I
wonder if the Spanish King is referred to as John Charles in the UK.
Which is a little disingenuous as I know he isn't. He's called Juan
Carlos, as he is in Spain. In contrast the happily pregnant William
and Kate are referred to here as Guillermo and Catalina. It's a
peculiarly Spanish custom to Hispanicise all proper nouns from
outside Iberia. But I've no idea whether the same thing happens in,
say, France or Germany.
Talking
about the King, here's Iberosphere
nomination of the most outstanding Iberian individuals of 2012's.
Meaning, they say, the individuals
who've either set the agenda or reflected the public mood over the
last 12 months.
As
I've said before, there's a never-ending cavalcade of prominent
Spaniards – nearly always men – who find themselves arraigned for
some sort of financial skulduggery. The latest celebrity rogue is one
Gerardo (or should I call him Gerald?) Díaz Farrán, who was
President of the failed Marsans Group and a previous President of the
Association of Businessmen. Or something like that. He's charged with concealing assets – in their millions – and money laundering,
Relatedly
. . . I asked ten Spanish friends at dinner on Friday night if they
could name one politician – at the local, regional or national
level – who was famous for his or her integrity. I think you know
the answer. Mind you, this would be a tough question to answer in
most countries, I guess.
Just
as I start to implement a resolution to travel more around Spain, the
government announces its to close several paradors around spain,
including those of Ferrol and Verín here in Galicia. I'd better get
my skates on.
Talking
of travelling . . . My lovely neighbour, Ester, has something new to
worry about. Most of the family is going away for 3 or 4 days but her
17 year old daughter, Maria, is staying at home to study. Ester
doesn't want her sleeping alone at night and, having considered the
two options of me or my other lovely neighbour, Amparo, has arranged
for Maria to sleep there. I don't know whether to be insulted or
flattered. However, I have been given Maria's mobile number and am
instructed to call her every now and then, to check she's OK. Which
will surely endear me to Maria. In addition, I've been asked to rush
next door should I hear any screaming. I decided not to debate this
with Ester but assured her I will.
Finally
. . . Changing spain. Walking into
town this morning, I saw a larger-than-life 'statue' of a Dalmatian
dog, sitting on the lawn of the Bellas Artes building. On the front
of it were several messages exhorting folk to do the right thing and
scoop the poop. And, as you can see from the picture here, there was
also an example of a full plastic bag. Just for those who couldn't
possibly imagine what a bag of dog poo looked like. Touching.
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