Another
Spanish norm – bread with every meal. Other than breakfast,
perhaps. This staple is always supplied (and charged for) with every
meal you eat out in Spain. As for home entertaining, your Spanish
friends will be horrified if there's no bread on the table, even for
such meals as curry and rice. Or even if, in Galicia, you've
already provided carbohydrate overload in the form of a kilo of
potatoes for each guest. But supplying bread doesn't mean it'll get
eaten, even if it's taken from a central basket and put on a side-plate.
Some of it will
be eaten but it's virtually certain you'll be throwing most of it
away. Bread, I've concluded, is some sort of security blanket for the
Spanish. Possibly stemming from “the years of hunger” (i. e.
famine) in the 50s and 60s. Just a theory. I'm happy to be corrected.
In
a place called Cap Roig, up near Girona, they don't seem to know
we're in a recession-cum-depression. They're advertising a music
festival running from 20 July to 16 August and featuring a different
artist every night. The big name is (Sir) Elton John but there's also
Diana Krall and Mark Knopfler, plus many I don't recognise. The fun
must go on.
I
regularly say that, although I very much enjoy living in Spain, I
wonder whether I would if I were working here. This is because
there's an underlying dynamic here; things take longer than they
should. A case in point is getting my fridge door repaired. First
port of call was the shop which sold it to me a year ago. Oh no, they
said, nothing to do with us, even though it was still under warranty.
I'd have to go and see the Samsung service agent. So I did, only to
be told I needed to talk to Samsung, who would instruct them to come
and see the fridge. Not wanting to phone the premium number, I
checked to see if I could do it on line and was
pleased to see I could. After filling in the form with exactly the
same information three times, I finally went through the process and
was instructed to wrap the product carefully and send it to
Samsung. At this point I decided I had no choice but to call the company.
Whereupon I went through a process which seemed primarily designed to
keep me on the line for as long as possible. But at least it seemed
to achieve something, for I was called 15 minutes later to be told
the service agent would be getting in touch with me. So now I wait.
This
photo is of the plot of land between the end of the Alameda and the
statue dedicated to the locals who successfully fought a French
army in nearby Pontesampaio in 1812.
It's just packed soil but the
town council says it's going to pretty it up with flowers and things. But it struck me today that, if we were in France, this would surely
be a petanque court. But we're not. So it isn't.
Which
reminds me . . . I saw a reference to a game called billarda,
which looked as if it involves hitting a little stick with a big one.
So I looked it up and here's some people playing it.
Finally
. . . Is the word 'terminal' really needed in this sentence?: ATP chief executive Brad Drewett dies after terminal illness.
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