Golfing; Summerwear; Song titles, then & now; A legionnaire's lament; & Bloody birds.

Spain's new political map has emerged over the last few days, showing the regions and councils taken over by the new centre and left-of-centre parties. One of the minor consequences of this shift of power may be fewer (water-guzzling) golf courses in the country. In Madrid, the prestigious Casa de Campo course now faces an uncertain future, though a membership comprising Spain's (very) rich and powerful must represent a major barrier to closure and conversion into farmland.

I was musing yesterday on the range of female summer clothing on display down in Vegetables Square - from micro-skirts to Muslim hijabs - when I read that, down in Valencia, a group preparing for a religious procession had fined women for wearing skirts that were either too short or had slits up the side. Some men were also fined but only for taking selfies or waving to friends and relatives in the crowd. You just can't get good walkers these days.

Talking about modern times . . . They just don't create song titles like they used to. On this wonderful webpage, you can find this one for instance, sung by Jo Stafford in 1954: Make Love To Me! This was, of course, when this phrase meant far less than it does now.

And talking of music . . . While trawling through amusing videos about Franco - most particularly excerpts from his abominable film Raza - I came across a gruesome marching tune, said to be the anthem of the Spanish Legion. It goes under the catchy title of The Bridegroom of Death and runs, in English, as follows. You can sing along to the Spanish here:-

No one in the Regiment knew

Who was that legionnaire

So bold and so daring

Who came to join the Legion.

No one knew his story,

Yet the Legion knew

That a great pain gnawed

Like a wolf, at his heart.

Yet if anyone asked who he was

He would reply reluctantly and sternly:

Chorus

I am a man whom fortune

Has struck with a ferocious claw;

I am death's bridegroom

Who is to be joined by a strong bond

To so faithful a sweetheart.

When the fire and fighting

Are at their fiercest,

Defending his Flag

The legionnaire advanced.

And without fear of the onslaught

Of the exalted enemy

He died bravely

And rescued the flag.

And as he soaked the burning ground with his blood,

The legionnaire murmured mournfully:

Chorus

When his body was finally recovered

They found on his chest

A letter and a picture

Of a beautiful woman.

And that letter read:

"If one day God calls you,

Save a place for me

I will soon find you."

And in the last kiss that she sent him

She bid him a final goodbye.

Just to be by your side

My most faithful sweetheart,

I became death's bridegroom,

I am now bound to her by a strong bond

And her love was my standard.

Finally . . . They're finally working on at least culling the bloody predatory pigeons and seagulls in Pontevedra's main square. As someone who had his tapa snatched off his plate by a gull last night, I feel this hasn't come soon enough.