I've found a third
reference to Napoleon in the March edition of Prospect:
Like his US counterpart, President
Hollande is commander-in-chief. There's nothing like a war to change
a leader's stature, particularly in a nation of Napoleon and De
Gaulle worshippers, which still celebrates its national day with a
military parade. As does Spain, I
believe. Which all seems odd to a citizen of a country which doesn't
even have a national day, never mind a military parade. This time,
though, we are marching to the right beat. What's the point of
martial displays, unless you're a Korean dictator?
Going through my father's
things, I came upon a cartoon of him drawn in 1947, just before he
left the RAF. As it doesn't seem
unflattering, what surprised me is that he hadn't put it on, say, the
bedroom wall but left it folded up in a trunk. Where I also came upon
a cigar box he must have bought when stationed in the US in the early
1940s. The cigars were made in Tampa, Florida and the brand was,
would you believe, Hav-a-Tampa,
suggesting either they came from Cuba or they didn't but the
makers (Havatampa Cigar Co.) would like you to think they did. Anyway,
the best thing in the box was a set of 5 yellowed poker dice, for
which I may be able to find some use, after a lay-off of more than 60
years.
Talking of smoking . . .
I'm pretty inured to seeing young Spanish women smoking – in search
of appetite suppression and/or specious sophistication – and even
to the sight of a woman smoking while pushing a baby-carrier. But
today I passed a heavily pregnant senorita with a cigarette drooping
from her mouth and this was hard to take.
I have a couple of fragile
bone carvings from Indonesia, of a tribal king and queen. Over the
years, the latter has lost one or other of her arms several times and
my cleaner always tells me she found her this way and that it has
nothing to do with any cleaning process. As if. This scenario was
played out again on my return from the UK, leaving me wondering
whether I should just staple the arm back on again, rather than
resort to glue. Or just leave her armless. Talking of repair . . . I
have a mohair jumper. Or, rather, I have three quarters of mohair
pullover; the bloody moths have had the rest. Presumably it has a
better smell than all my other jumpers. I continue to get the holes
sewn up but the day must come, relatively soon, when I have more
repair than garment,
I really should have
a section for the loony things said by people of one religious
conviction or another. Yesterday it was this comment from an
emotional Venezuelan women:- The Lord
called Hugo Chavez because He wanted him by His side.
No, He bloody didn't. He just died!
I mentioned a week
or three ago that Toledo seemed to be marketing itself as more of an
ex-Jewish city than anything else. Well, we now have an equivalent in
Galicia. The town of Ribadavia has always highlighted its old Jewish
quarter and has had a Jewish museum for a while. But it's now gone
one step further and become the first Spanish city to celebrate the
Passover Seder since 1492, when Jews were invited to leave Spain and
not come back. Incidentally, Ribadavia is the centre of the region
which grows the white Ribeiro wine I mentioned the other day. And
they have a wine festival every May. I'm wondering now how long it'll
be before Pontevedra picks up on this trend. One thing's for sure –
If they do, they'll have to put back the sign about the Jewish
cemetery that disappeared 3 or 4 years ago, when that part of town
was re-modelled. By the way, the main street running through what
used to be the city's Jewish quarter is named Rúa
Amargura, or Bitterness St. Which I've
always thought rather fitting.
Reader Perry is a
mine of research data. Here's his citation of something similar to
los escraches. Talking of readers
(and Readers), my thanks to Gerald, Diego, Bill and SP for advice on
alternatives to Google Reader. See the Comments to yesterday's post.
Finally . . . Spring -
summer even - arrived yesterday and this morning I had an unusual
visitor on my lawn – a pied wagtail. Common enough in the Mersey
estuary but never seen here before. At least not by me. And then
later, down in Veggie Square, I espied a magpie among the pigeons and
the seagulls. Another first. What a day for twitchers!
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