One
of the background reasons for the general strikes which hit several
European countries yesterday is that booms and busts don't display
anything like a nice symmetry. Those who gain most while things are
rising are never those who lose most when they're plummeting.
Especially when the winners include the heavily populated ranks of
crooks we hear so much about in Spain. And who enjoy whatever it is
that Andorra has to offer the discerning visitor.
Thinking
about it, most people in yesterday's strike demonstration in
Pontevedra were talking rather than chanting. Which is rather
appropriate, given they were mostly members of the chattering
classes. So no violence here. Contrast Madrid – where I've just
read that a woman has lost the sight of one eye, having been hit on
by, presumably, a police baton. Is it any wonder that the Spanish
government wants to make it a criminal offence to photograph the
police? They surely can't get this through, can they? Perhaps the EU
should take a stance on this and warn them off. As if.
The
oasis of quiet I visit in Pontevedra used to be called Café
Moderno. This was back when it belonged to one of the components
– Caixa Galicia - of our new bank, Novagalicia. The
odd feature about the place was that it kept banking hours, closing
at 2pm. Its name has now been changed to Café Tortini but the
horario remains the same. It's hard not to believe this is for
the benefit of the staff rather than the customers who get (gently)
turfed out at 2.
Talking
of good cafés, there's a famous one in Belém in Portugal, west of
Lisbon. This specialises in a cream and apple pastry (pastel)
that has them queuing down the street for front-of-shop sales, while
an endless series of small, linked cafés behind serve thousands of
Pastéis de Belém a day for consumption with your tea or
coffee. A very pleasant experience. Especially in the company of the
lovely Lucy of Lisbon. Seen here towering above me at Sunday's
cocktail party at the British Embasssy in Lisbon. Because I didn't
have my lifts in. Or heels on.
We
have a new tapas bar in town – or, rather, a gastrotapas
bar, as it labels itself. I was drinking with friends there last week
when a waiter brought a plate of something that looked like battered
squid rings. But it wasn't; it was something I've spent 12 years
studiously avoiding – pig's ear. Which, believe me, has an
unwelcome, spit-outable texture. I was telling the lovely Ester about
this yesterday and she confessed to loving the stuff. So I'm off her.
She's not even Galician, for God's sake!
Spanglish:
'Pudding' has been taken into Spanish - to mean, well, pudding. But
in the form of pudín. Or, in the new bar I've just mentioned
puding. Though I suppose this could have been a typo.
A
quick test – Who are the fathers of these kids? Isiditro, Jacobito
and Ramonito?
Finally,
and inevitably, here's the YouTube video of a wonder goal that you
may never see another example in your life, no matter how young you
are.
No comments:
Post a Comment