I have to confess that watching Pontevedra FC on Sunday night wasn't the most riveting couple of hours I've ever spent. Possibly because I don't yet feel any affiliation to the team. Anyway, as I was watching the clock, I was reminded of the guy who attended Wagner's Ring Cycle in New York and afterwards quipped:- “It started at 6 and around midnight I looked at my watch, to find it was only 6.30.”
I also have to admit I find it impossible to watch a live football game without feeling a strong desire to take part. Which is about as ridiculous as the thought that one day I'll be the owner of a Jaguar F-type.
Galicia has at least one equivalent to Carlo Fabras, the Castellón baron/crook I cited the other day. This is the cacique or ex-president of the Ourense provincial government, José Luís Baltar. Sr Baltar resigned early this year, handing over power – predictably – to his son, José Manuel Baltar. He hasn't (yet) been convicted of any criminal act, though the EU is investigating him for fraudulent diversion of EU funds. So it could be a while before we know how he came to be the owner of numerous properties and more than one hundred vintage cars, stored in three warehouses. Inter alia.
Some readers may already be aware that the Spanish president, Sr Rajoy, has instructed the 17 Spanish regions ('autonomous communities') to confine their 2013 deficits to maximum of 0.7% of their GDP. Anyone who sees this as remotely achievable simply hasn't been paying attention. Spain's national target is also laughable, though Sr Rajoy is still pretending it's achievable. And this year's for that matter.
It's reported that a third of British men can't see their penises. Looking down, I guess. They can surely see them in the mirror. But perhaps not. I did't know this was a medical measure of obesity.
In Wales, the word for 'telephone' is telefon, I think. Possibly with an accent. Trevor will correct me, if necessary. Anyway, the word for 'a car-park' in Spain is un parking. Except in Cataluña – and possibly Valencia and the Balearic Islands – where it is un parquing. Words fail me.
I saw two nuns in the cathedral in Zaragoza. Their very low height confirmed my suspicion that either Spanish families are compelled to send any daughter under five foot to a convent or that nuns are all compressed until they're below this height.
I got up early-ish today to prepare for a round of golf that was later rained off. My compensation was being able to enjoy the full dawn chorus of Toni and his sons next door. Must buy some new ear-plugs.
This is a tale of greedy and dishonest Spanish bankers, some of whom retired on the vast proceeds of their mis-doings. When, with growing anger, you read through it, it's easy to agree with Professor Arcadi Oliveres that:- 'It is inconceivable that the banks should receive public funds when not a single banker has been prosecuted. Or hung, drawn and quartered even. It reminds me of my skirmish with the BBVA a few years ago, when I took my funds to another bank after they'd repeatedly failed to explain the low returns on a touted 'dynamic' fund I'd put some money in. They, of course, charged me a considerable sum of money for relieving them of my savings.
Finally . . . The British ambassador to Chile has had to apologise for a derogatory remark he tweeted about the Argentineans. What's truly astonishing is that he has 10,000 followers. Why, for God's sake. Is he a hidden talent we should know about? A modern Oscar Wilde? Hard to believe.