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.
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