s leading department store, the Corte Inglés, is advertising the latest female fashion for this autumn and winter. This turns out to be short, moleskins jackets and – for the 40^th consecutive year- denim jeans. Albeit embroidered, rather than bleached.

2006

As is well known, the Spanish favour superlatives. So, women here are never just ‘pretty’ [bonita] but at least ‘beautiful’ [guapa] and frequently ‘very beautiful’ [guapisima]. In fact, if you tell a woman she’s merely bonita, I suspect you run the risk of making what the Spanish call una indirecta. In other words, everyone [especially her!] will think you’re accusing her of being ugly. In such a way are words devalued. One small but telling example of Spanish hyperbole is that here young girls are not called Princesa but Reina, or Queen. The same is true of young bitches.

Some more wonderful Spanglish – Young Spanish women are said to fall into one of two basic groups: On the one hand we have La techno-woman, who is at ease with modern technology. And on the other, we have La mujer off-line. Who isn’t. So she won’t be reading this.

My lovely Spanish friend, Marta, has torn a strip off me for being horribly nasty to Spanish people. So I guess it’s time to wheel out my usual defence to the criticism that I’m more negative than positive about Spain. Firstly, I admit there’s a bias but believe it’s unavoidable. I write about what interests and amuses me in the hope this is true for others. It’s a sad truism that people are far more interested in bad news than good news. So no one is going to hit my blog for regular paeans of praise to things Spanish; there are guide books for this. Secondly, I hope my love of Spain and Spanish people nonetheless shines through. If not, there are some items in the Spain section of my web page [colindavies.net] which should redress the balance. [Though not my early Observations, which are similarly based.] Finally, there are some huge positives about which I cannot write. For example, if I said I adore the way Spanish women are beautiful, sexy, coquettish and tactile, I would run the risk – on my annual trip to the UK – of being arrested by the British thought police for at least sexism and possibly [at my age] for paedophilia. So I don’t say this sort of thing. Though I do get quite close to it at times. Anyway, Marta is going to post her thoughts, so others can take up the subject with her as they wish.

I’ve mentioned once or twice that Spain’s leading cosmetic surgery company goes in for ads which leave nothing to the imagination. To say the least, they are in-your- [rejuvenated]-face. Their latest offering is a large picture of a woman of impossible physical architecture, above whom is the line – You don’t need to have a pact with the Devil to restore your youth. I appreciate that women everywhere in today’s post-feminist age are under tremendous pressure to achieve and retain beauty but I can’t help feeling things are even more oppressive here than elsewhere. Which is why, I suppose, so many of them starve and/or smoke themselves into skinniness. And sun themselves into the features of a walnut. It rather makes me feel guilty about finding Spanish women so attractive. Not that any of them are doing it for me, of course.

It seems to me Galician women tend to become very square after the age of 50. They then top off this look, literally, with a short-cropped hairstyle which resembles a German military helmet of the Second World War. So I think I’ll look elsewhere for my third wife.

The Minister of Defence has said it would be a very good thing if half the generals in the armed forces and the national police were women. And I don’t think he was talking about just the Catering Corp. Sometimes one gets the impression Spain is trying a little too hard to shake of its macho reputation. But I don’t suppose the women object.

Today is the International Day of Women. In Spain it coincides with the introduction of a new statue entitled The Law of Equality. This is aimed at closing the considerable gap between men and women here. As the father of two daughters – one of whom works in Madrid – I can only say Not before time. For, against whatever parameter you care to chose [except longevity!], women come a poor second here. The headline-catching deficiency is in pay, where women take home 40% less than men. Scarcely credible as it seems, this is said to be for the same work and not just a national per capita average. It may well explain a statistic I read last year, viz. that most of new jobs in the previous 12 months had gone to women, usually on easy-to-terminate short contracts. Meaning, by the way, most of those jobs which hadn’t already gone to even-cheaper ‘foreigners’. Altogether, it doesn’t look as if it’s earnings growth which is pushing Spain’s inflation to levels way above the EU average.

In contrast to the snow and ice of the UK, we’re experiencing temperatures in the 20s. These have naturally allowed the women of Pontevedra to give us a hint of the likely fashion for the real summer. This turns out to be skimpy tops, plenty of bare midriff and tight jeans. So, much the same as last year/decade. Except the jeans are knee length and finished off with either stiletto-heeled boots or long socks with flat shoes. God knows what it would take to get a young Spanish woman into loose trousers. Certainly not the allegedly tyrannical fashion industry. As I always say at this point, this is not a criticism; just an observation.

The author J K Rowling has, understandably, inveighed against a media which promotes skinniness in adolescent and even pre-pubescent girls. The question that springs to my mind is - If this pressure is really so great [and I believe it is], why are so many young women in the UK so overweight? Or 'fat' as we used to call it. Perhaps the only ones affected are those who figure among the increasing number that leave school here without the ability to read the relevant magazines. Though merely looking at the pictures would probably be just as effective, I guess.

There was a touching cri-de-coeur from a young woman in El Mundo today. It includes many of the complaints made by today’s young Spaniards. Here it is in full…

I suppose reason and logic lie behind their words. However, for some time I’ve been tired of the comments of reporters, philosophers, columnists and a variety of others about our generation – we are conformists, we don’t have values, the only thing that interests us is boozing, and that if we mobilise like French youth it’s because of self-interest and not because we have values.

Well, I’ve reached the point where I’m tired of all this. I’m sorry, I was born after the crisis of ’73. Mea culpa for belonging to ‘Generation X’, in which statistically there’s more value in having a primary education than in studying to get a job. In which people like me, a graduate in History, can only find work as a door-to-door salesperson, or selling hamburgers, or working in a supermarket while we wait for you, children of the baby boom, to retire and leave us jobs which it’s clear we can’t get without the personal contacts others have, though there is always a remote chance. We are dedicating ourselves to several more years’ study so as to take the government [civil service] exams/lottery… But we have to be idealists, we have to believe the Establishment, caciquismo*, and the practice of endogamy** won’t defeat us. We have to sing in the wind and search for sand under the pebbles of the beach, thinking about Camus and Sartre.

I’m sorry, but those of Generation X no longer believe in a new world …. The now-bourgeois demonstrators of ’68 and of the Transition have showed us what happens to idealists.

* - Literally, political baronies. Traditionally powerful in fixing the local vote. And much

else.

** - Keeping things in the family. Giving jobs only to one’s students and not, therefore, on

merit.

You’ll all be dying to know that 75% of Galician women between the ages of 36 and 45 wear a tanga when they’re feeling daring. And more than 80% revert to normal panties when they’re feeling a bit down. This is more or less in line with my experience.

I knew it would be misinterpreted . . . I don’t wear either a tanga or ‘normal panties’; It was my experience with Galician women I was talking about yesterday. But I will be wearing a tanga in my next photo, even if you can’t actually see it. Honest.

There are lots of women called Maria in Spain. There are even more who disguise the fact by calling themselves the second half of something like Maria-Elena. Or ‘Chus’ instead of Maria-Jesus. I’m told this is because, if you born during Franco’s lifetime, it was compulsory to be called some form of Mary. Can this really be true of only 30 years ago? If it was, it was primarily for females, of course, though I do recall a Steinbeck character called Jesus and Mary. It quite confused me for the first few pages.

My elder daughter is staying with me for a couple of weeks before – with excellent timing -flying to Cuba for a month. Last night she introduced me to a new phrase – ‘A 16/60’. In case you don’t know, this is a woman who looks 16 from the back but 60 from the front. We have quite a lot of these in Pontevedra. They seem to exist on cigarettes and thin air. And are probably around 40.

A columnist on a major UK newspaper notes that – after a period of rampant feminism – things there have turned full circle. According to her, men are once again men and women, women. Or, as she puts it, “The dungarees have been put back in the cupboard. Even our role models are once more masculine or feminine”. Well, in Spain there never was a wheel to turn. Just as the country missed out on the Catholic Reformation, so it seems to have been bypassed by the feminist revolution. Here, there aren’t now and never have been many women prepared to wear figure-killing dungarees. Men are invariably masculine and women invariably feminine. As just as things are simpler when it comes to religion [you are Catholic or you aren’t], so they are when it comes to sex. Men are always guapo and women guapa. Unless, of course, they’re guapisima.

The determination of Spanish women to remain glamorous until they pop their clogs does at least give us the satisfaction of witnessing some sights to which words simply can’t do justice. The TV, of course, is full of them, forever reminding me of my brother’s dictum that it’s amazing what you see when you don’t have your rifle with you.

At almost any time of the Spanish day – but especially during the evening paseo – you can enjoy the sight of mothers and daughters walking side by side. Or even arm in arm. In other cultures, daughters would rather have their eyes burned out with red hot pokers than be seen with their mothers. I suspect one reason for this difference is that young women here don’t display their rebelliousness by dressing in clothes outrageously different from their mothers’. In fact, Spanish mothers and daughters [at least here in Pontevedra] tend to share the uniform of tight top and even-closer-fitting jeans. Though there’s usually more bare midriff in one case. Sometimes the right one.

In one respect at least, Spain is much closer to the UK than to its Latin neighbour across the Pyrenees. When it comes to obesity, the UK ranks no. 3 in Europe and Spain no. 8. France is way down at 18. Little old Malta is still at no. 1, with Greece at no. 2. One odd aspect is that in both the UK and France almost the same percentage of men and women achieve this status – 22% in the UK and 11% in France. But here is Spain the women are said to beat the men by some way – 18% against 13%. So something drastic must happen to all those young women who smoke and starve themselves into stick insect proportions in their early years.

I’ve occasionally said the Spanish talk a lot but one forgets just how easy - and pleasurable - it is to chat inconsequentially to people here, where even young women will respond with grace to an uninvited contribution from an ageing stranger. Which is more than can be said for a couple of frosty young ladies in the Immigration queue at Liverpool airport today. But they were Finnish. And presumably prone to the North European view that all men over 30 are latent rapists.

Shopping today on the Wirral side of the Mersey, I concluded that, whereas dark-skinned women in Spain favour blonde hair, pale-skinned women here have a penchant for jet-black locks. Often drawn back tight from the face. On balance, I’d have to say, the Spanish women have it. By a long way.

And talking of the allegedly weaker sex, for the first time in history, married women in the UK are said to be outnumbered by singletons. According to the Office for National Statistics, there are now more single, divorced and widowed women than wives. I’ve yet to decide whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. And whether or not it’s too late for me.