If you’re of the view that the capitalist system is collapsing all around us and that something must be done, you might be interested in this amusing and insightful article on the inner anti-capitalist, inner-Stalinist and inner-Leninist in all of us. Personally, I have no difficulty with the writer's view that the need is not for more regulation but for more relevant regulation, and a more intelligent and targeted role and for government that acknowledges the essential wisdom of markets but acts to protect the weakest from their excesses. But others may disagree.

In Tarragona it’s perfectly legal for the brothels to advertise their services. And so they do, on the side of buses and in taxis. But not everyone there is happy about this. A spokesman for Vía T, the town's largest local business association, has complained about this tarnishing Tarragona's image. I presume he means outside Spain. For, by coincidence, today has also brought us the admission by the President of Cantabria that he lost his virginity at 18 in a brothel. But that was yesterday and today he has defended his comment by assuring us this is how most Spanish men go about things. So that’s alright then.

Years ago, it used to be said that the incidence of depression was low in ‘laid back’ Latin countries. But now comes a report – sponsored by a pharmaceutical company, of course – that only 1.8 million of the 6 million cases of depression here are diagnosed as such. And that 25-30% of Spanish women will have a depressive episode during their lives. My guess is the percentage is much higher in the country’s numerous brothels. Where ‘laid back’ probably hardly ever means laid back.

Driving my elder daughter to the airport this morning, we followed a car into a roundabout as it took the outside lane and signalled right. But it didn’t take the first right. Nor the second. Nor, indeed, the third. In fact, it went right round the roundabout and back the way it had come. When I expostulated, Faye asked me why, after eight years, this still amused and/or irritated me. To which I had no answer. With you in mind, dear reader, she suggested I mount a video of the dashboard so that I could include a future incident in my blog. In fact, I could have done with this on the way back, when I followed a learner driver into another roundabout and exactly the same thing happened – proving that, although I’ve never see it in any other country, this really is how they’re taught to do things here. However, there was one difference in this second case; the instructor did at least make sure the driver was signalling left, not right. Which rather goes to endorse my view that it’s not wise to draw any firm conclusions from roundabout signalling here.

Galicia

I thought I’d kill two, or even three, birds with one stone by citing and translating a bit of Gallego for you. This is a comment to the blog of a Galician who mentioned mine in terms that were quite sympathetic:-

O blog do tal Colin non é en absoluto, unha ollada interesante sobre o noso. Se cadra, sobre si mesmo si. E sobre as obsesións dos upper-middle class provincianos. Nun dos posts máis divertidos que teña lido en tempos, Mr. Davis amosa o seu estupor porque os cartos dos contribuintes europeos sexan gastados na construcción dun parque infantil no barrio máis snob de Pontevedra. I mean, ín that place, kids have their own backyards, haven´t they? Xa non nos chegaba cos jodechinchos nas praias que agora temos que aturalos tamén en interné. And yes, I´m a fucking ignorant nationalist.

This is my translation, which I'll be checking with Galician friends over dinner tonight:-

This Colin’s blog is in no way an interesting look at us. At himself quite possibly. It’s about the obsessions of upper middle-class provincials. In one of the funniest posts I’ve ever read, Mr Davis[sic] shows his amazement that European taxpayers should pay for the construction of a children’s playground in the snobbiest part of Pontevedra. I mean, in this place, kids have their own backyards, don’t they? Now we don’t only have these fish-stealers* on our beaches but we also have to put up with them on the internet. And, Yes, I’m a fucking ignorant nationalist.

* Literally fish-fuckers. Which, as you may have guessed, is a Galician term of abuse for foreigners.

Well, I’ve no idea whether this nationalist is ignorant or not but – unless I have misunderstood the sarcasm/retranca – it seems to me that he/she has missed the point of my comment. Which was that EU subventions could surely be spent on better things that providing a playground for the kids of rich folk, almost all of whom have pools in their gardens. Or perhaps he/she simply disagrees.

There is another possibility. From the English used, I’d guess the writer lives in the USA. Or used to. So it’s possible he/she has some difficulty with irony. Which is a [back-handed] compliment to those many Americans who read and, hopefully, enjoy my scribbling. Honest!