For
those in Spain who, unlike St Rajoy, do use words, a pretty common one
is joder, or 'fuck'. But I didn't think I'd ever see it in
a headline to an El País article. In Sunday's Business
Section to be exact - En Qué Momento se Jodió La Unión Europa? 'At what point did the EU become fucked?' This seems to be a variation of a
similar question from Mario Vargas Llosa about Perú.
And
talking of the EU . . . Our Ambrose went to town in an article today
about the continuing damage being done to the southern economies by
the austerity program:- Europe’s debt-crisis strategy is near
collapse. The long-awaited recovery has failed to take wing. Debt
ratios across southern Europe are rising at an accelerating pace.
Political consent for extreme austerity is breaking down in almost
every EMU crisis state. And now the US Federal Reserve has inflicted
a full-blown credit shock for good measure. As for our economy:-
Spain’s crisis has a new twist. The ruling Partido Popular is
caught in a slush-fund scandal of such gravity that it cannot
plausibly brazen out the allegations any longer, let alone rally the
nation behind another year of scorched-earth cuts. El Mundo says a
“pre-revolutionary” mood is taking hold.
More here.
The
age of consent in Spain is only 13, way out of line with its European
partners. And, indeed, with
many other countries around the world. The government has said it's
going to increase it but only to 15. Still below that in other
countries. For the life of me, I can't understand the logic here but,
then, I'm not a [corrupt or otherwise] politician. I can't imagine it
has anything to do with the Catholic Church but you never know.
Prostitution:
After listening to a recent BBC panel discussion on this, my
conclusion was that its definition depends entirely on which branch
of philosophy or science you're coming from. In other words, there's
no definition acceptable to all. As to whether it's harmful, there
was no agreement between the experts. So I'm glad this is a decision
I don't have to take.
Chip
& Pin: Does this French invention mean its end? Well, not in
Spain it doesn't. For it hasn't even started here yet. At
least, not anywhere I've been. Perhaps we'll miss it out and go
straight to fingerprints, in about 10 years time. And perhaps we
won't.
What
is it with the hot weather and ants? Do they feel compelled once the
temperature reaches a certain point to flood out of their
subterranean refuges into the kitchens of not only myself but also my
lovely neighbours Ester and Amparo? Forcing me to do something I'm
rather averse to and kill them in one way or another. It would seem so, though, it's thirst that forces them upwards, rather than heat.
Finally
. . . You've never heard Ode to Joy played until you've heard
it rendered badly on a recorder by a drug addict. Twenty times in
succession. Joy was not my predominant feeling. OD'd - now you're talking.
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