Tuesday, September 04, 2012

I didn't sleep well last night and finally got up earlier than usual, at 7.30. The (massive) compensation was the dawn coming up outside my window. Here it is. Sadly, it lost some of its colour in the time it took me to go downstairs and get my camera.

You may not be aware – I certainly wasn't – that Spain owns 3 or 4 tiny islands off the North African coast, only a hundred metres or so from Morocco. You'd wonder whether they're worth the trouble and if Spain's exchequer wouldn't benefit from selling them. Especially when 'boat people' start arriving in droves and claiming benefits traditionally accorded to those living on Spanish soil. So it'll be interesting to see what happens over the next few days, weeks or months. Will we again see Spanish troops landing in full military gear and taking on the resident goats? By the way, I must stress that the Spanish government doesn't regard these islands as colonies, not even the one that's inhabited. But, as they're not 'enclaves' like Ceuta and Melilla, I don't know what they are. I only know they're nothing like Gibraltar and so don't belong to Morocco. I hope that's clear.

My walk yesterday between the Health Centre and my preferred café took me past one of Poio's three brothels, called Plan A. Interestingly, this advertises itself as a Relax Lounge, showing how the English word 'relax' has been hijacked by the (huge) Spanish prostitution industry. 

Even more interestingly, the shop next door sell bikes, which these days cost big, big money. Wheels alone seem to cost up to a thousand euros each. So it's rather more expensive to get a ride in the bike shop than it is in the brothel.

My drive back to the medical centre this morning took me past another of the Poio brothels – Motel Venus. Here's a foto of it. As you can see, there's a sign to an infant school in front of it. Only in Spain?

I wonder if I'll ever get the word motorista right. It meets 'motor cyclist' but my first thought is always 'car driver'. Maybe in another ten years.

So, that genius of football, Sven Eriksson, has now joined a club in Thailand, where they presumably don't read English newspapers. Where next? Papua New Guinea? As if he'd care, given his humungous rewards for failing everywhere else.

Years and years ago, I used to jokingly predict that the AVE high speed train wouldn't connect us with Madrid until 2018, against whatever was the official prediction back then. Possibly 2010. Well, the official prediction is now 2018 and I've given up trying to be funny on this subject. The government is better at it than I am. So, pick your own date.

The other thing I've been saying for years is that the EU will eventually collapse under the weight of its own internal incongruities. But, now that this appears to be happening – long before anyone predicted – I find myself not wanting it to happen. And believing that – so vast would be the consequences - the EU governments must surely get their act together and prevent it. But who really knows? Their track record so far is hardly inspiring. No wonder the markets are thoroughly confused. And, now that the summer is over, I guess we'll be back on the roller-coaster. Or montaña-rusa, as they call it here. Russian mountain. No idea why.

I had a new experience as I was people-watching in the main square last night. One of the endless stream of new 'performers' took exception to my refusal to give him any money and called me a fascista de mierda – or “effin' fascist”. He seemed surprised at my (obscene) response, probably because he thought I was guiri who didn't understand him.

By the way, I was people-watching in my pursuit of foto examples of 16/30s, 16/40s and 16/50s. As these are taken from the back, this had necessitated me looking at the rears of numerous women. It's tough work, but essential if science is to move forward. Results anon.

Finally . . . Here's a pic of the frame for the canvas house I showed the other day. As I said then, it was all constructed – in fine taste – just to mask an eyesore. 

Incidentally, our Alameda is again full of tents today. Well, marquees really. I guess they're something to do with the Spanish National Triathlon races this coming weekend. It never stops!


sp said...

Nothing makes an English car journey go faster than a simple game of Pub Cricket (count the legs in the pub name as runs: The George scores 2, The King's Head scores zero and means you are out). When on Spanish soil my good lady and I resort to Brothel Cricket. I'll make sure it's her turn to bat should we ever take a drive though Poio - no legs in Plan A and Motel Venus. Still, Andalucia's not much better. Here we have a Para Que Te Sientes Bien and a Lago Azul. You have to get half way to Madrid before the Conejitos Calientes kick in.

James Atkinson said...

Colin, My spanish is miniscule, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he was calling you a shitty fascist. Perhaps it was your reply in spanish that threw him?

Colin said...

@sp: LOL. Loved the concept of brothel cricket.

The brothel I haven't mention yet is called "Working Girls". In English, of course.

Colin said...

@James: Yes, I knew that but was trying to get closer to an equivalent impact, rather than straight meaning. Don't really know whether I succeeded.

sp said...

Ah! You've hit the jackpot with "Working Girls". This is the brothel equivalent of a pub called "The Cricketers". Two teams of eleven players, each with two legs = 44 runs. You would need to establish how many girls are involved, of course.

Colin said...

@sp. Another fine comment. I'll have to ask the guy who owns the bar next door - The Anfield - for some help with numbers . . .

Anonymous said...

You should know that venus motel is not a club of girls. It is a normal motel that goes who wants, no girls there. I think you have to change your comments

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