I wrote a short while ago about how everyone here suddenly seemed much more friendly towards me than previously. The latest example of this occurred yesterday, when the wife of a chap I meet in the forest when walking my dog, stopped her car and spoke to me, for the first time in ten years. Addressing me by name, she told me how upset she’d been to hear my dog had gone awol on Monday and how relieved she’d been he’d turned up. In effect, she chatted as if we were old friends. And this after years of driving past me and not looking at me as I prepared to wave a greeting if she did. My friend Peter’s explanation of this is that the Galicians need an excuse to talk. And she hadn’t had one until now. In his case, he says, it’s his own dog, as he walks it through the village. But it could just as well be the weather, as it usually is in the UK. So, do the Galicians suffer the same social ‘dis-ease’ as the Brits? Or at least the English. Alright, those from the anally-retentive South.

What all this means, of course, is that things change over time, as more and more excuses to start up a conversation happen along. Particularly, I guess, having children. Though this hasn't applied to me.

I’ve also mentioned how the portions of tapas and wine I get in my regular places seem to be increasing over time. My suspicion is that the young ladies are ‘mothering’ me. And I’m not sure this is a compliment. It must mean I’m approaching the seventh age of man.

I complained yesterday about a lack of economic vision for Spain on the part of both the president and the leader of the opposition. Right on cue, Guy Hedgecoe over at Qorreo supplies this insight into the latter’s stance. Or lack of it.

And that’s it for tonight, because I’ve left my notebook at home. I was hoping to let you have a promised Alfie rant against the Galician educational establishment but he must be still working on it, as it hasn’t arrived. Tomorrow, I hope.


Tailnote for new readers: My elder daughter has now net-published five chapters of a novel she describes as “A fast-paced political thriller but, above all, a personal tale of pride and paranoia.” Set in a fictionalised Cuba, it’s being e-published at the rate of at least a couple of chapters a week. Click here, if this entices you. If you do go and you enjoy it, please comment. It’s tough being an aspirant novelist.


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