We had Armed Forces Day on Saturday. This will be followed by Constitution Day later in the year. I suspect most Brits would see these days of military parades as more appropriate to a dictatorship than a modern democracy. Possibly most Spaniards would as well. Even those not from Cataluña and the Basque Country. I wonder if the Germans have an Armed Forces Day. Probably not.
The Spanish do enjoy their festivals and some of these are truly bizarre. Like this baby-leaping ceremony in Castrillo de Murcia, near Burgos. Possibly of pagan origin, it centres on babies being cleansed of 'original sin' by having the Devil jump over them. Almost as odd as last week's festival here in Galicia involving live folk being processed in (open) coffins from the church to the cemetery. Not to mention the one which involves stones being thrown over the church roof. And possibly landing on people doing the same thing on the other side.
Thanks to Moscow's RT TV, I now know that the Greek imbroglio is really the latest example of an "imperial" Germany's attempt to get hold of Greek assets on the cheap. Without having to invade or shed blood. Italy will next, followed by Spain and then Portugal. Hey ho.
I had no luck in finding any of my stolen items at the flea-market yesterday but my visit was nonetheless memorable. On a stall I was passing, the top magazine of some deceased villager's porn collection suddenly blew open and presented us with more anatomical detail than seemed appropriate for anyone other than a gynaecologist. My immediate thought was - who in the age of the internet is going to be buying that stuff? But, then, that's what I think about 90% of the offerings.
My 3rd visit to the Guardia Civil yesterday was not a long affair. At the garrison gatepost, two (very polite) officers told me - in stereo - that their colleagues were interviewing 2 people who'd just been arrested and I would have a long wait. They suggested I came back later. Or today. Afeared of what a Spanish 'long wait' would turn out to be, I decided to go with the latter. This show still has legs.
Since they're virtually next door, I popped into Carrefour after the Guardia Civil. You'd think the supermarkets would standardise the colour of their milk cartons, wouldn't you? But, no, in Mercadona pink means 'skimmed', whereas in Carrefour it means 'unskimmed'. Great.
Finally . . . On British TV last night, they showed the scene from Billy Liar where Julie Christie leaves Tom Courteney on the station and heads off for London. And I was overwhelmed with nostalgia. Not for trains, stations, Courteney or even London. But for my (unrequited) love for Ms Christie. Who, sadly, never played her cards right.