If you play football for, say, an English or Italian team, it’s your surname that goes on the team sheet. And also on the back of your shirt. If you play for a Spanish team, you seem to have a great deal of latitude as to what goes on each of these. And they are not always the same. So it was that the team sheet for Real Madrid last night included surnames [Beckham, Graveson], forenames [ Raúl, Ronaldo] and both of these [Roberto Carlos, Raúl Bravo]. And for the shirts on their backs the situation was similar, though not identical – Beckham, Raúl and R Carlos, for example. I don’t really know what this signifies, though it may say something about the anarchistic tendencies that form part of the Spanish character. And which find their most eloquent expression amongst the gypsies, whom – ironically - the Spanish detest.

You may recall that my daughter, Faye, gave up her attempt to get state health cover in Madrid and came back to Pontevedra so we could go through the process together and, incidentally, use whatever influence I might have locally. This was enough – after two days of office ping-pong – to get her an appointment with a doctor plus some blood tests but we never actually got her a health card. We were merely able to fill in all the forms and attach various photocopies. Since then – 5 or 6 weeks ago – we’ve been embroiled in correspondence with the local authority which first centred on me and now her mother, who lives in the UK. Suffice to say, we have given up on this channel and, refreshed, Faye will return to the lists in Madrid. This time round she is armed with an employer who might just be able to find his way through the labyrinth. I have retired, hurt, from the field.