The electric scooter has been used as it was intended to be used: a way to get me from A to B without having to walk too much. Result!
I cannot pretend that I am the most confident user of this mode of transport, but I am a user. And that surely is a start. Maybe a shaky start, but start nevertheless.
My unsteady progress is mocked by the number of teenagers (and there are many) who ride the damn things as thought they were born on them. I am going to rely on the expectation that continued use will banish my rank amateurism. Possibly. I live, as always, in hope.
The water in our local pool this morning was murky. It crossed my mind that I had not idea how to translate that into Spanish. I thought that perhaps ‘oscuro’ might work, but I wasn’t convinced. I bowed to the inevitable and opened the Google translate on my phone and saw their suggestion, and immediately recognized that I should have known the word.
There is a sort of Galician wine that, before you serve it, you turn the bottle upside down and tap the bottom. The wine is called ‘turbio’ and is a reference to the fact that such a procedure mixed up the sediment in the wine and makes it murky. It is not, as you might have expected an expensive wine, but in the days when I used to drink more convincingly that I do at present I found it a refreshing and inexpensive drink. It was also a wine that used to disconcert the visiting British wine snobs who looked on askance at the barbaric pre-drink ritual.
I am ‘watching’ the opening game of Barça, the first game in the new La Liga season, though I would be hard pressed to say just when the season actually ended as the summer seems to have been filled with football.
I have decided to make a stand against the obvious corruption of the World Cup being in Dubai. The absurdity of having the World Cup in a location where the weather is obviously so disadvantageous to the safe playing of the game and where the rights of the foreign workers constructing the stadia and the hotels have been so flagrantly abused is enough to make the celebration of that corrupt state’s holding of a major world competition something to be ashamed of.
I do not know how realistic a boycott of TV watching is going to be possible in a household where one half of the relationship is looking forward to an orgy of blanket football watching. I think there has to be a finite limit to the number of times one can flounce out of the living room with one’s moral integrity intact.
There is also the very real possibility that I might find myself being drawn into the jingoistic fever of supporting the Home Nations that are in the competition. As Wales has made it to the World Cup for the first time in almost living memory I do feel duty bound to show at least some support, so I am qualifying my disgust well before the kick off, and I am confident that I will succumb to the saturation coverage.
