Awake, for morning in the bowl of night has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight.

And, lo, has caught the sultan’s turret in a noose of light!

Spanish life is not always likeable but it is compellingly loveable: Christopher Howse: ‘A Pilgrim in Spain’

Cosas de España

Getting the bad news out of the way . . . Amnesty International has accused Spain and Morocco of a cover-up of the fatal events at their border a year go. And has added that authorities in Spain and Morocco made no attempt to repatriate victims’ remains and haven’t provided a full list of names and causes of death, as well as CCTV footage which could inform an investigation. A spokesman for Spain’s Interior Ministry said an investigation by a senior prosecutor had been carried out “with full guarantees and in full depth”. I doubt many folk in Spain will find that credible. Whatever it actually means-

A bit of very good news, I guess: There’s been the first sighting of an Iberian lynx in Madrid in more than 30 years – albeit in the region, not the city. Wandered west from Toledo, apparently.

One of the main problems with the green energy alternatives of sun and wind is the inability to store it. With Spain having finally embraced the sun source, much midday energy is going to waste. So, expect changes in the electricity tariff, to compel a change in consumer habits. As of today, these are the predicted prices by hour. Even on a cheap day, the range is wide.

These days I sleep only 6 hours a night, augmented by a 30-60 minute nap in the afternoon. I was lucky enough to pick up this habit as a young man in Iran, where we worked 7-3, right through. Here and here, the Guardian offers us articles on the value of the (‘declining’) institution of the siesta in Spain,

This article highlights one of the things that most bemuses English-speakers when they come to live here.

I usually read my posts late in the day, to see what typos escaped my scrutiny. Yesterday there was only one error but it concerned an entire paragraph, somehow lost from my draft. About the bar called Bosque. . . This place is unique for 2 reasons:-

• It’s the only one in the booze zone which opens before 11pm. Even as early as 8.
• It’s had 3 different names in the last few years. I can’t recall the first one but the second was some sort of Irish/Gaelic name beginning, I think, with ‘Tri’ . .

By the way, this post is later than I intended because my usual wifi ‘nodes’ are no longer available in the city, unless a waiter has sneaked me what’s not allowed to the public at large. It certainly looks like café-bar owners in Pv city are, I guess, saving money by ending the provision of wifi. And possibly exiling singletons who stay too long over their laptop, taking only a single drink.s

UK

The wine of Jerez is called sherry in Britain. It’s often used, like champagne, at receptions – to loosen the tongues of those arriving. This is because the alcohol in this fortified wine is at a level which ensures it enters the brain much quicker – via osmosis – than, say, a wine of a lower percentage. Anyway, here’s the estimable Max75 with everything you need to know about the centuries-old British love affair with sherry and the involvement of British companies – Sandiman, Osborne, et al. – in the (very Anglophilic) Jerez industry. Where Barber sell a lot of waxed jackets . . .

The UK and the EU

Richard North – always a sensible, realistic Brexiteer – throws gallons of cold water on Europhiles who think/hope the UK can and will rejoin the new(ish) empire on the block.

I realise many others wouldn’t but I wonder if RN would go along with this positive take on the effects of Brexit on the UK.

The Way of the World/Quote of The Day

On social media platforms there are (at the time of writing) 107 genders – oops no, 112

When I read that teachers in the UK are insisting that respect be given to pupils who say – pretend? – they identify as a cat, I’m reminded of some cynic saying that the animal rights folk would end up demanding the vote for oysters. Logical, of course, if an 18 old entitled to vote self-identifies as this mollusc. That day seems to be coming. Even if it’s only me doing it to take the piss . . .

Like the kids in an English school who said they were a wolf lack and spent the lesson barking at the teacher. Who might or might not have been respecting their self-identity. Wolves can’t actually bark, so I’m not at all sure they’re accurately self-identifying. Perhaps they’re really just German Shepherds.

Gallego and Portuguese

Yesterday I chatted to a group of fine young man who’d been speaking Gallego at the next table to mine. They were from Lugo, up in the hills, and confirmed that their Gallego is different from that along this coast. When I asked if it was true, as claimed by most Galicians, that they could understand Portuguese easily, the reply was “Yes, if they speak slowly”. “Hombre!”, said I, “Even I can understand them if they speak slowly, without being able to speak Gallego”. When I asked if they could understand the Portuguese of Lisbon rather than that of nearer Oporto, they said not, adding that they also had difficulty with Brazilian Portuguese. Which surprised me, as I find it easier. Perhaps because I don’t speak the Gallego related to North Portuguese. A rich tapestry.

Did you know?

Doing this clever skull thing once once fashionable among European painters.

Finally . . .

When I last went away for a while it was winter 2021 and little grew in the garden. This time it was rather different, with the growth, as mentioned, being immense. And when you do gardening – i.e. cutting and slashing – for 6 days you can’t avoid walking vegetation into the house. Not much of a visible problem on carpets and rugs but wooden floors and white tiles are a different kettle of fish. The 2 things which have given me most grief are the invasive passion flower and the trumpet bindweed. The flowers of the former are truly magnificent but the plant seems to produce a seed pod for every one-day flower it produces. I now have a bucketful of these, growing at a rate of 2-3 a morning. They start like the little green one here but end up like the orange one, almost as big as a chicken egg. Each one with dozens of seeds:-

This version of familiar song was the first disc of the wonderful Karen Carpenter and her brother, Richard. Not a hit at all in the UK and only a minor one in the USA. But they made it big with their next offering Close to You. As with Eva Cassidy, it’s impossible to listen to Karen without being hit by considerable sadness.

For new readers:- If you’ve landed here looking for info on Galicia or Pontevedra, try here. If you’re passing through Pontevedra on the Camino, you’ll find a guide to the city there.