Back in Spain, there's growing fury at what seems to have been slipshod procedures around the treatment of 2 Ebola-infected missionaries brought back from Africa. The result has been at least one and possibly two infected nurses. Not terribly encouraging, is it?
Down in Utrera in Andalucia there's an unusual Catholic church. It belongs to the (schismatic) Christian Palmarian Church of the Holy Face Carmelites. As these things go, it was established in 1968 on the spot where the Virgin Mary appeared to 4 schoolgirls. Lourdes, Fátima, Utrera - it's always young girls. Virgins, presumably. Anyway, after the Vatican refused to pay ball and allow the place to make a fortune, a local accountant proclaimed himself Pope Gregory XVII. Under his aegis, the Church produced a calendar of saints' days including such fascist figures as Saint Adolf, Saint José Antonio Primo de Rivera, Saint José Calvo Sotelo and Saint Luis Carrero Blanco. Things went well, in terms of parishioners, until the accountant died but new notoriety has now been achieved by erecting a set of statues which includes one of a haloed St Francisco Franco. Which is surely illegal. Where are all those Vatican guards when you need them?
The Local has issued a timely list of what else to be cautious about in Spain, apart from Ebola. Click here for this. The worst way to die must surely be beneath a British cretin who's just leapt off his balcony in a drunken stupor.
According to my pedometer, my slog through sand yesterday took exactly zero steps. Today I remembered to switch it on and the number was 16,399. This works out at 12.6km, or 7.9 miles. It seemed more. The compensation was a delicious fish stew in a tiny fishing port.
Finally . . . The suntan cream I bought this weak was not cheap but I was gratified to note it also serves as an anti-ageing agent. Meaning, I hope, that I'll look younger by the end of this week than I did at the start of it