Today I caught up with the 1965 film Ferry Cross the Mersey. If you don't immediately realise this was a showcase for Gerry and the Pacemakers, this isn't the movie for you. The plot and the dialogue leave something to be desired but the scenes of Liverpool – including the iconic Cavern Club - will bring back memories to older denizens of the city. The female lead was the delectable Julie Samuels, who didn't essay a Scouse accent but did leave me wishing I'd had a beautiful blond girlfriend in 1965. And then I remembered I did. At least until I left for the Seychelles in 1966, to do a spot of VSO. Well, someone had to do it. And the lot fell on me. There are several moments which grab the guts late in the film, when Jimmy Saville does his spooky spiel as the DJ compere of the talent show, which is won by, guess who. No wonder Cilla Black looked miffed. You can see the reviews here and the film itself here.

Talking of love . . . This week has seen the spring-winter romance to end the genre. The 86 year old footballing legend, Di Stefano, says he'll be marrying his 35 year old assistant. And, needless to say, his 5 children say he won't be. Much, I imagine, to the horror of his kids, the old buck has been 'dating' his young lady for 3 years. The children, of course, are going to court to try to stop the wedding. Well, what did he expect? Looks like an old goal to me.

After all I've said over the years about the levels of noise in Spain and the constant threat to one's (everyone's!) hearing, you won't be surprised to hear I wasn't surprised to hear that young people are increasingly suffering from MP3-induced deafness. Me, I've still got tinnitus from the wedding of 2-3 weeks ago.

The Guardia Civil were stopping cars at the bottom of the hill yesterday. Well, those that were going up it anyway. My assumption was they were looking either for people intending to bomb the granite-carvers' school at the top or for people delivering drugs to the gypsy encampment down below the SEK private school. My guess is the latter.

Which reminds me . . . My elder daughter today told me of a new SMS acronym. You know, like OMG (Oh my God), LOL (Laughing out loud) and ROFL (Rolling on the floor laughing). It's SLAGWAM. Or Sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. I do hope that's not offensive. If it is, I'll just have to fall back on the stock Spanish excuse – I didn't mean to be offensive; so nobody can be offended.

Finally . . . Jeremy Warner in today's Telegraph concludes that a big Spanish debt restructuring is inevitable and he warns that “confiscation of deposits looks all too possible.” And he ends his article with a worrying peroration: I don't advise getting your money out lightly. Indeed, such advice is generally thought grossly irresponsible, for it risks inducing a self reinforcing panic. Yet looking at the IMF projections, it's the only rational thing to do. See the whole article here. And, if you disagree, do let us know. I'm still havering, having not done it when the last panic came round.