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.
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