Bloody
'ell. Spain is a Difficult Country, not just for us Plebs:
In a text chat between Queen Letizia and one of the accused in a
prominent corruption case, she offers her support and he complains
that Spain is a very difficult place. For some more than others, it
has to be said. I don't suppose Letizia has many problems. Well,
apart from this one.
Spanish
v British Hygiene: The Spanish tend to regard British houses as
dirty. This is rather unfair. I, for one, haven't known a British
woman any less fastidious than her Spanish counterpart. [I mention
'women' only because - unlike me - the majority of Spaniards still
regard housework as women's duty. If I could get a male cleaner, I'd
certainly have one]. Anyway, in one respect, at least, the Spanish are
quite right to be disgusted. Given the propensity of men to - let's say - drip, it's surely daft to have a carpet, rather than tiles, in the
bathroom.
New (to
me) Spanglish: If you use a computer, I guess you can figure out what the verbs loguear
and desloguear mean. And possibly even if you don't.
Proof
of Identity in Spain: This is usually – and irritatingly
frequently – done via one's ID card. Which is an NIE for foreign residents. Or, rather, things used to be. But a few years ago, the government decided to scrap our NIEs and
give us a piece of green paper with our number on it, but no
foto. In other words, useless. One needs to carry around something
else, most obviously your passport(!) or possibly a Spanish driving
licence. Anyway, I decided to test things at Santiago
airport. Arriving at the desk, I gave the lady my A4 sheet, keeping
my old (expired) NIE and passport for stages 2 and 3 of the anticipated argument. She was completely flummoxed by this. But, to my
disappointment, she accepted my assurance that this was what the
government issued to us these days, instead of an NIE. So, I was let
through to the plane without any real 'proof' of identity.
Fortunately, I'm not currently a terrorist and we arrived safely in
Alicante. But food for thought, perhaps. Or concern.
Another
Chapuza: Remember the Jesus who looked like an
orang-utang? Well, here's a botch job involving the restoration of an
old castle. As someone says: No words are
necessary. You just need to look at the photographs. The
Guardian goes to town on the
story here, featuring both botches and the counter-claim that the castle restoration is a work of genius.
Finally
. . . Our bins. All 4 of our large contenadores used be
directly opposite my front gate - making things convenient but rather
noisy in the early hours of the morning, back when they used to be
emptied 5 nights a week. Then, bit by bit, they were moved 50m to the
left. But still all in the same place. Then new plastic and organic
bins were delivered and placed on the other side of the road from the
paper and glass bins. But last week the glass bin was moved to a spot
quite far away from the others. Meaning 3 separate sites. I now have
a circuit of around 300m to make if I want to get rid of all the
stuff piling up in my garage. But I gratefully assume the Poio
town hall has done this in the interests of exercise and health. Can
there be any other reason? Stupidity? I think not.
FB Fotos:
I'm down
in Jávea, on the coast between Alicante and Valencia. Yesterday
morning I went for a walk and quickly found what I was looking for .
. .
Right next to this place . . . .
And not far from this place . . . Which serves the familiar Rogan Josh under the guise of Rogan Juice. Must try it . . .
Finally .
. . I need sand to do a particular exercise for a thrice-sprained
ankle. But this proved impossible on a beach comprising small
boulders . . .
Fortunately,
Jávea has 2 separate beaches and the other one is reputed to offer real sand. I'll be checking on this today.
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