Saturday, April 04, 2015

Rajoy reports; TV debates; Poor Cynthia; Supping & Kissing; &New complaints.

Here's a bit more in English on Rajoy's reprehensible regime.

The 7-party pre-election debate on British TV produced only one incontestable conclusion - that the leader of the Scottish Nationalist Party had massively burnished her image for those Brits who were only dimly aware of her existence. All of them, that is. Crossing to Spain, it was like the President of Cataluña going head-to-head with Rajoy et al on national TV and emerging a clear winner. Which he probably would if this were ever allowed by Madrid. But Hell will freeze over first. The other reason why there wouldn't be the same conclusion in Spain, even if the debate were to take place, is that, unlike the British event, every participant would shout at the same time and the views of any particular participant would be lost in the cacophony. There would, of course, be a moderator but in Spain this is always a redundant role.

So, Cynthia Lennon has died. I met her once, when I was a barman in a Hotel in Heswall. In fact, I served her and her friend their drinks. And I noticed she was crying. A colleague explained this was because of the treatment meted out to her by her husband, John. What was she doing in Heswall? Well, at that time, Paul McCartney had a large house there. When he was growing up in Liverpool, it was probably the limit of his ambitions that one day he'd live across the Mersey in the Wirral peninsula, like most successful Liverpudlians before him. Of course, in the event, he managed to go a bit further than this.

Last night I attended a lovely supper with some old friends and their artist friends. There were seats for 14 but only 13 came. A supper for 13 on Good Friday. Thank-God this was Britain and kissing was conspicuous by its absence. Actually, it's quite funny to see how British women react when a stranger tries to kiss them on the cheek. And then, Spanish style, on the other cheek. Utter confusion. But, anyway, one of the guests was a lady, Jill, whom I've known since, as children, we lived in the same street. My mother had suggested I ask her if she remembered our families going to the Lake District together 'back in the day', when Jill had ignored her mother's instructions, worn her new school blazer and destroyed it by falling in the lake. Not surprisingly, she did. She also recalled her mother's reaction to the news.

Finally . . . One of the joys of TV advertising is the arrival of new health conditions of which previous generations were sadly ignorant. Ugly heels, for example. I made that one up, I think, but the latest one for me is - Sensitive bladder. As far as I can see, this is a women's complaint and really means - Involuntary urination. One wonders what the rejected options were. Troublesome trickle? Lousy leak? Embarrassing stain?

1 comment:

Barcelona's Singing Organ-Grinder said...

She told me that it was because that nice young barman had his eye on someone else.