Dawn

Dawn

Monday, October 21, 2013

Coffee in Spain; Scientologists; Flea market tales; and Free sex?;

I read some years ago - possibly in Giles Tremlett's Ghosts of Spain again - that there are more than 40 ways to order coffee in Spain and that you'll rarely get served a bad cup here. I thought of this when reading the grading system on the back of a pack of ground coffee last night:-
1. Smooth and aromatic. Mid morning.
2. Fruity and balanced. Any time.
3. Medium. Evening/nighttime.
4. Taste and body. After dinner.
5. Strong, with character. Breakfast.
On reflection, it may have been in in John Hooper's The New Spaniards, another excellent read and a must for anyone who's decided to live her.

When I typed "Are Scientologists Christians" in the google box yesterday, these fellow questions came up automatically:-
Are Scientologists gay
Are Scientologists retarded
Are Scientologists dangerous
Are Scientologists evil
Are Scientologists racist
Are Scientologists stupid
Which tells you something about an organisation which the French government has just decided is not religious but fraudulent. That said, it's perfectly possible for an organisation to be both, of course. Though I doubt it's possible for an organisation to be gay.

Going back to my initial inquiry, this is how Wikipedia answers it: In Scientology, Jesus is classified as below the level of Operating Thetan and described by L. Ron Hubbard as being a "shade above" the condition of "Clear". According to R. Philip Roberts in The Apologetics Study Bible, "Scientology's upper-level materials tout the concept of Jesus as God as being a fiction that ought to be removed by "auditing". So, No; Scientology is not a branch of Christianity. But it does allow you to stay a member - and go on contributing - even if you believe Jesus was God. Nice people.

Well, the threatened rain never came yesterday and I arrived in town just in time to see the last 5 marathon runners making their leisurely way towards the finish. I guessed they were the tail-end as there was an ambulance crawling a couple of metres behind them. Then, having picked up some cash, I headed for the flea market to do battle with the stall holder who last week had had a nice small bronze on display, the price of which I'd researched on the net and via friends. But he wasn't there. My disappointment was tempered by the sight of a couple of small statuettes of a Chinese emperor and his wife, probably picked up on his travels by a recently deceased Galician sailor.


Having got the asking price, I walked away to have a glass of wine and read the paper, intending to return as they were packing up. I was a little dazed because the seller had volunteered they were made of resin, not ivory - a display of integrity which rather threw me. Anyway, I returned at closing time and asked what his best price was. He repeated the earlier price and when I asked him to reduce it, he said absolutely not. For one reason or another, €50 euros was the least he'd accept. "How about 45?" I asked. "OK," he said. I'm now wondering if they really are resin. They certainly look like ivory and it may just be that, these days, it's better to pretend that ivory is resin, rather than the other way round. It's an odd world, after all. And there's nowt as strange as folk.

Because hits to this blog continue to be far higher than normal, I tried to find out last night whether they're genuine or not. I won't bore you with the details - especially as I don't understand them - but it seems that machines can generate traffic for evil purposes. Anyway, I noted that one person - surely real - had arrived using the search terms sex spain free. Is there really someone out there who thinks there's a woman in Spain advertising her body for nothing? In English. If so, does he know something we don't know? Or is he just a desperate plonker offering himself?

Finally . . . Last night I watched a DVD of the '95 film 'Casino' at a friend's house. When I got home, it was showing on one of my TV channels. I'm no mathematician but the odds against this must be high.

P. S. Sorry about the poor quality of the foto. I've dropped my camera one too many times.

P. P. S. I've opened a book on which of the statuettes my cleaner breaks first. And then denies she knows anything about it.

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