Anyway . . . Some years ago, the planning officer of a town in the Galician hills assured me the council wasn't concerned about the illegal extension of a house some Brit friends were thinking of buying. For them, it was more important to receive the extra taxes than to compel its destruction. But, he added, if ever a neighbour complained - the dreaded denuncia - then they'd be forced to take action. By and large, this used to be the attitude of the local police. But that's another issue(infra). I was reminded of this by a development at my regular bar a few days ago. It's been an exceptionally sunny winter so far and, after 2pm, the owners have taken to putting tables beyond their licensed terrace so that their clients - especially me - can get the sun until it goes behind a building at 3.30. But this has led to a running feud with a neighbour who objects to the - very partial - blocking of the access to her house. The owners sought a licence extension many months ago but, hey, this is Spain and this is yet to arrive. So, the police keep coming and forcing the removal of the offending table(s). Three days ago, there was a totally unexpected development. In what the owners have told me is an unprecedented move, the city council has withdrawn their existing terrace licence. What makes this particularly bizarre is that it's almost certain that none of the several tapas bars down the street has a licence for its tables and chairs. But no one has yet complained. Though I admit I've thought about it. Just to see what would happen.
As for the local police - and the national Tráfico of the Guardia Civil . . . Their old live-and-let-live-unless-someone-complains attitude has long gone. Under pressure from a government which spent billions on a 'non-rescue' of Spain's corrupt and inefficient banks, these have effectively become a department of the the Tax Office, la Hacienda. As a result - and to say the least - Spain is not what it was 16 years ago. Officials here are now every bit as officious as they are in, say, the UK. Possibly they're on commission. Or at least a bonus.
The Trump . . . I can't pretend to read much of the output of the champagne socialist, Polly Toynbee, but I did read - and agree with - the article at the end of this post. Sampler: Trump’s nature was never a secret. He has never dissembled, he can’t dissemble. Why would he when he worships every aspect of himself, each hair on his head, each word he tweets? Greater self-love hath no man. The widespread view now is that Trump suffers from the condition of Narcissism. Hard to argue with that too. Just what you need in a man who's the leader of the free world and has his finger on the infamous nuclear button. I wonder what the betting now is on impeachment and/or assassination.
Finally . . . Today's cartoon . . .
Less funny . . .
Trump revealed his
presidential dream to me in 1988. Now the nightmare begins Polly
Toynbee
At war with the US
intelligence agencies he compares to Nazi Germany, damning them
for leaking an unverified dossier on his alleged links with
Moscow, Donald Trump’s bizarre press conference left the
world agog. What if the Russians have so well destabilised America
that no sooner inaugurated, their chosen president has to be
impeached? Don’t count on it. Ordinary rules don’t apply to the
man who is the raw spirit of the lawless wild west.
And Trump’s nature
was never a secret. He has never dissembled, he can’t dissemble.
Why would he when he worships every aspect of himself, each hair on
his head, each word he tweets? Greater self-love hath no man.
Apart from his lost
good looks, he is unchanged since I interviewed him for the Guardian
back in 1988. He was 41 and in Britain to plug his book, The Art
of the Deal. Then as now, he was a petrifying megalomaniac with no
grip on reality, or not a reality shared by others. At the time I
described his “demonic power and energy waiting to spring”. Now
look how far he has sprung.
I wrote about his aura
of “glitz, greed, glamour and an ambition so colossal that it will
probably not rest until he rules the world – which one day he just
might”. And next week, God help us, he will. But nearly 30 years
ago was his eye already on running for the presidency? I put the
question to him. “Not for a period but I am involved politically.
You could do it from where I am,” he replied with the same
nonchalance he might describe making a pitch for some new property or
casino in New York.
What would his platform
be? “Respect. We’re a second-rate economic power, a debtor
nation. We’re getting kicked around.” His current determination
to tear up Barack Obama’s carefully brokered nuclear deal with
Iran has a long history. He told me that as president, “I’d
be harsh on Iran. They’ve been beating us psychologically, making
us look like a bunch of fools … It’d be good for the world to
take them on.”
How will Britain fare?
Though his boastful book was a US bestseller, it had snooty reviews
over here, as eminent British business people of the John
Harvey-Jones type shuddered with repulsion at the cut-throat swagger
of Trump’s style. In his corporate deals the other guy is always
shafted, especially decent old-world types stupid enough to think a
gentleman’s word is his bond.
Trump was in London in
the midst of Margaret Thatcher’s big bang, red braces and
loadsamoney mania years, yet his judgment on Britain was this: “Your
country’s distaste for success is a national disease.” Bear that
in mind as our government begs for a post-Brexit trade deal, with a
Theresa May date not in Trump’s diary. What kind of trade deal does
Liam Fox imagine he will broker with this man whose contempt for
Britain, even back in its most Trumpish era, was so withering? Just
as Trump’s view on Iran is unchanged, I doubt he has formed any new
views about Britain.
The craven caperings
of Nigel Farage and Boris Johnson may amuse him,
but the deal will be cut-throat. If you had doubts about
the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership (TTIP), just
wait and see what kind of deregulation, anti-working rights,
anti-environmental, anti-product safety and food contamination rules
he will impose when he shakes hands with British gentlemen on their
knees for anything they can get.
Britain stares at him
across the Atlantic, aghast at this grotesque man-baby, this
loud-mouth buffoon and braggart, but my own assessment back then was:
“He’s sharp as a gold-plated razor-blade.” Never underestimate
the power of a person without self-doubt. Never underestimate the
power of a gargantuan appetite for possessing everything. If he was
frightening back then, he’s terrifying now.
That gigantic egotism
is an Americanism with deep roots. Though not religious, Trump says
he attends Marble Collegiate Church, home of the rightwing
theology of Norman Vincent Peale – a pastor Ronald Reagan
rewarded with the Presidential Medal of Freedom. I recognised in
Trump the strong affirmation he drew from Peale’s bestseller The
Power of Positive Thinking. Every atom of Trump’s being is imbued
with the Peale magical thinking that says only believe in yourself
(not God, not self-sacrifice) and you can take whatever you want in
the here and now, not the hereafter. I can imagine Trump chanting to
himself daily in front of the mirror Peale’s famous mantra, “Every
day, in every way, I am getting better and better.”
When I met Trump, I had
already heard Peale preach to a congregation of the rich, but
addressing the poor too: just want it enough, and you can get it. If
you fail that’s because you lack the necessary will, was a
comforting message for the hyper-wealthy, confirming their
meritorious deserts. To all the rest, the message was self-blame: you
just don’t want it enough. That’s Trumpism.
Back in that 1988
interview I wrote: “Could Trump possibly make it to the White
House? Of course not, says everyone who knows anything about American
politics. It’s a bad joke. But then Trump has often done what can’t
be done and if the White House can take a senile movie star, why not
a casino operator?”
That bad joke has
landed. Here he is, transparent in all his hateful habits. So far
those who voted for him show no sign of regretting it. What they saw
is what they got. The more he transgresses, the more it proves the
rules were “establishment” fixes to deny him his rights. Ethics?
Conflict of interest? Everything is fake except him,
authentic Trump whatever he does. If there is a sex tape and if it
bursts on to the web, that might just cause a wobble – but why
wouldn’t that just be fake too?
In foreign relations, a
shockingly out-of-control and wildly unpredictable finger on the
nuclear button may yield extraordinary results. Others may crumble
before him when there are no rules, when mutually assured destruction
is no longer a game of double and triple bluff but a possibility. He
may confound the careful Chinese and outdo the North Koreans. My own
hunch is that those dealing with him should beware of underestimating
this man. There is method in his madness – and no one in the world
is more primed to win anything and everything against any odds.
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