Words: In his(then)/her(now) 1988 book on Spain - entitled "Spain" - James/Jan Morris points out that Spaniards use the word Casino to mean (private) club. But doesn't add that a Club here is usually a brothel. But, then, it might not have done back in the 80s, when the euphamism for these ubiquitous institutions was American Bar, I'm told.
Comings and Goings: I went shopping this morning, for a cable to connect a usb pen with my phone. The guy in the IT shop is always slow but today he combined this with the standard practice of trying to serve 4 people at the same time. Including the 2 who came in after me. So, I left and made my way to another IT shop on the way to my watering hole. It had closed down, of course.
Finally . . . A Sequel: I wrote yesterday to a hostel I'd stayed in in Sigueiro, north of Santiago. I thought I might have left something there. The charming owner wrote to say I hadn't but that she remembered my blog comments about the vicious, high-pressure hose at the side of the toilet. She expressed the hope I really hadn't used it. As it's for cleaning only the toilet, not any part of the human anatomy. I assured her I'd been too frightened to experiment with it! And invited her to dinner. I guess she's been too busy to reply. Oh, she just did . . .
Last year the hortensia flowers outside my kitchen window were an insipid whiteish colour. This year they're again the prettier blue of previous years.