Dawn

Dawn

Saturday, June 12, 2010

I have to add another beggar to the list I cited the other day - the chap who spends all day on his knees in the middle of the shopping quarter, behind a begging bowl and, sometimes, a pathetic-looking dog. He doesn’t importune but stares fixedly into the middle distance. The beggar, I mean. Not the dog. Then, as reader Lucy has reminded me, there’s the guy dressed as a clown, bending balloons into shape and handing one to each and every passing child. Or as many as he can hit anyway. Which, in turn, reminds me of the “New-Age travellers” who seem astonished you’re not willing to show appreciation for their pathetic attempts to juggle a couple of balls or wring a tune out of a penny-whistle. And who must be distinguished, I stress, from the various impressive street performers who liven up the city during the drier months of the year.

Further attempts to ascertain the reasons for the bad blood between (left-wing) judges Varela and Garzón have come up with an endorsement of petty jealousy and a suggestion that the former (a very short and unprepossessing man) didn’t take kindly to the (tall and handsome) latter trespassing on his Pontevedra patch by going after one of our best-known drug barons a few years ago. Which reminds me . . . I received a text message from my daughter in Madrid last night, telling me she was standing next to Garzón in a bar. At exactly the same time as some friends of mine were sitting next to Sr. Rajoy (and his three bodyguards) in his Pontevedra watering hole. All human life is here, it seems.

Talking of Pontevedra . . . Our market down by the river in the old quarter is truly a thing of wonder. The building itself is a magnificent tribute to the beauty of monumental granite. Assuming, that is, you can turn a blind eye to the dreadful turquoise window frames which someone must have had a job-lot of. Internally, it’s even more impressive. Two storeys of fish, meat, vegetables and flowers in an array so magnificent it had a recent visitor snapping away for a good half-hour. In truth, I don’t shop there nearly enough but I did so yesterday in a search for the ginger I need for my curries and stir-frys and which is no longer available in any of the town’s vegetable shops or supermarkets. And I did find some, even if it looked rather sad and weary. And proved to be even more so on the inside when I got home. But it’s a start.

Finally . . . One or two of you may have noticed there’s now a Contact Me line at the top of the right-hand column. There’s supposed to be a button underneath it supplied by wikiworldbook.com but, try as I might, I can’t get this to come up. All this is in aid of allowing readers to email me but I’m now wondering about this. For my email address is easy to find and a Spanish/Galician reader has just written at length to me, starting with “Dear Friend”, ending with cordial greetings and in between telling me how arrogant, ignorant and useless I am. Maybe I should re-think this.

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