Tuesday, August 11, 2015

President Rajoy; Public opinion; Podemos; Our big fiesta; Debs & balls; & A Liverpool song.

Presumably under the tutelage of an expensive PR company, the PP party is doing its utmost to humanise President Rajoy and convert him from what he appears to be - a soulless robot whose only oratorical skill is to move his right arm up and down - into something resembling a humanoid. So, we're being subjected to pictures of him on holiday - running, walking swimming and cycling. At which activities he looks, to me, as gormless and as uncoordinated as ever.

And untrustworthy as well. For, though the government is trying very hard to convince us that La Crisis is over, few people are willing to believe this. The latest poll from the government research institute shows a mere 0.2% of Spaniards believe the country’s economy is in "very good" shape, while only 3.5% think it's in "good" shape. Meanwhile, around 40% plump for a "bad" state and 25% for "very bad". As for the future, 75% fear things will either "stay the same" or "get worse". Plenty there for the opposition parties to get their teeth into. When they aren't splitting the left-wing vote.

Talking of these, the newcomer party, Podemos, has inevitably seen its high ratings fall and is now only getting 15-16% support. As you'd expect, a policy re-think is being pursued.

Back in Tiffintown, we've had the first 3 days of our Fiesta de la la Peregrina. Young women of 12 upwards have gathered in certain squares of the old quarter with their empty Coke bottles, hoping someone will fill them with Calimocho and help them on their way to their first bout of drunken vomiting during the night's bacchanal. And the streets between these squares have run with urine, giving us the traditional stench of piss we associate with good times. But no violence, of course, as Spanish youth doesn't go in for this much. If at all.

But the Spanish are as efficient in cleaning up after a party as they are in setting it up in the first place. By 8am every morning, the monumental debris of the previous night has been cleared up and the streets washed clean. Even as sleepless party-goers wander round in DJs and evening dresses. Especially after the city's premier social event, the Debutantes' Ball. Yes, you read that correctly. We still have one here. And there were 18 young debs in white this year. All virgins, I'm assuming. At an event attended by flying pigs.

Finally . . . I've mentioned a few times over the years that whores and brothels are a regular feature of the Spanish landscape but I doubt there's a city here which boasts a song about a rapacious prostitute as one of its anthems. Cue Maggie May, from The Spinners of Liverpool. With these lyrics. Enjoy.

Oh, gather round you sailor boys and listen to my plea.
And when you've heard my tale, you'll pity me.
For I was a ruddy fool in the port of Liverpool
The first time that I come home from sea

I was plying the path to home from the port of Sierre Leone
Four pound ten and fourpence was me pay
With a pocket full of tin I was very soon taken in,
by a gal with the name of Maggie Mae.

Chorus:
Oh Maggie Maggie Mae, they have taken her away,
and she'll never walk down Lime street anymore.
For she's robbed so many sailors and captains of the whalers
That dirty, robbin' urchin Maggie Mae.

Oh, well do I remember the first time I met Maggie Mae
She was cruisin' up and down in Canning Place.
She'd a figure so divine, like a frigate of the line.
Well, being a sailor I gave chase.

Now in the morning I awoke, I was flat and stony broke.
No jacket, trousers, waistcoat did I find.
When I asked her where they were, she said "My very dear sir.
They're down in Kelly's pawnshop number nine".

Chorus

Well, to the pawnshop I did go, no clothes could I find
and a policeman took that gal away.
And the judge he guilty found her of robbin' a homeward-bounder.
And paid her passage out to Botany Bay.

Oh, Maggie Maggie Mae. They have taken her away,
and she'll never walk down Lime street anymore.
Well that judge he guilty found her, for robbin' a homeward--bounder,
You dirty, robbin', no good Maggie Mae.

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