I heard a chap talking about the norms of the mosh pit today. Essentially, he was saying it's a rough place where everyone does whatever they want, sometimes to the great inconvenience of others. However, the basic rule is that, if someone asks you to stop doing something, you immediately do so, possibly apologising at the same time. Until then, you think only of yourself and give no consideration to others. The onus, then, is on said others to initiate action, not sit or stand fuming and internalising their irritation. The differing cultural norms of Spain and Britain sprang to mind. And, after 12 years, my preference is now for the Spanish model. Even though my fundamental Britishness sometimes prevents me from living it.

A fascinating experiment this morning - From my settee, I can see a number of birds flying in and around my garden - sparrows, doves, tits, pigeons, robins, finches, damned magpies and (best of all) melodic blackbirds. What I never see are seagulls. Until, that is, I chuck some bread on the lawn. When they start circling within a minute or two. Can they see the tiny bits of bread from afar or is it my actions that trigger their arrival from their eyries? So, this morning I tried something; I went out and pretended to throw bread in all directions. Sure enough, within only a few seconds, a young gull appeared and circled once or twice before departing in obvious disgust. So I think I'll do this every morning, just to annoy the flying vermin. And maybe to teach them to ignore my throwing bread for the other birds.

Somewhere along the camino last week, I was whiling away pre-dinner time by looking through the Girl Seeks Boy ads at the back of the local paper. For research purposes, of course. And I was fascinated by the choices of adjectives. For example simple, well brought up, legal, sincere, formal, cultured and juvenile. And that was just one (53 year old) woman. Another was talkative, affectionate and with clear ideas. I've obvioulsy translated these literally and I rather suspect Spanish friends would change at least some of my words. Legal for example. And juvenile. But who on earth volunteers that they're talkative? Outside Spain, I mean.

Talking of the camino . . . Here are a couple of items from our lunch menu on Friday:-

- Sole to the plate

- Caldareida of Snuff

- Highland Ham

- Hake to the Roman

The challenge (Trevor) is to provide the original Spanish. At least for Snuff.

Here's a nice account of a weekend in Pontevedra by a member of the Sheffield Stags, the English team which plays (not too well recently) against Los Porcos Bravos for the AngloGalician Cup. I particularly approve of his line - "I doubt that any Englishman could become weary of Pontevedra". However, we don't have a cathedral but a basilica. So it's not a city but just a large town. Albeit a very fine one.

Sic transit . . . In the heyday of my second marriage, my stepsons' favoured team - Deportivo de la Coruña - were top of the Spanish Primera League. Yesterday, though, they were relegated to the second division. Celta Vigo, on the other Galician hand, managed to stay up by the skin of their teeth. Which is some compensation.

Finally . . . Should you be passing through or staying in Pedrouzo on the last leg of the Camino Francés, I recommend the restaurant Galaicos there. Unusually, their menu differs from the standard one you'll find throughout Galicia and includes a couple of excellent rice-based dishes.

Finally, finally . . . Does Beyoncé ever not perform in her knickers?