EU
justice has been pretty even-handed this week. A couple of days ago came
the verdict that Spain's controls at the border with Gibraltar were
not, per se, illegal, although perhaps a little OTT. Yesterday, came
the confirmation that The Rock complies with all EU laws and
regulations on banking and finance. This was a blow to Spain, which
has relentlessly portrayed the place as a den of thieves - pretty
damn rich coming from Spanish politicians - running an illegal tax
haven for money-laundering drug smugglers. Unlike Galicia. But, anyway, I
wonder if the Spanish media will give equal prominence to these
announcements from Brussels.
Talking
of justice . . . I said only recently that I found the Spanish system
endlessly confusing. And now comes another illustration of why. A
senior politician who's been accused of corruption - is there any
other? - was due to testify on Sunday - yes, Sunday - in the court
which is trying the King's son-in-law and, quite possibly, his
daughter - for corruption but he failed to turn up and no one knows
where he is. Has he done a runner or his he just being picaresco?
And
talking of corruption . . . We have a big case here in Galicia - Caso
Pókemon - and this has
spawned 3 smaller cases -
Caso Campeón, Caso
Carioca
and Caso Bebé.
Or possibly vice versa, I'm not sure. But, then, I'm never sure of
anything in Spain. It's one of the (many) joys of living here. It
keeps the mind as exercised as if you were doing several crosswords a
day. Or learning 3 languages at the same time. Unless you just stick
your head in the sand and stop wondering. Which would be
understandable. Forgiveable even.
But
to give Spain its due, ever since the EU introduced an international
arrest system 10 years or so ago, there's been a constant stream of
British criminals leaving their Spanish refuge for retirement at the
pleasure of Her Majesty. It should have happened earlier, of course,
but better late than never. The latest unwilling traveller has been a
75 year old paedophile, whose photograph - like those of dates you
meet on the web, I guess - is at least 15 years old. Or, literally,
out of date. Sorry.
I
now know that times are really, really bad. I walked past a phone
shop yesterday in which there were no queues of customers. In fact,
there were no customers. Just the staff behind the counter. It was a
Vodafone outlet but I'm not sure this is relevant.
Finally . . . As
I took a vinito in Pontevedra's old quarter last night, I was
struck by how much pleasure I was getting from the architecture all around me -
the gracious curves of the arches, the beauty of the wrought-iron
balconies and the symmetry of the elegantly proportioned stone
buildings. And I wondered whether my own personal test of art wasn't
the question of whether, consciously or subconsciously, I found
something uplifting. Did it bring a smile of admiration to my face?
And then I walked past the slabs of granite and glass which comprise
our new museum and confirmed that Yes, this really was my test.
In between,
I went into our only baroque church and confirmed that an atheist -
or at least this one - can still see art in religious artefacts. If
only because the skill of human craftsmen always uplifts me.
Though
not the metal-strut sculpture outside the museum. Where there is neither craft nor
art. Though some will disagree. Especially in an age when 'Art' is officially defined as "Whatever someone claiming to be an artist says it
is'.
Nice to reflect on the symmetry of this post - both starting and ending with a definition. But is is art?
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