Helped by wonderful weather, today’s medieval fair down in Pontevedra’s old quarter was clearly a huge success. At 8.30 tonight, you could scarcely move in the streets there for revellers. The women, of course, looked wonderful in their long dresses, bodices and bonnets. Which made a change from the ubiquitous frayed, denim shorts and ankle boots of this summer. Not that these didn’t look good too, of course. With costumes ranging from toga-clad Romans to Regency dandies, the definition of ‘medieval’ was obviously quite liberal. But it’s as well my friend Jon came down with a cold yesterday, as he wanted us to go as Batman and Robin. Perhaps under the illusion it was all a big fancy-dress party. Next year, I plan to go as Francis Drake, which should make me very popular, given his adventures along this coast. Which reminds me . . . The thought did strike me as I wandered around that it wouldn’t be a truly authentic medieval event until they had some folk outside the old walls, dressed up as Brits and lobbing boulders into the city.
So, Damian Hirst is probably a rampant plagiarist. But who cares? Whether his work is original or not, history will surely judge it to have been rubbish. Unless you bought and sold it at the right times, of course.
Talking of art . . . Here’s the web page of an excellent Galician cartoonist – Xosé Tomás - who writes his posts in both Gallego and English. He says his own favourite exponent of Galician humour is Xosé Lois but I’ve yet to find much on the latter.
One of my fellow pilgrims from our June Camino was good enough to leave me his Panama hat. Despite forgetting it in at least five places, I’ve had superb value from this during our hot summer. Lulled by this experience into a false sense of vanity, I decided to lay aside the view of several decades that hats didn’t suit me and lashed out 50 euros on a winter hat. Big mistake, it seems. The instant reaction of both my daughters left me without a scintilla of confidence that I do, after all, have a face for hats. So, I hope it wears out quickly. Or gets blown from my head into the river Lérez as I walk across the bridge on one of those days when the rain is both fierce and horizontal.
Finally . . . Did you know there’s a term for those snatches of song you can’t get out of your head? They’re called ‘earworms’, it seems.
Tailnote for new readers: My elder daughter has now published the second chapter of a novel she describes as “A fast-paced political thriller but, above all, a personal tale of pride and paranoia.” Set in a fictionalised Cuba, it’s being e-published one chapter per week. Click here, if this entices you. The easiest way to get new chapters, I guess, is to become a Follower of her blog. Or use Google Reader or the like.