There is, of course, little in the Spanish press today but articles on the cataclysmic events of the last week in the financial markets of the USA and Britain. At least we now know who was really bearing the risk of all those ‘toxic’ investments in these two ‘liberal’ countries – viz. the taxpayers. Though they may not have known this at the time. Just as – relieved as they may be right now – they don’t yet know what the bill will be for the huge but well-rewarded mistakes made on their retrospective behalf. It really would be nice to see some heads roll. In addition, I mean, to those of the now-redundant employees of the failed or ‘merged’ companies.

As it’s Sunday, here’s my usual citation of an article by the global warming sceptic, Christopher Booker. As luck would have it, this links into the global financial crisis because of the vainglorious aspirations of Lehman Bros to be a leading player in the carbon trading business. Or ‘scam’ as Booker prefers to call it.

Having listened to an interesting BBC podcast about the treatment of members of the working class [or ‘ordinary people’] by British reality TV, I went to the source material of a paper by Bev Skeggs. Bit of a mistake really, as it comprised many pages of stuff like:- We are invited to associate personal practices with ethical personhood: metonymic morality. . . Encompassing reification and objectification, Reality TV visualises the techniques of prosthetic culture, described by Celia Lury who maintains we are now in a period of self-refashioning (prosthetic culture) in which two central processes - indifferentiation (the disappearance of the distance between cause and effect) and outcontextualisation (where contexts are multiplied and rendered a matter of choice) - enable the thought of reflexivity to become objectified in itself. However, it wasn’t a complete waste of time, nor an irrelevance for readers of a Spanish blog. For this comment reminded me of how Iberian women arrived at the conclusion Madeleine McCann must have been killed by her own mother:- Responses to 9/11 and 7/7 closed in on faces to see if they were making the appropriate responses; thus, making the performance of emotion an index of credibility, of proper emotions. Put simply, she didn’t cry enough.

A family I know have a fixed phone line from Telefónica and ADSL from Orange. Under the latter, they’re supposed to get free local and national calls. Despite this, Telefónica continues to charge them for these each month. So far, the reasons given include:- 1. It’s Orange’s fault so we can’t do anything; 2. We have your identity document down as your passport and, although this was a mistake made by us, we can’t rectify it; and 3. The names of the land line and the Orange facility subscribers are different at the same house so we can’t make the calls free. Not wanting to hear more disingenuous nonsense next month, the family has decided to cancel the Orange contract when it comes up for renewal in November. Which is exactly what Telefónica wants, of course. Wonderful company. And, understandably, very profitable.

Galicia

In an article in El País today, the columnist Suso Toro says Galician culture and language will go on being unappreciated by the likes of George Steiner until Galicians themselves show proper respect for “one of Europe’s great historic literatures” [una de las grandes literaturas históricas europeas]. Now, as a self-considered Galicianist, I’m all in favour of the promotion of the local culture and language but is there real objective evidence for this boast? Or is there, in fact, no objectivity when it comes to issues like this? Does anyone know of a table ranking Europe’s Great Historic Literatures? Or is there one for each country, which differs quite a lot from those of the neighbours?

I did my normal five-minute round of the flea market in Vegetables Square this afternoon. At usual, it was virtually all rubbish. But, if by any chance, you’re looking for the Masonic regalia of one J H James of the Leicestershire and Rutland lodge, you might want to drop me a line.

The saddest site at the market each Sunday is a clearly alcoholic sketch artist whose appearance deteriorates by the week. I bought some of his stuff years ago when he used to have just a bottle of beer in his hand. Now, I regret to say, it’s whisky. If he were Damian Hirst, I’d be rather less concerned. And, to be honest, more confident about the value of my non-toxic investments.