Thursday, January 19, 2017

Pontevedra Pensées: 19.1.17

Life in the UK 1: I go to the coffee machine in the café of a large department store. There is no decaff and no 'regular' coffee. But there is a 'White Americano', which is a an oxymoron. An Americano is long and black. (No tittering, please). And there's the inevitable Latte. So, I take take a White Americano and this, of course, turns out to be a regular coffee. Or café con leche.

Life in the UK 2:  I go to pay the (exorbitant) bill for 2 coffees and a scone and, when the lady is giving me my change, this conversation ensues:
Ah, while you have the till open, could you give me a 5 pound note for these 5 [ridiculously heavy] pound coins, please?
No, I can't do that. I can only take out what I put it. [???]. And - pointing to the ceiling - there's a camera up there watching me.

Life in the UK 3: Being more positive . . . I was able to get large prints of a foto on my camera via bluetooth from a machine in the cobblers-cum-key-maker's shop in the lobby of the store. And there was free internet throughout the store. And in the supermarket next door.

As it's Thursday morning, I can hat tip Lenox of Business Over Tapas for the following 3 items:-

Being badly treated as a guiri in Spain. See here for an example of this. I have to say that my experience is the very opposite. Most obviously because I'm a nice guy but also, I suspect, because we Spanish-speaking guiris are still rather exotic in Pontevedra. Or even in Galicia as a whole.

The Spanish Traffic Police: To regular readers of this blog - or even to those who only started on it a week or two ago -  it'll come as no surprise to read here - in Spanish - that the traffic police these days are far more interested in fining you than in helping you in any way. Or even just letting you off with a warning.

Good news here on discounts in Spain for those youngsters who are 65 or more

Is it only me or does anyone else keep sending watsap messages to the wrong person, because it's stuck on the last person whom you wrote to and not the person who's just written to you? Or vice versa. Perhaps.

Today's foto. Rolling Asturian hills:-

Finally . . . Mrs May's Monday speech on Brexit has been scorned throughout Europe and a vast array of negative adjectives has been chucked at it. Indeed - as I said yesterday - even such an avid Brexiteer as Richard North has dismissed it in very strong terms. But there is another way of looking at it and here it is. Surprisingly, perhaps, by Simon Jenkins of The Guardian. The unvarnished truth is that Brexit is a gamble and no one but no one has any idea whatsoever how the negotiations will go. It may well be that, if things look really bad in 2 years' time, Brits will be asked to vote again on exit. Meanwhile, though, all the dire predictions about the British economy after the referendum shock have proven wrong. Which, to say the least, is interesting. The pound fell, of course, but rose this week. It's all about sentiment. And that's what Mrs May was bent on affecting, in my view.

This is Brexit poker - and Theresa May was right to up the stakes

The siege of Harfleur was a disaster for the English. Henry V was humiliated and had to abandon his march on Paris, turning instead to confront the French cavalry at Agincourt. Here he faced overwhelming odds but decided to rely on bluff, cunning and Welsh archers to rescue a shred of glory from his European venture.

Theresa May must hope she is somewhere between Harfleur and Agincourt. She is embarked on a seemingly life or death project, its outcome wholly unpredictable. It was not of her making, but that of David Cameron and the British electorate. She has two months to go to invoking article 50, at which point she will find herself between 27 European Union devils and the deep blue sea. Small wonder that on Tuesday she decided on bravado and Shakespeare, goading her ministers “like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. The game’s afoot.”

In setting out the terms of engagement, May had no option but to hang tough. That is what her EU opposite numbers have been doing for six months of virtual denial of Brexit. Much of Brussels still does not believe it will happen, while Europe’s elected politicians at least sense that anti-EU sentiment is growing in their backyards. There are stirrings of a peasants’ revolt, with votes for pitchforks. The last thing they want is a crowing, preening British leader seeking “to have my cake and eat it”. Hence their cursory treatment of May in her few EU encounters so far. To them, she is toxic.

That is why the prime minister clearly felt the need to lay the revolver of “hard Brexit” on the table, to tell the Brexit deniers that Britain would be just fine on the deep blue sea. She threatened them with a trade war and fiscal blitzkrieg. She threatened an offshore Singapore, a Grand Cayman, a 51st state of America, a thousand City traders unleashed on Europe’s banks if “passporting” is denied. Much of this was bravado, but jingoism was the tactic of the moment.

There is no way Brexit can avoid going “soft” in the course of negotiation. As the veteran historian David Marquand said last week, Britain is “part” of Europe in so many ways that amputation is not an option. But there are reckless forces behind hard Brexit, on the right in Britain and among EU finance houses that might benefit from it. The fanciful timetables in May’s speech, notably on trade, may serve to spur her troops into battle, but the spectre is not of hard or soft Brexit but of shambles.

Behind the poker table bluff is realism. The prime minister has already indicated flexibility on migration, on which topic all Europe, left and right, is in a state of panic. She regards membership of the single market, even of a customs union, as going beyond her referendum mandate. But she still wants a “comprehensive, bold and ambitious trade agreement”, something called “associate membership of the customs union”. This sounds like a one-sided Platonic affair, which is nonsense. And it will soon have to be resolved.

Britain will need to avoid a “cliff edge” in two years’ time on matters such as finance, fishing and agriculture. This means markets that may require British payments to join. It may mean European court judgments Britain will have to accept. May knows this. Nor is it realistic to rely on a deal with Donald Trump as substitute for open trade with Europe. Britain will need some association with the EU. Beyond that platitude, all is up for grabs.

The reaction of Europe’s leaders to May’s speech was significant. Most welcomed a sight of even vague red lines. The EU’s Donald Tusk acknowledged her speech as “realistic” and “pragmatic”. The official response from the president, Jean-Claude Juncker, was full of bland words such as fairness, respect and hope for “good results”.

The chief EU negotiator, Guy Verhofstadt, warned against cherry-picking, but it depends which cherries he is talking about. Picking cherries is precisely what May feels she has been told to do. If she gets none, the British people will eat their own. But deals there will be, slithering backwards from hard towards soft, not as far as the single market, towards what I imagine will be called an “accommodation”. Wheels are starting to turn. Money talks. [As it always does]

Commentators pretend to clairvoyance. They supposedly come unencumbered by prejudice or tribe, confronting the options of those in power with fierce scepticism. They can seem glib. But I have never thought politics easy. Elected politicians must forever wrestle with “the crooked timber of mankind”. For them to succeed is rare, to fail normal. I admire them for it.

In that light, I cannot recall a tougher peacetime task for a modern politician than now faces Theresa May. Europe had blighted British leaders for six centuries or more. The most successful, such as Elizabeth I, Walpole, Pitt the Elder, Gladstone and Salisbury, struggled to avoid its snares and were stronger for it. The EU ultimately wrecked three recent prime ministers – Margaret Thatcher, John Major and David Cameron. It would have done the same to Tony Blair if Gordon Brown had not saved him from the euro.

Membership of the EU was never necessary to British prosperity. The country’s overall trade in goods with the EU is not large, and the much larger trade in services is mostly unregulated by Brussels. Britain could survive hard Brexit, and if some of the gilt is shaken off the flatulent City of London it might be no bad thing.

The politics of Europe are a different matter. They have always been fragile, and are more so today than for a long time. I voted to remain in the EU because the eurozone is a disaster and Germany needed an active British presence to help rescue Europe from this ghastly mistake. The threat to Europe is not of war but of nastiness, of a fractious turning in of states on themselves and degenerating into poverty and anti-German hostility. Europe needs Britain’s diplomatic engagement never more than now.

For all the drum-banging, May’s performance on Tuesday was not unfriendly to Europe. It was the first sign she has shown of coherent leadership. No one – I doubt if even the prime minister – can know where this leadership is heading. That is the curse, and the glory, of referendums. 

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Pontevedra Pensées: 18.1.17

The EU's Court of Justice recently ordered Spanish banks to pay back to their mortgage customers the billions of euros swindled from them via a 'floor clause' in their contracts. This would seem to be good news but as, Don Quijoñes illustrates us here, Spain's banks don't have their appalling reputation for nothing and will do their utmost to vitiate this judgment against them. Worse, the Tax Office (La hacienda) has announced it will be levying tax on at least part of the repayments. As if they were bloody gifts. Sometimes it's very hard to believe what's happening in Spain. And how powerless consumers/citizens are. As DQ points out: As usual, the banks have the Rajoy government firmly on their side. Que va!

It's a natural sashay from this scandal to the subject of corruption, which I've left alone for a while. But one clearly can't ignore the case of the 5 board members of a Galician bank who - just prior to a merger - made themselves millionaires at the expense of shareholders and taxpayers. See here for details. None of them has returned a single cent and each of them will be free in a matter of a few months to spend their -ill-gotten gains. Possibly after they've made a contribution to the PP party.

Which reminds me . . .

To absolutely no one's surprise, the ex-Treasurer of the PP party has admitted - during his trial - that it did indeed operate a slush fundfinanced by bribes from companies anxious to get government contracts. Details here.

If all this makes you, as a resident of Spain, feel a tad depressed, then cheer up! According to The ineffable Local, there are at least 11 reasons why you should be happy to live here. Find them here.

Having listened to Mrs May yesterday, the most knowledgable pro-Brexit commentator, Richard North, pronounced that “We're fucked”. So, not very impressed. Here's what he says in more detail today about what he sees as a Jumbo jet crash of a statement. To point out the obvious, not all Brexiteers want a 'hard Brexit'. Or a flounce out. By the way . . . This is a very true comment I read last night:- Because the British joined the old Common Market principally on economic grounds, we have never been able to understand the quasi-religious status that the EU has in many continental countries. Which is certainly true of Spain. Though it has to be stressed that the EU has been fantastically profitable for Spain, as well as super-hyper symbolic in the context of an emerging democracy.

Which reminds me . . . 

There are probably more than a hundred reasons why Donald Trump shouldn't be the US president - the most obvious being that he didn't win the popular vote. But for me the clincher is that the man doesn't know how to wear a tie. I mean, if you're going to sport one, don't let it dangle below your waist. As if you're trying with the sharp end of it to draw attention  to your penis . . . 

The only thing worse would be to have the other end sticking out just a few inches below his collar. Which, to be honest, I think I've seen but can't get a foto of. But I have found on Google Images a whole web page dedicated to the long tie gaffe. And this spoof . . .

Finally . . .   I've talked about growing officiousness in Spain but how about this from the UK?: A pensioner has been fined £80 by Ealing council for pouring her coffee down a drain before binning the cup because, if she had put it in the bin, it would have flooded it. In the council’s eyes it was “littering”. Firing squad?

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Pontevedra Pensées: 17.1.17

Today's post comes to you from Manchester. Or, as they say in the USA, from Manchester, England.

If you drive as much as I do in both Spain and the UK, you'll quickly notice that, whereas British motorways are dominated by trucks, Spain's autovías aren't. These clog the National or N roads, the equivalent of the UK's A roads. There are probably several reasons for this but one is surely that there are tolls on most of the autovías, turning them into autopistas. Another reason might be that the concept Time is Money might not be as well-grasped here as it is in Anglo-Saxon cultures. Where the extra cost of the tolls might well be more than offset by the factor of speedier arrival. But I'm just guessing. You have a lot of time to do this when, for example, you're stuck on the N550 to Vigo behind a truck and trailer slowly taking tons of eucalyptus trunks to a cellulose factory somewhere in Portugal. And, to your right, you can see the parallel and virtually empty AP9. Anybody got any other theories? Down in North Portugal, by the way, the contrast is even greater. Even cars tend to avoid the toll roads there, making them an absolute delight to use.

The national, regional, provincial and municipal search for new sources of revenue has led to a proposal that utility and telecommunication companies be charged for everything above and below public land - pipes, pylons and the like. The Supreme Court has blessed this idea, with a suggestion that the cost be between €3,000 and €12,000 per linear metre per year. This, of course, will end up as another fixed charge for consumers.

Which reminds me . . . . There actually is a consumers action group in Spain - FACUA - but I have the impression it's a pale shadow of those in other countries. With not much clout against, say, the monopolistic utility companies who levy massive fixed charges. That said, the group has recently inveighed against J&J for an ad for Frenadol, a cough and cold remedy, which shows a sufferer downing a sachet and then taking his kids somewhere in his car. While the small print at the bottom of the screen says This medication can cause drowsiness and driving is not recommended. I'm not sure where my sympathies lie.

To deal with this sort of action from FACUA, it's rumoured that the producers are setting up an organisation to act on their behalf. It's to be called FUCU, apparently.

You might recall there are plans to build a vast €2.2bn entertainments complex - Eurovegas - on the outskirts of Madrid, near the airport. Astonishingly, this has hit bureaucratic hurdles and planning permission has yet to be granted. I fear I might be writing this annually for the next few years.

Finally . . . An amusing video on Spain's frontiers. HT to Lenox of Business Over Tapas for this.

And 2 fotos taken from my hotel room in Campiello on Saturday morning - the first at the break of day and the second around 11am. Neither shows the snow of the previous night. By the way, these are considered foothills in Asturias:-

Monday, January 16, 2017

Pontevedra Pensées: 16.1.17

First off . . . I was finally able to publish a post yesterday and then, late last night, I uploaded the missing foto. So, scroll down to yesterday's offering if you felt deprived.

I'm travelling northwards this morning – from Winchester – so it's a quick and dirty post . . .

I'm at risk of getting boring about the wonderful Spanish now but I was talking to someone at lunch yesterday about how a man just could no longer say in the UK the innocent things he still can say here in Spain. And then, waiting for the boat, I read the article that I'll post later. God forbid that the same thing will happen here in Spain before I pop my clogs. I'd be bereft! If not imprisoned. Fortunately, Spanish women don't just indulge it; they demand it.

Here's the latest of The Local's lists, plus one from The Telegraph:

I was researching yesterday the words of a 1920 ditty I learned off by heart when I was a kid listening to my grandparents old 78rpm vinyl records. You can hear it here and enjoy an accompanying cartoon which was considered innocuous back then – and also during my own childhood and youth – but which is now considered a crime second only to murder in the UK. Take stock of the Warning note.

Here are the words . . .

The Ballad Of Abdul Abulbul Amir

Here are said words to Frank's first hit, though I have to confess to having to look them up so as to be able to cite them here:-

Now, the sons of the Prophet were brave men and bold
And quite unaccustomed to fear,
But the bravest by far in the ranks of the Shah,
Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.

If you wanted a man to encourage the van,
Or harass the foe from the rear,
Storm fort or redoubt, you had only to shout
For Abdul Abulbul Amir.

Now the heroes were plenty and well known to fame
In the troops that were led by the Czar,
And the bravest of these was a man by the name
Of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

He could imitate Irving, tell fortunes with cards,
He could play on the Spanish guitar.
In fact, quite the cream of the Muscovite team
Was Ivan Petrovsky Skavar.

One day this bold Russian, he shouldered his gun
And donned his most truculent sneer,
Downtown he did go where he trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.

Young man, quoth Abdul, has life grown so dull
That you wish to end your career?
Vile infidel, know, you have trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.

Said Ivan, My friend, your remarks in the end
Will avail you but little, I fear.
For you ne'er will survive to repeat them alive,
Mr Abdul Abulbul Amir

So take your last look at sunshine and brook
And send your regrets to the Czar
For by this I imply, you are going to die,
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

Then this bold Mameluke drew his trusty skibouk,
Singing, "Allah! El Allah! Akbah!"
And with murderous intent he ferociously went
For Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

They fought all that night neath the pale yellow moon;
The din, it was heard from afar,
And huge multitudes came, so great was the fame,
Of Abdul and Ivan Skavar.

As Abdul's long knife was extracting the life,
In fact he was shouting, "Huzzah!"
He felt himself struck by that wily Calmuck,
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

The Sultan drove by in his red-breasted fly,
Expecting the victor to cheer,
But he only drew nigh to hear the last sigh,
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.

Tsar Petrovich too, in his spectacles blue,
Drove up in his new-crested car.
He arrived just in time to exchange a last line
With Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

There's a tomb rises up where the Blue Danube rolls,
Engraved there in characters clear,
Is, "Stranger, when passing, oh pray for the soul
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir."

A splash in the Black Sea one dark moonless night
Caused ripples to spread wide and far,
It was made by a sack fitting close to the back,
Of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

A Muscovite maiden her lone vigil keeps,
'Neath the light of the cold northern star,
And the name that she murmurs in vain as she weeps,
Is Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

Finally . . . Instead of a a cartoon, a nice sign off:

Sunday, January 15, 2017

Pontevdra Pensées: 15.1.17

This is the scene which met me as I left Casa Herminia in Campiello yesterday. 

Father Christmas doesn't muck about round here, once the gift-delivering is over . . .

Shortly thereafter, I had another adventure with my satnav, as I set off for nearby Tineo. I suspected I was going off-piste when it immediately took me down a series of rural lanes, midst farm buildings and pine trees. But I figured it was a short cut to the main road, which I did duly reach. And then went in the wrong direction for at least 10 minutes - until my suspicions were confirmed by the simple fact of arriving in the wrong place. My mistake had been – again! - not to distinguish between the town of Tineo and the borough/comarca of the same name. On top of that, as I normally do, I'd just clicked on the first street on the list. This had given my satnav licence to take me to village a good 15km from the town. Albeit on the same road

Talking of driving . . . Is it me or does Spain – or maybe just Galicia – specialise in low walls, railings or blocks of granite that you can't see when you reverse out of, say, a supermarket carpark space??

Still on this subject . . . The young lady as the Brittany Ferries check-in yesterday was as helpful as maybe only Spanish people can be when you smile and speak in Spanish. Bucking her system, she checked me in and then arranged for me to go to the café and be told when it was the last moment to get on the boat, so I could be first off. And then, at said café, I was served this gigantic glass of Reserve Rioja. It's at least 3 times the size of a normal glass. But, then, the price was of a similar magnitude. The bartender told me, by the way, that British customers insist on red wine being cold. Que va! Without being asked, he warmed my glass with hot water. Happily, I didn't crash into anything when eventually boarding. Before all this, when killing time in a bar in Santander, the owner had insisted on charging my phone for me. Viva españa!

There are at least 4 reasons why I'm not a football coach:
1. I thought Ronaldo would fail at Real Madrid after leaving Manchester United.

2. I had the same opinion of Suarez after his move from Liverpool to Barcelona.

3. Ditto the ageing Swede, Ibrahimovic, who went from Paris St Germain to Manchester United last year.

4. I figured Zidane would be pretty useless as a coach. Real Madrid have just had their 40th successive unbeaten match and are top of the Primera Liga.

Nuff said? 

I've talked of the police becoming more officious in Spain. Right on cue comes a report that they've fined a young man for using a phone while riding down the verge of a main road, in the wrong direction. Said young man then went on the internet to give his unalloyed view of the officers in question. For those of you who can read Gallego, I've added this at the end of this post. OK, it's a bit vitriolic but now he's being prosecuted for 'insulting the armed service'. Presumably the Tráfico department of the Guardia Civil. Spain still feels like it's run by Franco at times. But I do sympathise with the officers who gave the youth the penalty for ignoring the interests of others. Personally, I'd have mown him down in my official 4 x 4.

Finally . . . The Trump: Since, for him, everything is about himself, it's bizarre to think of him taking an oath under which he swears to serve the interests of the country. But this is hardly the most bizarre thing about him, of course. Anyway, below is an article on him worth posting.


Lies, damned lies, and intelligence dossiers

Things that seem too good to be true usually are. The dossier full of allegations about Donald Trump contains a detail so salacious and Caligulan that I found myself almost yelling “Let it be so, please God!” at the computer. When the desire for something to be true is that strong, you need to step back from yourself.

Indeed minutes after the Buzzfeed website published the 35-page dossier some anti-Trumpers suggested that Trump (and/or Russia) had himself leaked the false information so that his critics would be discredited when the allegations were eventually disproved. This conspiracy theory about a conspiracy theory could have graced the pages of a David Icke book or the fake news agenda of America’s Alex Jones Show.

But, as ever, most of those who should know better didn’t and social media was awash with people discussing the dossier as if it was established fact. Which was something they couldn’t possibly know.

Of course, if Donald Trump and Russia really are the victims of an elaborate conspiracy theory then it couldn’t have happened to nicer guys. Trump himself ran hard for many months with the absurd “Obama isn’t really American” theory. This entailed him sending investigators to Hawaii to try and turn up material proving that Obama had been born elsewhere, despite his birth notice having been placed contemporaneously in local Honolulu newspapers. Think about that one . . . Trump was open to the idea that Obama was falsely declared to be American and that countless people were in on the plot. Take this Trump tweet from December 2013: “How amazing, the State Health Director who verified copies of Obama’s ‘birth certificate’ died in plane crash today. All others lived.” That either means Trump believes this unfortunate person was murdered by the Obamites or it means nothing at all.

The second pleasing irony is that Trump then lied about his previous espousal of this theory. Hillary had started it, he later said (she didn’t) and he had never believed it (except he gave every indication that he did). It is, regrettably, a simple statement of fact that Trump lies routinely and blatantly. So much so that we must assume that neither he nor we are supposed to care about what the actual truth is. We’re just supposed to admire the daring and the effrontery of it all. But that meant that when he tweeted “FAKE NEWS — A TOTAL POLITICAL WITCH HUNT!” we had no reason to believe him. A Trump denial is worthless. It has no currency.

The third irony is apparent in another tweet from Trump yesterday. “Russia just said the unverified report paid for by political opponents is ‘A COMPLETE AND TOTAL FABRICATION, UTTER NONSENSE.’ Very unfair!” But he is asking the reader to believe the same Russia that fabricated evidence of Ukrainian involvement in the shooting down of Malaysia Airlines flight MH17, which killed 298 people. In fact it was a Russian-made surface-to-air missile that brought down the plane. After that no one in their right minds would trust any claim made by Moscow.

The Trump dossier is said to be part of a report sent to Congress by US intelligence agencies who have investigated Russian involvement in the presidential election. The agencies conclude that hackers, almost certainly acting with Kremlin approval, obtained material from the Democratic National Committee and passed it to Julian Assange and WikiLeaks. It certainly fits with the pattern of Russian activity in other countries, such as France, where politicians hostile to Russia are undermined to assist those who are friendlier.

When the director of US national intelligence published a declassified version of the report last week, it was backed by the NSA, the FBI and the CIA. But, as Russia’s news agency Tass observed, it did not “represent the opinion of the US intelligence community in general” and “the (voting) systems that are suspected to have come under attack were not employed in summarising election returns”. In other words, we didn’t do it and even if we did, it didn’t have an effect on the election result.

It’s remarkable that the various populist insurgencies that have swept America and Europe have one thing in common: approbation for the man who has led Russia for nearly two decades. Nigel Farage likes him. Alex Salmond has expressed some admiration for him. Marine Le Pen courts him. Donald Trump has called him a great leader and very smart and has never, as far as I know, criticised him. But there are reasons why insurgents — particularly on the nationalist side of politics — might identify with a man who has “restored pride” to a nation that had previously lost it. And, after all, my enemy’s enemy often feels like my friend. There would be nothing untoward about any of that. It needn’t imply cash or dodgy favours.

That’s why in normal times I’d be inclined to see the Trump dossier as very suspicious. There is every reason to be sceptical when evaluating lurid claims about links between Donald Trump and the Russians, not least because the parties involved would know that they might be discovered. It would be an absurd risk, as the president-elect said at his press conference yesterday. And, as yet, this is merely the uncorroborated account of a supposed former MI6 officer talking to some anonymous Russian sources.

But these are not normal times — Russia has altered them. Russian internet troll factories are not a figment of a sci-fi writer’s imagination but are established fact. A strategy of disruption aimed at Europe and America is discernible and overrides any assumptions about great power behaviour.

The old post-Khrushchev Soviet Union, like the Chinese today, was risk-averse and preferred to operate according to certainties. It would have seen how extraordinarily dangerous it might be to provoke political chaos in powerful but essentially peaceable adversaries. Such a Russia wouldn’t have wanted to see Donald Trump in the White House.

Putin is not Gorbachev. Today all bets are off. If anyone ever argued that Hillary’s emails needed investigating, then they’ll have to scream for a special inquiry into Trump’s links with Russia. And then let the chips fall where they may.


His internet rant against the cops who booked him:-

Hai xente que pode estar toda a vida conducindo sen carné e andando a toda hostia co coche borracho coma un can, puestísimo ata os ollos e que non os multen na súa puta vida. Despois estou eu, que me multan ata andando na bicicleta. Viva España. Viva el Rey. Viva el orden y la ley. Comédeme os ovos fillos da gran puta, así vos explote o cuartel con vós dentro. Un saúdo.

And a watsap message he circulated . . .

Dinme os gardas: 'No llevas casco, no llevas catadióptricos, no llevas espejo retrovisor...’ Un pouco máis e me piden a puta ITV da bicicleta e a documentación. Así que coidado, como vos vexan, ides flipa.

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