Thanks
to the Queen, I've learned a new Spanish word today. Or at least a
new meaning. Padrastro means 'stepfather'. But also
'hangnail'. If you saw Friday's Olympics Opening ceremony, you'll
understand how this has come about.
Talking
of Spanish . . . I've been rather disappointed so far at my
witticism(?) that, when the waitress (Leída) in my usual Veggie
Square bar came back with the change, she'd be Leída y vuelta.
I
girded up my loins this morning, ahead of yet another visit to
Telefónica. In the event, all my preparation was to no avail. There
were people queuing outside the door in the shop in town at 1.30 this
morning. And, when I went this evening to the outlet in the Carrefour
commercial centre on the other side of town, it was to find it had
closed down. Ah, well. There's always mañana.
Checking
my Telefónica file, I noted that, instead of using the modern name
for the street of my bank, viz. Gutierrez Mellado,
they'd used the Franco-era name of General Mola.
This was quite shocking, as Mola was one of a group of particularly
vile 'Nationalist' generals. For details, see Paul Preston's The
Spanish Holocaust.
I've
been known to suggest that innovation comes slowly to Spanish
supermarkets. So I was pleasantly surprised to find today that the
Carrefour hypermarket mentioned earlier had undergone quite a change.
Young ladies on roller-skates; an efficient checkout system; a
gourmet food section; rows of Asian foods and sauces; and even
low-fat coconut milk. OK, El Corte Inglés was doing all this
in Vigo ten years ago – well, save for the skaters – but better
late than never.
As
I prepare to pen a paragraph or two on corruption in Spain, I was
interested to read that the government's introduction of (variable)
prescription charges had exposed the existence of 150,000 health
cards belonging to people living six feet under. Plus 800,000 cards
whose owners are no longer registered in the social security system.
Not surprisingly, there's been a 15-20% fall in the number of
prescriptions issued. No one will be too surprised to hear that
fraudulent practices are most common in Andalucia.
Finally
. . . The wi-fi café I used this morning has some breakfast-bar type
seats, looking out of over the river and the city. I use them as the
signal's strongest there. One other advantage is that you're a couple
of feet above the people outside and, if you want, you can read what
they're writing on their laptops. This morning, there was a young
lady there, doing the three things that young Spanish women do best:-
1. Smoking; 2. Tapping away on her mobile phone, and 3. Doing little
to hide her long tanned legs and her ample assets. It
really shouldn't be allowed. I should be forced to find another place
to sit.
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