Spanish life is not always likeable but it is compellingly loveable.
Christopher Howse: A Pilgrim in Spain
Spanish Politics Spanish Life
- Here's something on a Spanish treat of this season. I'm very fond of a couple of variations of it but I hang on until at least January to buy them. For this is when a local supermarket puts its excess stock on sale, at prices which reduce month by month. This smart shopping does nothing, of course, for my attempts to keep my weight down.
- I have, over the years, claimed that Spanish web pages seem to be designed by techies with nil customer orientation. Things have improved since the early days but there are still problems, and not only with the Renfe page. This morning I wanted to check coffee prices on the Mercadona site for various forms of the stuff. I gave up after 5-10 minutes, mainly because it seemed I could get no data without registering with them. In contrast I got what I wanted from the Tesco UK site in about 10 seconds.
- If that were the only example, I probably wouldn't be writing about this. But last night I looked up a word in the Academia Real's dictionary but was told it didn't exist. Or not, at least, until I'd added the accent over one letter. Seeing this as ridiculous, I checked with a word on the equivalent French site and, despite omitting the accent, was deluged with information.
- Galicia is no exception to the general rule that every Spanish region must be different from every other. In our case, this is our claim to Celtic-ness. Which is rather damaged by the fact there are few (if any) Celtic words in Galician. There's no doubt at all that the Celts were here in Galicia, but they were also in many other parts of Spain and Portugal too. So no exclusivity.
- Anyway, here's our friend Paul with a dissertation on Celtic languages.
- And here's another way of looking at this, tracking the spread of Celtic languages from 1000 to the present day. They seem to have reached Iberia around 500BC and to have died out by 300CE, pushed out by Hispanicised Latin, in its several forms.
- No surprise to hear that November was one of the wettest months in the last decade here.
- Nor - given the ever-increasing number of camino 'pilgrims' - is it a surprise to read that there's been an 'explosion' in Pontevedra city's 'tourism rooms'.
- Which reminds me . . I clocked a couple of stalwart pilgrims on O Burgo bridge yesterday. And thought that anyone who'd been doing the camino in Galicia during October or November must have suffered a lot before reaching Santiago. Possibly never dry for a week or 2.
- I was wrong, by the way, to suggest the railings had been finished on one side of the bridge. There's still about 15m to go.
- Richard North today: Turnout could prove to be a (if not the) decisive factor, especially as there has been nothing in the campaign which has really set it alight, and the prevailing mood is of despondency and boredom, with widely expressed cynicism about the intentions of all parties. And the weather might well determine the turnout, with rain and high winds forecast.
- Like most adolescents, Ffart keeps a diary. Last week's entries are reproduced below.
- Here's a worrying thought . . . If Ffart - as reader Perry confidently predicts - is re-elected next year, he will have 4 more years in power without having to concern himself with re-election. While - as I recently said - he keeps getting older and less cognitively able every second. As one observer has said: Things could get very nasty.
Spanish
- So, how similar are Spanish and Portuguese? Here's Paul again with his answer on this. Again, points made about Portuguese apply largely to Gallego. He says, sticking his neck out . . .
Finally . . .
- Signalling by Spanish drivers is, shall we say, idiosyncratic. And, as I see every morning when I approach a T junction signalling that I'm turning right, few people trust it. A good example of why this is so came yesterday morning. As I approached a roundabout, a truck coming the other way turned left across me without making any signal but then, once past the roundabout, pointless signalled right, despite going straight on. I'd be lying if I said this was the first time I'd been bemused by this. Anyway, it reminded me that there's one occasion on which almost all Spanish drivers DO signal - when they've overtaken you on an autovia/autopista and are then pulling in to the right. I guess this is obligatory under the law and may well reflect that Spanish motorways usually have only 2 lanes, not 3 or 4. The real irony here is that UK drivers - while on the whole being pretty good at signalling their intentions - almost never do this. From memory, this also applies to drivers in France, Germany, Holland and Belgium. But I'm happy to be corrected on this.
THE ARTICLE
My Week: Donald Trump*
Monday
My aeroplane is very large and very special and it has just arrived for the Nato summit in England where I am very popular. And the Boris guy who wants to be me, so badly by the way, is calling already. “I get it,” I’m saying, “because I am a very stable genius. I’m the cleverest person in the room. Even when I’m by myself. Everybody says! Who? I don’t know. Empty room. What were we talking about?”
Boris says we were talking about me staying out of the UK election. “Sure,” I say. “Even Melania gets it. She’s not confused. She just looks like that. I’m too popular. It would be like having God on your side. Like I do. I think he admires me. You know what? It’s mutual. Whataguy. Speaks to me sometimes. In dreams. Great horns!”
Boris doesn’t say anything.
“Or the Queen!” I say. “I’m like the Queen.”
“In a way,” says Boris.
“Although secretly,” I add, “I bet she’s on your side, too.”
“Oh totally,” says Boris.
Tuesday
As I tell the press conference, I don’t want your NHS. You could give me it on a silver platter and I wouldn’t take it. I wouldn’t even take the platter. I got more platters than you would believe. Mine are gold. Also, I’m impartial. Boris is a great guy, but I have absolutely zero preference between him and your Bernie Corbyn gentleman, who is a threat to your nation and would be so bad, so bad. Him? He might be great, too. It’s possible. Stranger things have happened. Like that show about the talking horse! What even was that? So I’m gonna stay out of it. So far out. The outest. Am I doing this right?
Actually, what I want to talk about is Nato. You know, my friend Emmanuel Macron said it was “brain dead” and I just think that’s so nasty. And I used to love that guy. Not in a gay way. I don’t care how it looked. But you guys are so ungrateful. There were wars! The worst. We’ve all seen the films. It’s like I told Angela Merkel. If it wasn’t for Uncle Sam, you’d all be speaking German. Don’t look at me like that. Such disrespect. My brain is fine.
Wednesday
Melania is trapped inside her new cape. So yellow. I’ve got a break between meetings and I’ve turned on my phone, and there are 17 voicemails from Nigel Farage. Sad. Also, there’s a fun video of all the guys getting accidentally caught chatting on camera.
“Ha!” I say. “They’re trash-talking some chump who had an incredibly long press conference! I wonder who?”
Woody, my ambassador, is curled up at my feet eating from a bowl. Literally like a dog.
“Could be anyone,” he says.
“Am confused,” says Melania.
“We get that,” I say.
“But, husband,” she says. “They are talking about you.”
Thursday
The FAKE NEWS MEDIA is writing that I overreacted, but I didn’t. I just publicly called Trudeau “two-faced”, derailed everything and flew home, tweeting about it.
“Dad!” says Donald Jr. “I tweeted too! About Trudeau being two-faced! Like in this picture of him, in blackface!”
“I don’t like the guy,” I say. “He’s nasty. And he’s a liberal. And he says mean things about me. But you gotta admire his tan.”
Friday
Boris calls, to debrief.
“I’m not happy,” I tell him. “So much disrespect. Macron, Trudeau. Merkel. Even the Turkey guy. Who I just pardoned! For something. I think. Terrible people. Even that Italian, whatsisname.”
“Conte,” says Boris.
“Wow,” I say, impressed despite myself. “You Brits don’t hold back.”
“Anyway,” says Boris, “So grateful. Greater love hath no man, and all that. Strong bond. Athens to your Rome, and what have you. Top show.”
Then I tell Boris I know perfectly well he was laughing with the rest of them, and he goes quiet. Then I ask him how he’d like it if I did go public, but backing the other guy. Calling him the British Trump. Telling people he was just like me. And kept doing it for the next week.
“That,” says Boris. “Would be amazing.”
*according to Hugo Rifkind
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