Spanish life is not always likeable but it is compellingly loveable.
Christopher Howse: A Pilgrim in Spain
Spain- Here's someone's 'irreverent' (but amusing) ABC of Spanish life. If I've already posted this, my apologies.
- Police last week arrested another driver going down the wrong side of a local autovia. Though this wasn't yet another confused geriatric but a young Portuguese chap who was fleeing the long arm of the law. Possibly with various chemicals in his bloodstream.
- Yes, I did indeed appear on TV Galicia this week, following the interview that was sprung on me last weekend. But, not being a fan of either Spanish or Galician TV, I didn't see it.
- Talking of the media . . . It's probably because it's August but the local press seem even keener than ever to feed us 'news' about Galicia being 2nd in the list of this (good) or 17th in the list of that (bad). All very boring. But a good laugh when stats are given to 3 decimal points. This must be a Franco era hangover.
- A good example of what happens with our 3 'international' airports here in Galicia - The Portuguese airline, TAP, has announced a new flight between Santiago and Lisbon, having cancelled those to both La Coruña and Vigo. IGIMSTS.
- In these polarised times, even web dating sites are politicised, it seems. At least in the UK. See the article below.
- More than a dozen UK academics, including several leading feminist professors, fear their freedom of speech is being silenced by students complaining they are transphobic. Organised groups, they say, are using university complaints procedures to stifle debate on campus.
- 'Fools and their money are soon parted': You might think £2.99 nappy cream is as good as it gets. But Kim Kardashian, Gwyneth Paltrow and Harper Beckham, 8, are fans of the celebrity Dr Barbara Sturm's Baby and Kids Body Cream, and 50ml Baby Face Cream, which sell at £45 at £50. Projections suggest the baby skincare market could be worth $18.9bn by 2025 as millennial and even younger parents who take a greater interest in their own self-care rituals do the same with their children. Dear dog.
- Something to worry about, from Niall Ferguson?: "You have no choice but to vote for me,” Trump declared at a rally in New Hampshire on Thursday, “because [otherwise] your 401(k)s [retirement savings plan] — down the tubes. Everything’s going to be down the tubes. So whether you love me or hate me, you’ve gotta vote for me.” That’s a line that could come back to haunt Trump if everything goes down the tubes before November next year, when Americans will decide if he’s a one or two-term president. But, if he gets lucky and the economic forecasters are wrong again, he might just get 4 more years.
- Word of the Day:- Follador: The person who works bellows (un fuelle). Or, as the Royal Academy puts it: An operator who stands in a forge. By extension - think of the bellows action - Someone practising coitus. I'm sure you can think of a shorter way of putting that . . .
- Last night there was a table of 9 people between me and the latest raucous rock band performance 60m away*. If they'd been Spanish, their noise would have protected me from that but, unfortunately, they were Italians and so spoke as all such groups do around the world. Normally. For once, I missed the barrage of Spanish conversation. Imagine it, 9 people all shouting simultaneously.
- Interestingly, 2 of the women started to smoke and, even though we were all outside, they considerately moved 2-3 metres away from the table to indulge their habit. Never seen that here before.
- Even more interestingly, 4 out of the 9 Italians ordered the (Jamie Oliver) fish and chips I recommended a while ago that the owners put on the menu to attract guiris . . . Not all of whom are British, of course.
* Banda Xangai, the loudest, most tuneless yet. Punk bagpipe. Possibly of appeal to the (alleged) Celtic soul of the Gallegos.
THE ARTICLE
Does being a Tory mean I'm not 'woke' enough for love?: Charlotte Gill, Daily Telegraph.
We were on our second date when everything crashed. I knew something was adrift as Ben stared into my eyes with a certain wariness.
“I feel weird about the fact you’re a Telegraph writer,” he suddenly said, sipping his beer regretfully. “My mates warned me to stay away.”
We’d been getting on so well before that, talking animatedly about science and dogs until the pubs chucked us out. But I knew it was all over. How could I date a boy who treated my right-wing persuasion as if it was chlamydia? With his penchant for woolly jumpers and audacity to turn up in a cycling vest for date two, perhaps I should have seen the signs. That a socialist had stumbled into my romantic path.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised: dating at 30 is a Left-leaner’s game, with studies suggesting over 70 per cent of 18-24 year olds voted remain in the referendum, while analysis on how under-45s might vote should a second one take place puts that number up to 82 per cent. The impact of recent polarising political events has been seismic, and while most people acknowledge Brexit has caused social divisions, these usually describe friendships and families, rather than youngsters looking for love. Are fractures locking people into the single market, too?
One of my good mates, a 34-year-old guy with similar views to me, is sick of politicised dating apps. He showed me a screenshot of one of the many woke women he’s been subjected to. One profile reads: “I get along best with people who can check their privilege and hate the Tories”, another says men can only contact her if they “also strongly believe that toxic masculinity is suffocating and there should be no room for its traits & damaging behaviours in society”. There was also the girl who warned not to go out with her if “You disagree with veganism”. He eventually called dating apps quits after an evening with a whiny Corbynista, although it turned out her worst crime was being teetotal.
Another male friend, 35, showed me a profile of a woman who said she values “kindness” and “compassion”, yet writes “f--- the Tories”, in her self-summary box. “As someone who has had relationships with people who were strongly Labour, it’s depressing to see that politics has become a more acceptable barrier between people when dating,” my friend says. “Even if you voted remain or if you don’t like Boris Johnson, you are guilty by association.”
On Twitter, when I asked others about this societal phenomenon, other users replied to say they had been rejected on Grindr and OkCupid because of politics. “You have to be liberal otherwise you’re doomed”, wrote one young man.
I did my own investigation on Hinge, one of the most popular dating apps. I hadn’t been on it for some time, as nowadays I prefer to meet people in real life, but the time spent away made me realise just how much worse things have got.
For starters, huge numbers of profiles ward off Conservatives and Leavers, while one man lists “bloodletting the bourgeoisie” as his hobby. Never do I spot anyone rejecting Labour lovers or Europhiles.
Forget having a nice smile, or enjoying films; among the hundreds of profiles I combed through, recycling, veganism, feminism and socialism were in demand for women. One individual said he wanted “Strong legs, confidence, intelligence, an ability to get passionate, an understanding of the environmental impact of life” as preferences in a mate.
And whereas men used to post photographs of their abs as a form of peacocking, this has been replaced with virtue signalling instead. One Bumble candidate boasts he wants to safeguard “a patch of the rainforest” (hubba hubba). A Hinge user says “Mental health, eating less meat, and protecting natural resources” are his favourite things. Are these meant to be aphrodisiacs?
Nichi Hodgson, author of The Curious History of Dating, offers an interesting hypothesis for the trend: “Where once people would never have dated outside of their social class, now they fear to stray outside of their political tribe. Politics is the new class when it comes to people staying within their mating lane. Historically speaking, this really became apparent in the 80s when traditional class/money categories began to meld”.
Jenni Hill, 29, from Manchester, is adamant she doesn’t want a Brexit-voting boyfriend. “I refuse to date Tories or Brexiteers and I don’t feel the slightest bit bad about it… It’s simply a matter of being realistic about the type of people I’m compatible with,” she tells me.
“If I went out with a guy who has a shrine to Boris Johnson or blames immigration for the state of the NHS, we’d just be arguing all the time. And I’m sure the relationship would be just as insufferable for him as it would be for me.”
But is everyone this militant? Tentatively I send a Leftie a message on Hinge. On his profile, he claims that Jeremy Corbyn is not left-wing enough. “How do you think he can be more left wing?” I ask.
Graciously he explains, before moving onto the complexities of capitalism, fossil fuels and the Soviet Union, and I’m beginning to think this Leftie is a good egg. “Do you think communism hasn’t been done properly?” I ask him, before he laughs and accuses me of making fun of him. Even when the Leftie works out my journalistic affiliations, he pursues conversation, eager to know why I voted Brexit. But ultimately I wonder what the point is. Maybe I’m just as hypocritical as the Leftie and Europhile daters.
For some Tories and Brexiteers, the answer to all this dating app backlash is simply to be upfront. Tom Russell-Mesenge, 27, has no qualms about listing his hobbies as “reading The Spectator and dreaming of a sovereign, independent United Kingdom” on Hinge. He tells me “I’m proud to put up my politics because I want to be honest about who I am. If people don’t like it then that’s their prerogative, but I suspect any serious relationship would not go very far if they are a “never kiss a Tory” type anyway.”
Maybe Tom’s got the right approach. Personally I’m not convinced that politics should be such a big barrier to love; to me, shared values have never been simply about who you vote for, but what you thought about Love Island, and whether Three Billboards is the most overrated film of all time (it is). That’s why these metrics worked in the old days of dating. They may sound trivial, but often the little things say a lot more about a person than what they ticked at the ballot box.
THE ARTICLE
Does being a Tory mean I'm not 'woke' enough for love?: Charlotte Gill, Daily Telegraph.
We were on our second date when everything crashed. I knew something was adrift as Ben stared into my eyes with a certain wariness.
“I feel weird about the fact you’re a Telegraph writer,” he suddenly said, sipping his beer regretfully. “My mates warned me to stay away.”
We’d been getting on so well before that, talking animatedly about science and dogs until the pubs chucked us out. But I knew it was all over. How could I date a boy who treated my right-wing persuasion as if it was chlamydia? With his penchant for woolly jumpers and audacity to turn up in a cycling vest for date two, perhaps I should have seen the signs. That a socialist had stumbled into my romantic path.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised: dating at 30 is a Left-leaner’s game, with studies suggesting over 70 per cent of 18-24 year olds voted remain in the referendum, while analysis on how under-45s might vote should a second one take place puts that number up to 82 per cent. The impact of recent polarising political events has been seismic, and while most people acknowledge Brexit has caused social divisions, these usually describe friendships and families, rather than youngsters looking for love. Are fractures locking people into the single market, too?
One of my good mates, a 34-year-old guy with similar views to me, is sick of politicised dating apps. He showed me a screenshot of one of the many woke women he’s been subjected to. One profile reads: “I get along best with people who can check their privilege and hate the Tories”, another says men can only contact her if they “also strongly believe that toxic masculinity is suffocating and there should be no room for its traits & damaging behaviours in society”. There was also the girl who warned not to go out with her if “You disagree with veganism”. He eventually called dating apps quits after an evening with a whiny Corbynista, although it turned out her worst crime was being teetotal.
Another male friend, 35, showed me a profile of a woman who said she values “kindness” and “compassion”, yet writes “f--- the Tories”, in her self-summary box. “As someone who has had relationships with people who were strongly Labour, it’s depressing to see that politics has become a more acceptable barrier between people when dating,” my friend says. “Even if you voted remain or if you don’t like Boris Johnson, you are guilty by association.”
On Twitter, when I asked others about this societal phenomenon, other users replied to say they had been rejected on Grindr and OkCupid because of politics. “You have to be liberal otherwise you’re doomed”, wrote one young man.
I did my own investigation on Hinge, one of the most popular dating apps. I hadn’t been on it for some time, as nowadays I prefer to meet people in real life, but the time spent away made me realise just how much worse things have got.
For starters, huge numbers of profiles ward off Conservatives and Leavers, while one man lists “bloodletting the bourgeoisie” as his hobby. Never do I spot anyone rejecting Labour lovers or Europhiles.
Forget having a nice smile, or enjoying films; among the hundreds of profiles I combed through, recycling, veganism, feminism and socialism were in demand for women. One individual said he wanted “Strong legs, confidence, intelligence, an ability to get passionate, an understanding of the environmental impact of life” as preferences in a mate.
And whereas men used to post photographs of their abs as a form of peacocking, this has been replaced with virtue signalling instead. One Bumble candidate boasts he wants to safeguard “a patch of the rainforest” (hubba hubba). A Hinge user says “Mental health, eating less meat, and protecting natural resources” are his favourite things. Are these meant to be aphrodisiacs?
Nichi Hodgson, author of The Curious History of Dating, offers an interesting hypothesis for the trend: “Where once people would never have dated outside of their social class, now they fear to stray outside of their political tribe. Politics is the new class when it comes to people staying within their mating lane. Historically speaking, this really became apparent in the 80s when traditional class/money categories began to meld”.
Jenni Hill, 29, from Manchester, is adamant she doesn’t want a Brexit-voting boyfriend. “I refuse to date Tories or Brexiteers and I don’t feel the slightest bit bad about it… It’s simply a matter of being realistic about the type of people I’m compatible with,” she tells me.
“If I went out with a guy who has a shrine to Boris Johnson or blames immigration for the state of the NHS, we’d just be arguing all the time. And I’m sure the relationship would be just as insufferable for him as it would be for me.”
But is everyone this militant? Tentatively I send a Leftie a message on Hinge. On his profile, he claims that Jeremy Corbyn is not left-wing enough. “How do you think he can be more left wing?” I ask.
Graciously he explains, before moving onto the complexities of capitalism, fossil fuels and the Soviet Union, and I’m beginning to think this Leftie is a good egg. “Do you think communism hasn’t been done properly?” I ask him, before he laughs and accuses me of making fun of him. Even when the Leftie works out my journalistic affiliations, he pursues conversation, eager to know why I voted Brexit. But ultimately I wonder what the point is. Maybe I’m just as hypocritical as the Leftie and Europhile daters.
For some Tories and Brexiteers, the answer to all this dating app backlash is simply to be upfront. Tom Russell-Mesenge, 27, has no qualms about listing his hobbies as “reading The Spectator and dreaming of a sovereign, independent United Kingdom” on Hinge. He tells me “I’m proud to put up my politics because I want to be honest about who I am. If people don’t like it then that’s their prerogative, but I suspect any serious relationship would not go very far if they are a “never kiss a Tory” type anyway.”
Maybe Tom’s got the right approach. Personally I’m not convinced that politics should be such a big barrier to love; to me, shared values have never been simply about who you vote for, but what you thought about Love Island, and whether Three Billboards is the most overrated film of all time (it is). That’s why these metrics worked in the old days of dating. They may sound trivial, but often the little things say a lot more about a person than what they ticked at the ballot box.
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