Sunday, June 10, 2012


The euro (as opposed to the euros, which is something else): Nice to be reminded today of the old metaphor of the euro as a bicycle - You have to keep peddling, because it's not stable. As soon as you stop, you either fall off, or slide back down the hill. This is what's happening now. Essentially because Mrs Merkel is keeping the brakes on.

Spanish politicians: Last night the Deputy PM insisted there was absolutamente no chance of Spain seeking a bailout. This evening the news is that they will. Which should come as no surprise to anyone other than the Deputy PM.

I spent a good 45 minutes this morning trying to get on line to my bank in Pontevedra. This involved going through the security process at least 20 times. On the one hand this suggests others would find it hard to get into my account. On the other, it was a bit bewildering that the site kept rejecting input data it had accepted previously.

The reason for going online was to cancel a debit for insurance on the house I used to have in the hills. I had actually been trying to do this since mid May. But complications had arisen because:- 1. Although the payments went through my bank, the policy was in the name of my ex-partner. And 2. We took out the insurance, not directly, but through an agent in town. I won't bore you with more details but I had visited this chap twice in May, finding him amiable but hamstrung. Essentially, he needed to talk to my ex partner face to face. Which would be a tad difficult, as she now lives in France. However, she did get to talk to him cara a cara at the end of the month, only to be told it was too late as the payment was going through on 1st. June. Which it did. So, now I'm trying to get it cancelled. I've now done that on line but, this being Spain, I will follow up by calling my bank on Monday. Spain is a wonderful but different place and one can sometimes find oneself wondering what century you're living in.

While I was typing the last paragraph, a pop-up advised me I hadn't been active on my bank's site for 5 minutes and asking me if I wanted to stay online. When I clicked Yes, another pop-up immediately told me my connection had been ended. See what I mean?

I see the film Krakatoa East of Java is on the TV again. A chance for me to say once again that Krakatoa was west of Java, as is its descendant Anak Krakatoa, or Son of Krakatoa.

I put a glass of wine on the floor near my feet last night. And I decided to tip the cayenne pepper into my Bolognese sauce directly from the jar, rather than spoon it it. You know the rest.

I can't for the life of me understand the BBC's policy on the F word. It was bleeped out last night when the chairman of a panel game used fuck off as part of a scripted retort. And it's bleeped out every time it's used in the late night Family Guy program. Indeed, in this show they even blot out cartoon breasts and penises! But a few nights ago I had to sit through the recitation of a poem which seemed to consist of the expression fuck off delivered twenty seven times.

So, the Euros. Holland: 28 shots at goal; only 8 on target; no goals. Denmark: 6 shots at goal; all 6 on target; one goal. My observation was that Holland had given up kicking opposition players but hadn't yet mastered the art of kicking the ball. They can only get better.

Finally . . . My owl. It's so big that every time I go into my bedroom I think my daughter's cat is sitting on the table there. I do hope it puts the fear of God into the pigeons.

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