The marriagable Mrs Preysler; Traffic fines; Jews and Muslims; RT TV; & Two vignettes.

Isabel Preysler is a staple of Spain't celebrity media, especially since she's had 3 (wealthy) husbands and is now being courted by a 4th. Apparently, "nothing but soap and water" has left her looking younger than her kids, as you can see here. Anyway, she's now walking out with a Nobel literature prize winner, Jorge Vargas Llosa. Unlike Isabel, Jorge looks his age of 79 but is said to be devastatingly handsome to women. All strength to his pen, then. I should write more.

I've written of the scope the traffic police have here to fine you for whatever they think - but never have to prove - is careless driving. Basically, if you don't keep both hands permanently on the wheel, you're liable to be booked. And this would include turning the radio knob, for instance. The latest example of this madness is a fine of €80 on a Salamancan driver for biting the nails on one hand. I guess the next one will be scratching your nose.

It had to happen . . . Following on the grant of citizenship to the descendants of Jews exiled in 1492, Muslims are now seeking from the Spanish government the same rights for those exiled from Al-Andalus from 1502 onwards. We really should have seen it coming.

You have to smile when Russia's RT TV channel goes big on Western governments spinning the news around the issue of Edward Snowden's security leaks. RT might well be right - see here - but its riding of a high horse is surely ironic. And a tad rich.

Finally . . . Two lovely vignettes today. As I was driving down the hill to town, the postman was coming up on his scooter. Seeing my car, he tooted to get me to stop and then came over to gave me a parcel. Which was very thoughtful. Later, when buying a train ticket, I had a delightful chat with the lady at the counter. We got off to a good start when I pointed out I was her second guiri* in a row. Then we chatted about the refusal of her computer to recognise my discount card. Finally, we established we both lived in the barrio of Poio. But neither she nor her colleague could say what the collective noun for us was. So I suggested Pollones. She replied with Pollitos (chicks) and dissolved into laughter. I added that we lived in Chickenland and her joy was unconfined. 

The parcel, by the way, was a ship in a bottle, kindly sent to me from La Coruña by my friend Eamon.

* Unflattering name for foreigners/tourists.