08.05:
I'm sitting in a small, single-carriage Renfe train destined for
Vigo. I'm in seat 29 and my daughter and son-in-law are in seats 27
and 28. Except we're not, as these seat numbers don't exist. The
sequence is 0-24 and then 31-52.
09.02:
I'm on the Comboios de Portugal train from Vigo to Oporto, looking for
seat 13. In the section of the carriage which says the numbers go
from 1 to 15, they actually go from 50 to 64. So I'm opting for
number 55.
I guess
all this makes sense to Renfe and CP, if not to me.
09.30:
We're passing Porriño and I'm baking. Yesterday it was 38 degrees in
Pontevedra and today is expected to be about the same. But on this
train the heat is blasting up from somewhere around my left foot. And
the windows are locked shut.
09.40:
We've just been security checked by 3 policemen and then by a
drug-sniffing dog. Happily, we're all clear. Though my ever-worrying
daughter is now afeared there's a gang of narcotraficantes
on the train and there'll be a shoot-out in which we'll all get
slaughtered. Or at least her baby.
10.00:
Thankfully, the heating has been switched off.
But,
anyway, . . . . .
Corruption:
The hapless Sr Rajoy has belatedly given way to all-party disgust at
the proposing of a tainted ex-PP politico as Chairman of the World
Bank. He's told the poor chap his name won't now be going forward for
this doubtless lucrative sinecure. Perhaps Rajoy set it all up to
show how willing to compromise he can be. So, clever – rather than
the obtuse and obstinate he appears to be. Who really knows?
Said
Sr Rajoy: In a local paper yesterday,
he was described as the epitome of the stubborn Galician who proclaims Todo
o mundo vai ao seu, menos eu que vou al meu.
Or 'Everyone marches to the beat of the same drum, except me, who
marches to mine'. Who could argue? Can the PP party really not afford
to dump him before the next round of elections? Or will he tough it
out and win, as someone suggested, through nationwide boredom?
National
Health Services: These are all difficult to
manage, what with one cost-increasing factor after another. Here in
Spain, this is one of the competences
devolved to the 17 regions, or Autonomous Communities. This results
in what would be regarded as an absolute anathema in the UK – a
'postcode lottery', in which the wealthy Basque country spends 50%
more per capita on health than poor Andalucia. Galicia is some way
down the chart but still has 9 lower-spending regions below it.
Yesterday our doctors were reported to be very critical of the
decision of the UK NHS to effect open rationing (i. e. delays) in
respect of people who smoke or who are fat. “Here in Spain, we
prefer to treat the conditions, not the patients”, one of them
sniffed. Well, wait until the money gets even tighter, as the
population ages.
Employment:
Although the overall position is slowly improving – the national
rate is now as 'low' as 19 or 20% - September is a bad month for many
of those who work in the tourism business. Hundreds of thousands of
them are laid off until next May or June. El
Mundo reported this week that 333,107 people lost
their jobs last Monday alone.
Finally
. . . Another of Those Retail Experiences:
In a shop dedicated to cameras:-
Do you
have an HDMI cable with which I can connect my camera to the TV?
No.
OK. Do
you have a USB cable with which I can connect my camera to my
computer?
No.
OK. Can
you suggest where I could get these?
Maybe an
electrical shop.
Is it any
wonder people increasingly prefer the internet? And that high street shops are
closing?
Are
you a Brit Resident in Spain?: And are
you worried about being able to retain your rights here but don't yet
speak much castellano
and don't understand much about Spanish history and politics, etc.?
Well, here's the course for you. Maybe.
Finally . . . I'm now in Oporto and once again noting the Portuguese love affair with black estate cars (shooting brakes??). Every one of the 10 taxis outside the metro station was one of these and the streets are full of them. I will pursue statistics on this . . .
GALLERY
Can't connect to my camera. So can't show you the decent size of a glass of wine here in Oporto. So, here's a a foto of my fabulous granddaughter, Gracie, whose first birthday is today. And who - everyone says - looks like her grandfather. Poor kid. It's the eyes, they say. Whatever that means . . .
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