As I was leaving my regular bar at midday today, I got a call on my mobile. So I stopped to take it and instinctively moved to the left, to avoid blocking the doorway. As I did so, the sad realisation struck me that I am a pathetic victim of my own base culture and have no real hope of fully integrating into this society.

I was interested to read in a British magazine this week that “Conceptual art has collapsed under the weight of its own stupidity”. But I wasn’t too impressed to see that, according to the writer, a great example of what’s coming next is extra large photos of crushed butterflies. Which is a lot less stupid, it would seem.

I guess everyone by now has seen an example of the trousers (worn by the young of both sexes) that have the crutch at the knee, with baggy legs above and skin-tight legs below. Well, today I saw these taken to the logical extreme. The crutch at the ankles. If you haven’t yet had the pleasure of witnessing these, it might take a feat of imagination to come up with a good mental picture.

Talking of fashion . . . El País today carried an article in which it was claimed that our friend Cristiano Ronaldo - because of the cultivation of his body and his penchant for tight clothes, chains and depilation - is a leading exponent of macarra chic. The word macarra was new to me and has, according to the writer, connotations of vulgarity, violence and hostility. My dictionary has lout; thug; vulgar, and flashy. So, a chav I guess. Which word, interestingly enough, may well have Romany links to chaval, the Spanish for boy or lad.

More seriously, El País yesterday carried the results of a survey of socio-political attitudes. I was amused to read that more than 60% of Spaniards think that both the President and the Leader of the Opposition make it up on the hoof. Or shoot from the hip. Or whatever other translation you prefer for improvisar sobre la marcha. Not that it calls for much thought to label your opponent a bare-faced liar.

Finally, I don’t say often enough that Spain is a great country which, if approached in the right way, can be rejuvenating. I certainly feel a lot younger than I would in the UK. But, in truth, I can’t hold a candle to the two queens of Spanish daytime TV. For, looking at their pictures in the press over the weekend, I realised they’re both now at least twenty years younger than when I came to live here almost nine years ago. Truly impressive.