Democracy in action!

It is better that I write this now rather than wait until tomorrow when my bile might have reached the levels of vicious incoherence!

Spain has gone to the polls.

The choice they had is illustrated in the picture above: from left to right we have the leader of PSOE, Podemos, C's and the tiny malicious dwarf on the right is the deputy leader of PP, sent to that particular debate because the Prime Minister was too scared to take part.

They have now closed and, in one of the most excitingly unpredictable political battles in the history of Spanish democracy there has been as turnout of less than 60%! It perhaps demonstrates just how much damage has been done by the elected kelptocracy of terminally corrupt politicians who have been governing Spain for the last few years. The imposition of a so-called king by the nefarious complicity of the two old major political parties; the almost boring daily revelations of mendacious and selfish behaviour by PP members past and present; the use of public money as personal cash by the politicos and, until the election campaign an almost monastic silence on the part of the Prime Minister when it came to explaining to the Spanish public just what his bunch of criminals was doing and had done – these are just a few of the concerns (to put it mildly) that voters have had about the election. However you explain it, the poor level of participation seems to me to be an absolute condemnation of the political system here in Spain at the moment.

We have been told by ALL the previous polls that the end result of this election will be that the largely discredited party of the Conservatives, PP, will 'win' the election but lose their overall majority. The equivalent of the Labour party, PSOE will come second. In third place will be the new right-wing party of Ciudadanos, C's, led by a photogenic lawyer and ex-competitive swimmer with not a single coherent philosophical political idea in his pretty little head but the acquisition of power and stopping Catalonia breaking away from Spain. In fourth place will be Podemos, a new left-wing party which, in my opinion, has the best and most radical ideas for transforming Spain for the better.

It turns out that ALL the previous polls might be wrong about the 4^th placed party. Most of the polls and some of the early results seem to indicate that Podemos will be the 3^rd party and could even overtake the PSOE and be 2^nd. I am not a great conspiracy theory believer, but it doesn't take very much imagination to see the powers that be have been making it their job to denigrate a political party that threatens their cosy position of public extortion that they have enjoyed with the two 'great' political parties of the past. Television time and slant has been almost laughably against Podemos and in favour of the telegenic leader of C's. If it turns out that ALL the polls were wrong again (cf. The UK e.g.) then I think that the pollsters should be charged under the mis-selling of goods act or equivalent.

I still find it incredible that a quarter of those who turned out to vote were able to cast a vote for PP. I truly cannot imagine a more horrendous build up to an election than the series of televised disasters that were the daily staple of our political viewing. In spite of the obvious corruption and the flaccid attempts to deal with it, people are still prepared to lower their intelligence and put the PP list into their voting envelopes. To be fair, the present projections of the losses of PP seats is little short of a disaster and the few, desultory people waiting outside the (illegally built) headquarters in Madrid show the true feelings about the size of the potential failure to retain power.

We still have over half the vote to be counted but the general trends seem clear and Podemos seems to be well ahead of its erstwhile more powerful competitor C's. If the seat allocation stays as it is then there is no clear winner and no clear way for the foundation of a coalition. The next week or so promises to be a very interesting one.

Podemos needs to be very careful about their pact partners as recent history has shown that the smaller parties have suffered at the succeeding election to their participation.

We live in interesting times. And they promise to continue.

I, of course, was unable to take part in this election because it was a National Election and my vote is confined to local elections. I can therefore look from my non-participatory heights and take a sadly academic view of the compromise that the country will have to deal with.

Who knows what tomorrow might reveal!

All fall down!

It is over half a century since I last fell off a bike – which would seem to suggest to the perspicacious reader that that fifty year record has been smashed. As indeed has my pride.

Let me rush to my own balanced defence. The machine culprit in my discomfort (because of course, the fault cannot be mine) was not my trusty big bike with basket, but rather a newfangled purchase which needs a certain amount of explanation.

As part of a master plan for completely invented situations, I managed to persuade myself that what I really needed was to support a Kickstarter project for the world's smallest collapsible electric bike. Which I now have. Setting it up was a little more complicated than it should have been because I ignored my generational position and thought that I could do it with the minimum of instruction. I couldn't. And it took for ever for me to discover that there were written instructions as well as photographs in the twenty page booklet – that was obviously far too long for me to read through before I started pushing buttons and making things telescope.

Or not. Eventually I managed (with Toni's help) to get the thing to some sort of completion. The battery looks like an oversized can of Coke – though a bloody sight heavier. And the battery needed to soak up power for a few hours until it was ready to attach to the bike – which gave me a period to practice sitting on the thing. Which was not quite as easy as you would imagine. The bike is an A-frame construction, which looks quite odd and feels even odder when you are sitting on it – especially when the seat has not been adjusted properly. And that fault, I maintain was the reason that I fell, in slow motion, onto the surface of an empty road.

Let me hasten to say that I was not injured, merely a scabbed knee (now there's a regression to childhood!) a knocked elbow and bruised hand. Reading through that, it actually seems worse than it was, I did (after a few shocked seconds) get to my feet and continue cycling, making sure that I kept my weight forward to keep the seat from going backward.

It was an experience. The small solid wheels made sure that I experienced every crack in the surface and I gripped the handlebars for all I was worth. Peddling to make the battery kick in was a new and very disturbing experience. But one that I am sure that I will get used to and, who knows, it might actually become part of my multi-system form of transport to make my weekly visits to Barcelona more efficient and cheaper. My plan was to cycle to the station, take a train to Barcelona, cycle to my meeting place and then do all that in reverse on the way back. Hmm. The more I read all that the less likely it is to happen. But it was a good idea. Probably is a good idea if I can make the experience a little more natural. This is very much work in progress.

And I have been using the car more than the bike since The Fall. But I have to admit that this is pure laziness rather than some deep seated trauma.

Anything but the essay!

My displacement syndrome has driven me to write a poem rather than complete the first part of the three essays that I have to write before Thursday. Amazingly enough it is a poem about swimming. Well, sort of. It certainly starts with my irritation about a young swimmer who was substantially faster than I and sort of turns into a musing about all things transitory. Or very few things transitory as I restricted the poem to a sonnet's length – even if I didn't follow any of any of the sonnet rules apart form the line numbers. Anyway, it is on my poetry blog at stephen m rees new poems or possibly its all one word, but in some combination of my name and new poems you will find any new poetic writing which I have been shameless enough to post.

The OU essay writing is going amazingly slowly and, given the number of days left before I have to hand in three academically respectable pieces of work on the Renaissance, it is going to have to speed up in fairly short order. I always tell myself that I work better under pressure – though my only real concession to that is cancelling my attendance at the Wednesday meeting of the Poetry Group in Barcelona. And that is the day before I have to hand the bloody things in. Which doesnt say a great deal about how I feel my planning is about to go! Never mind, I can always settle my nerves by telling myself that anything is better than nothing. Not quite the standard that I was aiming for, but let's be real about this!

You may have noticed that there has been a variety of fonts and styles in the presentation of the blog. This is because I have changed my computer (or one of them at least) and, under strict instructions from Toni I am only using free-source programs, so this page has been created in LibreOffice Writer – and it does not seem to interact exactly in the same way as Word. The fault is probably mine: the User is always wrong! And I am working to try and find a way that the program will start behaving in a way that I want it to, rather than doing what the hell it want to in spite of what I try. It is an education. Of sorts.

And this is the first of my experiments.

A necessary draft!

As is so often the case, I open by bemoaning the fact that my writing is not going well. Not that I do not have much to say, that is not the problem, it is matching what I have to say with the dictates of the essay title we have been given. As is also the case, I am heartened by the cries of despair that emanate from the forums which are there, ostensibly, to keep some sense of calm cohesion among the disparate student body of a distance learning community. It doesn't work of course. The forums are much more efficient of whipping up hysteria than allaying it. Still, I gain a perverse sense of well-being from the heartfelt cries of academic desolation, as they tend to show up the triviality of my own sense of mild frustration!

Come hell and/or high weather I will have a rough draft of the first of the three essays that I have to write by the end of the night. Or not. One mustn't set one's expectations too high! It is a sure sign of my exasperation that I have been driven to write notes for the essay! Clearly following (at last) the strict advice that I have given to generations of schoolchildren. Following your own advice! How bizarre is that?

The first essay is a sort of compare-and-contrast – which should, of course, be academic bread and butter to me. And it is, to a certain extent, but it is the little bit 'extra' in the title that is causing all the problems.

We have to account for the differences in the artworks that we are comparing by relating our observations to the way in which they were made. As the artworks are respectively a gilded bronze plaque and a group of three statues, you could well ask what the hell I know about casting and gilding bronze and producing sculpture!

Well, I have to admit, I know a little more about the lost-wax method of casting than is probably natural for someone who is never going to get even remotely near to anyone adopting it (I have, after all, watched the sections of the CDs that we have been given as part of our course) and, as for statues, I always remember reading Michelangelo's supremely unhelpful observation that sculpture was quite easy, all you have to do is chip away the bits of stone that you don't need to allow the figure to emerge. That reminds me of one of my frighteningly intelligent tutors in university who helpfully told us that he always started with the bits of a work of art that he didn't understand. - the exact opposite to what I taught the kids!

But, there again, I didn't have the sort of first at Oxford where the faculty had to stand up and applaud when he went for his viva for his degree! Or was that just a story told us to make us in awe of him? What I do know is that he once slept on the floor of my room in Hall for political reasons that now escape me. And it was because of him that I made my first and only nervous telephone call to The Daily Worker (does that Communist rag still exist?) and delivered a report written by him, down the line, to a journalist! God, I haven't thought about that for umpteen years! And he must now be a professor somewhere or other, or professor emeritus now given the passing of time! I must look him up.

I have and he is. And, what is more I think that I will order some of his books. His High Anglican faith comes as something of a shock, but I am sure that it just as valid as my Anglican Atheism!

All this typing is displacement activity (again) when I should be writing pellucid prose studded with coruscating insights into Renaissance Art. With a capital 'A'!

Allons-y!

Music and other concerns!

To say that the Liceu's production of Benvenuto Cellini was 'busy' is an understatement along the lines of saying that PP in Spain is 'dishonest'. With stilt-walkers, drum beaters, giant swinging skulls, an enormous golden head, back projection, front projection, acrobats, flag wavers, moving sets, fire, dramatic lighting and a camp pope, there is enough going on to keep even the most reluctant opera goer amused.

Whether it all works, of course is something else.

This production is designed and directed by Terry Gilliam, with co-direction and choreography by Leah Hausman, and Aaron Marsden also credited with design, so a certain amount of scenic Surrealism is to be expected. It may have been the lacklustre audience that the production I saw had, but the participants seemed to be working too hard for too little response. The circus troupe parading through the auditorium with a coloured paper ticker-tape shower was perhaps giving too much too soon and added to that much of the 'acting' was hammy in the extreme.

And that is one of the problems with the piece: what exactly is it? The opera exists in various versions and experts have said that it is difficult to know exactly what Berlioz had in mind for it. Originally it was conceived as an opéra comique with spoken dialogue and musical numbers, but this was not the opera that was performed in 1838 when the piece had become a through-sung performance. The opera was then cut and revised so that there are now at least three 'versions' of the show to choose when contemplating a (rare) performance.

Perhaps this lack of clarity is reflected in the sense of discomfort that I had in watching parts of the opera. There are elements of pure farce (in the best Brian Rix - there's a name from the past! - tradition) with lovers hiding when the father of the object of their attention comes home; there is the 'tables' approach to the action which could be funny; individual characters are presented as absurdly pompous or as outrageously camp, the latter most blatantly in the character of Pope Clement VII (well sung by Eric Halfvarson) who arrived on stage processing through a pair of massive swing doors, atop a wheeled set of stairs and encased in a sort of armour of over-the-top ecclesiastical garments which opened to allow him to descend the stairs in a mincing fashion to join the action. His appearance was like a cross between the ancient emperor from Turandot and Bella Lugosi, except, of course, I cannot remember either of those wearing an ostentatious gold cross and false glittering metallic finger stalls! And there's a murder, a real death in all this visual melange.

And the fact that I haven't mentioned the music yet speaks volumes for this production.

It is not music that I know, apart that is form the snatch of melody from the fiesta which later was used by Berlioz as the basis for the Roman Carnival Overture. So I came fresh to this opera and was open to be impressed.

The title role was taken by John Osborn, who sang it competently, but not in a way to take me with him through the production. I felt that he was straining in the upper register – but then, what tenor would not given the music written for him by Berlioz – and I found his acting a little wooden.

Teresa (the love interest) was played by Kathryn Lewek and she was more than a match for challenge of the role, though she was sometimes drowned by the excellent orchestra, the Orquestra Simfònica del Gran Teatre del Liceu conducted by Josep Pons, a fault I am prepared to forgive because of the magnificent performance the orchestra gave.

For me the stand-out performance was given by Annalisa Stroppa as Ascanio a replacement for Lidia Vinyes-Curtis who was scheduled to sing the role in the performance I saw. This is a 'breeches' role and it is always a delight to see what characteristics are adopted by the singer to emphasise the masculinity of the character: Stroppa was a delight to watch as, legs akimbo, chest out, hands on hips she made the man! Her singing was exceptional and she was always a commanding presence on stage.

I was surprised not to see on the cast list credits to the troupe of jugglers, acrobats and dancers who added so much to the feel of this piece. The sinisterly androgynous Master of Ceremonies with his painted skin and cracking whip added a touch (perhaps more than a touch) of depravity to an opera that always seemed on the cusp of descending into total mayhem and incoherence.

Did I enjoy this opera? On balance, yes I did. Not only is it an opera that I can now tick that I have seen and heard, but its Piranesi influenced scenery and sheer vitality will stay with me for a long time.

And, of course, the sound, the sheer sound of the chorus (Cor del Gran Teatre del Liceu) which in many ways was the true star of the production.

The first of the OU essays is slowly getting written. I have decided that today will (WILL) see a draft of the first of the three pieces that I have to write – anything less will make the timetable for completion impossible. Though, there again, I always hear David's, “Don't worry Stephen, it will get done!” echoing in my head. And I suppose that's true, but I am aiming to do more than simply get the essays done.

I am enjoying this course on the Renaissance much more than I did the Modern Art course just completed. I suppose that artists or 'artists' had not yet got into their pseudo-intellectual stride and so much of what the practitioners wrote was more practically orientated than wallowing in theory. And it is a bloody sight easier to read and understand!

I take it as a good sign that the opera was about Benvenuto Cellini who was, after all, himself a Renaissance man, or at least goldsmith (or godsmith as I first typed it! Given what he managed to create, perhaps the typo is not too far from the truth!) and I am going to take his easy way with evidence as my inspiration for the sort of writing that I am going to produce for my essays. Cellini's 'Autobiography' which I read when I was in college in the Penguin Classics (black & serious) edition was an absolute delight to read. It was recommended by the English and the history departments- though, to be fair I think that it was regarded as 'informed literature' by both!

I have a great deal to do to find out details of the art works that I am supposed to be writing about, and I will give you some of the questions that I need answers to: Who commissioned each work of art? Was there a contract? Does that contract exist? Who designed the font? Who decided on the artists? Where exactly was the font positioned? Who the hell is the sculptor, of whom I have never heard? Were the statues supposed to be where they now are? What is the cross of St John made of – surely not marble? What is the significance of the bird (eagle?) on the base of the half column behind the three statues? Were the blind windows (and is that what they are called) intended to be the background for the statues? And so on. In a way I am delighted that I am in a position to have to answer, or bluff my way through, these questions. And I am paying (heftily) to do so!

I have discovered that one other person (as well as an appalled Toni) listened to my infamous but-he-doesn't-speak-the-language radio interview – Ramon, the owner of the take-away (how little that description tells you about the foodie delights that he provides) who merely said that he was listening to the radio and heard a voice which he told himself could only be me!

This is not the first time that this has happened. A very early broadcast (!) of mine was for WNO when I had to enthuse about an opera that I had neither seen nor heard. This was broadcast live on a Sunday evening when no-one was listening. But, come Monday morning, I was greeted by one of my pupils who asked if I had been on the radio the previous day! In a similar way one friend recalled driving in North Wales along narrow and difficult roads while listening to the radio and almost swerving to oblivion as my dulcet tones emanated from the loudspeaker! It is nice to have an effect or affect – or possibly both depending on how you read the sentence!

And now writing. A simple draft before bedtime will suffice.

Aftermath

corruption

Still reeling from the onslaught against the Spanish language that my interview yesterday represented, Toni has decided to produce an English translation of what exactly I said. He is dressing up this enterprise in the guise of an exercise in IT which aids his course, but I know it is part of his attempt to expose my astonishing lack of linguistic ability in any language other than English to the wider world! Luckily my self confidence (bordering, some would say, on downright arrogance) was enough, not only to provide me with sufficient reserves of energy to get through the interview, but also was sufficient to encourage my positive enjoyment of the whole experience!

          People will soon be able to judge for themselves as the whole débâcle will be readily available to enjoy and digest!

The interesting times in which we live have now extended to the immediate political situation here in Catalonia. The local government has taken the first steps in declaring Independence from Spain. The whole situation is complicated by the fact that the acting president of Catalonia is tainted by his close association with Puyol (the ex president of Catalonia) who is fighting against the avalanche of overwhelmingly damming evidence which demonstrates that he and his clan have been little more than a “criminal organisation” (as they have already been termed in the press and by some legal authorities) and their criminality is being used by the terminally corrupt national government of PP to deflect attention from their own nefarious doings so that the population at large fears that an Independent Catalonia will be corruption writ large.

          The FACT that there are numerous criminal cases pending which demonstrate with shocking clarity the bare faced rapacity of the ruling PP party has now been shunted into the background of the general population's consciousness and they are concentrated instead on the very real threat of Catalonia breaking away (totally and utterly illegally according to the hands-wet-with-blood government of Spain) and the breathtakingly audacious corruption of notable Catalans. Thus showing clearly and indisputably that Catalonia must be kept securely in the safe hands of irremediably rapacious ignoramuses which form the so-called legal government of Spain. The fact that this group of kleptomaniacs and compulsive liars can even think about presenting themselves as some sort of legitimate force for good just goes to show that any old group of mendacious curs can get away with anything as long as they keep their nerve and keep on lying as proficiently as they have been doing for the whole time that they have been in what they like to term 'government.'

          When I say that I have more respect for the Evil Old Bitch (you know who I mean) than for Bromo, my name for the so-called President of Spain, it just goes to show how much contempt I have for the be-suited cretins who occupy positions of power in the present sad joke that is Spanish government.

          I tend to think that I do more work trying to attribute Machiavellian intelligence to the way that events are presented by the dead heads in PP than they actually deserve. With the build up to the General Election on the 20th December, they are either being deucedly clever or astonishingly stupid in the way that their strategy is developing.

           Having listened to some of the half-brains who seem to speak for this apology for a government with some sort of assumed authority, I can hardly believe that they have a coherent political brain cell to spark to action, yet it is possible to work out a terminally cynical approach to the electorate which speaks of some sort of primal intelligence.

           As an intelligent member of PP is an obvious oxymoron, I have to admit (and indeed we know because of the way that their finances have been laid out to an unbelieving public) that they have enough cash from various crooked sources to buy in the intelligence that they do not possess themselves. And shame on those with Neanderthal Plus brains who have sold themselves to the amoeba-like slime that sits on the PP benches in parliament to further their despicable causes, i.e. themselves.

           So, at the moment, we here in Catalonia are waiting for the political parties that make up the majority in our local parliament for independence to come to some sort of agreement about who is going to be president. The last vote for Artur Mas to be president was defeated – and rightly so. But what the immediate future holds is difficult to say. Bromo has stated that he, himself, personally will not allow the break up of Spain – which is a bit like saying that the magma refuses to allow the volcano to blow. He and his party seem to have gone out of their way to antagonise Catalans and then they act with shocked surprise when Catalans respond as if they are ungrateful for their abuse.

          When I first arrived in Catalonia I was all in favour of a united Spain, feeling that the country would be much more powerful and coherent if all the constituent parts of the country were linked together. I still feel that is true, but the present PP government with the dictatorial use of their absolute majority have changed my mind markedly. PP have gone out of their way to make it clear that they despise Catalonia, only valuing the money they can suck from the country. Well, enough is enough.

          PP and PSOE (the equivalent of Conservative and Labour in British terms) have colluded in the creation of a completely unconstitutional so-called king, they are colluding in the suppression of Catalan independence, they are colluding in the suppression of a multi-party democracy and, above all, they are colluding in maintaining the status quo to ensure their own position in the troughs that they have fed from for far too long. A plague, as the Bard rightly said, on both their houses.

           Spain has a democratic system whereby you vote for a 'list' of candidates for each political party. The number of votes given to each party determines the number of candidates 'elected' on each list. Thus, if you are candidate 1 on PP's list you are guaranteed a place in parliament, and so on down the list according to the number of votes cast. In other words the scheming, conniving, corrupt members of a party do not need to worry about a particular constituency to get elected; as long as they are near the top of the 'list' they will succeed. It also follows that individual members of the party owe more allegiance to the party rather than to any constituency made up of voters in a particular location.

          It also means that utterly disgraceful party hacks like Rita from Valencia, who ripped off the people of that region to satisfy her own inflated opinion of what she felt she deserved, are not cast into the otter darkness (with wailing and gnashing of teeth) after her party (PP!) is justly thrown out, but is instead promoted to the Senate, where the overblown apology for honesty can continue to milk the state!

          Whatever you think of Cameron and his exclusive brethren of upper class take-it-all opportunists, they look like honesty personified when compared with their openly rapacious parallels in Spain!

Peregrinating Kate of the Barcelona Poetry Group is going back to California for the winter, but her crown as leader of our group has been gifted to another member who is going to take over the task of ensuring that the meetings continue until the middle of December when we will have a Christmas recess until the middle of January.

           Last night's meeting was on the theme of 'Returning' and I read out the opening page of Rebecca as my contribution to the initial responses. Sandy read a stunning poem which referenced her post traumatic shock syndrome from her time as a military doctor. It's poems like that which make me even more eager to read through her latest book which has accompanying poems by her sister. The publication date is December 1st and that is something to look forward to as I have demanded that her sister in the states send copies to Spain as soon as it is published!

           Kate brought up the idea of producing a book which could be a co-operative effort from members past and present of the poetry group. I have thought about this and so was able to share my ideas about how to make it a practical reality. This is something which can see a publication by the Spring (or more likely early summer) of next year. I hope that I will be allowed to edit the publication and see it through its various stages of production.

          The OU course continues and I am finding out just how little I know about the Renaissance – which I have said before, but each new day merely shows how superficial my previous knowledge was!

          This week sees me making a tentative start on the long three-part essay-like assignment that we have to complete. Other events and meetings are stacking up in the time left for its completion so I will have to exercise a certain amount of discipline about how I spend my time if it is to be done to my satisfaction.

          Another factor claiming time is the work (now delayed by still sitting in a folder on my desk) about the early history of swimming in public pools, which should, in time, link up with the previous work that I have done on Guevara and his paintings. It is getting to the stage where I will need to produce one of those 'fantastic' timetables that I am only forced into drawing up when there is already too little time left to do what I want to do. The notorious one that I drew up for my finals actually proved to me that I didn't have anything like enough time left to revise with anything like the thoroughness that I had intended to use. Still, lots to do – including filling out the absurdly long form for my pension. Though, thinking about it, I was able to use it as part of a poem for my next book!

Now, enough writing indulgence, time to start work.

Nation Shall Speak Peace Unto Nation!

It has to be said that a personal Rubicon of Amazonian proportions has been, not so much crossed, as waded and staggered through: I have given my first Radio interview (dramatic pause) in Spanish!

I have left a decent paragraph space for that to sink in. Toni, who made the mistake of listening to it, is still in a state of shock.

Only I would have the bare-faced arrogance to go for a radio interview in a language that, it has to be admitted I do not speak, and wade into it live on air after having had no opportunity to consider the questions beforehand! And I didn't even have the good grace to be nervous before, during or after this event.

Let's get things into proportion. The Radio Station was our local one in Castelldefels and not the BBC World Service, and my contribution was an incidental literary segment in a programme that lasted a couple of hours. But still. Radio! And in a foreign language!

This was all in aid of publicising Flesh Can Be Bright and, it has to be said, I am prepared to do virtually anything to get publicity for that book. On Toni's strict instructions I asked for an audio copy of the whole sorry event and when it arrives I will post it on the Praetorius Books website, or at least on the Facebook Page so that the interview can add to the jollity of nations – because it adds little to the art of interviewing!

Toni says that on at least two occasions I ignored the question and went off on a path of my own and he has threatened to translate both questions and answers to show just how oblique my responses were.

When I came home (in triumph) after the event he was still slightly hysterical having listened to the interview while frantically pacing up and down the living room clawing at his face as he tried to work out what the hell I was saying. He obviously was not in the best position to follow my explanations because he actually speaks Spanish, a knowledge of which was not necessarily a help in following my discourse!

Still, the deed is done and it adds to my Spanish portfolio which also includes the interview in much more convincing Spanish (because it was translated by Toni) in our local give-away newspaper.

Having now conquered newspaper and radio, I have set my sights on television as my next target. Don't laugh, having got this far, it is only a matter of time before the bastion of the moving image falls to my mangling of the Spanish tongue!

Although the foregoing may appear to be light-hearted in its approach, I was obviously deadly serious as I truncated by usual metric mile morning swim to a mere one thousand metres so that I could arrive at the radio station in good time!

Meanwhile the OU course continues with the first of the double length essays waiting to be completed. Or started even. On the good side, I have noted that there are a series of notes from the tutorial held a couple of days ago in Durham. For some reason best known to the OU, all European students are linked with the North of England Region, where the number of EasyJet flights to the city are fairly limited. We far-flung students usually have only one face-to-face tutorial during our course and that is likely to be in London and in February.

Not the most appealing time to have a short break in England, but I hope that Toni and I will make the most of it and try and find time and a reasonable hotel to make the most of the opportunity to see more of the city. I would like him to see Clarrie's empire and who knows, we might even have time to make a wintry visit to Brighton and see just how near the sea Andrew is! Something to think about and plan.

My lessons in Padel have ground to a halt. The ten days of birthday celebrations were the ostensible reason for their pause, but there is no reason apart from physical pain that they should not restart. I am not sure how may lessons I have left from the course that I purchased, but I should take full advantage of that expensive investment – even if I have little belief that I will become a regular player of the game.

For me, the fact that Padel needs four people to make a match (it is only played as a doubles game) is a signal disadvantage as my playing of tennis, badminton and squash has always been as singles. Although I have broadcast to the city via the radio in one of the tongues of the country, I am not sure that I am quite so confident about participating in Spanish (or indeed in Catalan) in the badinage that is a necessary part of a doubles game. Though, thinking about it, that might be a powerful incentive to get to grips with a particular form of the language!

I must learn to end anything that I write with some sort of injunction to BUY THE BOOK. So I will start here and urge whoever is reading to go to the Facebook page for Praetorius Books and find out more about Flesh Can Be Bright and Autumn trees.

That is hardly the most inspiring encouragement to part with hard earned cash and splurge it on a well-worth-it book of poetry, but it is the best I can do at the moment. I will work on something which is more professional!

It's the little things . . .

The incipient cold that is nagging at my nose and throat refuses to be subdued by swimming. One would have thought that energetic exercise would rally the good microbes in one's body to a decisive battle against whatever it is that actually causes colds. My home city of Cardiff has a centre devoted to all things cold-related and has been working steadily (and one fears unsuccessfully) to consign this socially embarrassing aliment to the history books. I am presently adopting the strategy of pretending that I do not have a cold. This is intermittently successful, especially while in the actual act of swimming, where the mechanical processes of keeping afloat, moving and alive are usually enough to restrain any of the more obvious aspects of the illness – and anyway moving water has a certain ability to wash away evidence!

So I am well. And to prove it I am going out to lunch with Irene and talking, much like swimming, has a way of making me forget mere bodily infirmities.

The Open University course is taking we hapless students deep into the (fascinating) world of single point perspective. Something which I have been told about often enough, but something which also does not seem to stick in my brain. There is a great deal of mathematics, or so I believe, in the working out of single point perspective – especially in the depiction of buildings – but I firmly believe that some airy-fairy citing of the theory and practice will suffice for most of the work that we have to do. I particularly like the part in our text books which seems to indicate that the artists of the Northern Renaissance used single point perspective when it suited them and adapted it when the artistic circumstances demanded. If that sort of thing does not give an arts student wriggle room, then I don't know what does!

Tomorrow is my now customary lesson in Padel – that strange mixture of tennis and squash which possibly originated on cruise ships, and British cruise ships at that! I am reluctant to claim this as yet another British sport given to the world as there is convincing evidence to suggest that it is nothing of the sort.

The nice teacher who gently introduced me to the sport has now deserted me and I have a youngster whose teaching style is best described as relentless. It is probably doing me good and is something which I have to get used to – and anyway it takes my mind off the fact that I still do not have any copies of The Book to hand. Or my phone. Or my watch. Nor any thing that I have paid for and which should be with me by now! But I try not to be bitter. Or somewhat worried. And I'm failing in that latter category!

I am working on a new poem the inspiration for which started innocuously enough with one of my staple (some might say hackneyed) provocations to creativity – autumn trees and falling leaves. This has turned into something altogether stranger with my reversing the leaf fall and transferring the shedding to humans. At the moment I think there are about three poems in one and although they are all linked, they are also fragmented. I like the central idea but its working out is much more complicated than I expected it to be. Also, the exposition is proving to be a problem as well – and that is one that I am nowhere near to solving. Still, that is why I enjoy writing, finding what, at least for me, is some sort of solution to a linguistic teaser! It may be that nothing comes of the poem at the end of my efforts, but I hope it does because I have found myself thinking about the subject for a few days now and I really want to know what I have to say!

Toni is deep into his course and is finding it time-greedy and difficult, but I have total belief in his eventual ability to sort things out. Its the duration of eventually that is the wearing part of watching the struggle!

Both of us are trying to get ahead to allow for the delightful distractions that will beset us from the 21^st onwards! Bring it on!

So much bitterness! So little time!

There has been a response from the powers that be about the theft of my money and phone while I was using the local swimming pool that I used to go to before our local pool became an indoor one. And if that is not a clumsy sentence, then I am no stylist!

What that response will actually mean in the fullness of time, I know not, but they did ask for the price of the old phone and the cost of replacing it. There was even vague talk of some sort of municipal insurance cover. Which is encouraging. I am not, however, holding my breath.

My replacement Yotaphone has travelled from Russia originally, then to Slovenia and on to Germany via Austria. And there it stays, mocking the assurances from the company that it would be with me in 1 day or 2. I was sceptical when I read it, so I am not unduly worried about its non appearance.

Just as I was not worried about the non/delivery of my OU books by Correos. It is not the first time that they have lost my educational material, so I was more than prepared to lurch into action to counter the malign indifference of the Spanish Postal Service, and the OU, bless them, did manage to get the books and other material to me in time. You never know, it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that a parcel arrived out of the blue in March with the books that should have been with me in September!

I am still learning the ways of the Satellite and incidentally relearning the use of right and left clicks with the mouse. There are things that go up in Mac that go down in the PC and not everything is where it 'should' be. But time will take care of that. I hope.

Meanwhile no news about The Book or The Watch or anything else of real retail interest.

In Spain, the latest news via a poll about the two largest political parties, PP (the ruling oligarchy of kleptomaniacs) and PSOE (a so-called socialist party with corruption issues as deep and worrying as PP – see above) puts them neck and neck. Neck and neck!

PP has had a build up to the election campaign which has been almost comic in its awfulness. Virtually every treasurer of PP who is still capable of drawing breath has been accused of corruption. The last treasurer has been to prison momentarily (if you're are PP or rich or a singer or banker you do not stay in prison for long) because of the wholesale distribution of sobres (envelopes) stuffed with 'black' money (i.e. illegal) to anyone who was anyone in PP. A whole swathe of the political class have been impugned; and the commercial class; and the banking class; and the union class – anyone with power and influence has been bought and sold. And they all get away with it.

One daily programme has a 'Corruption of the Day' spot to keep up with the accusations! The congregation of one notorious wedding of a daughter of the past president (unfortunately with no resemblance to the Red Wedding of Game of Thrones) seems to have been composed almost entirely of the ethical dregs of Spanish society. It is amusing, in a bitter sweet way, to watch film of that grotesque parade of autocratic contempt and note how many of the faces are also known to the police as miscreants – and many more who should be!

Evidence of the corruption of our politics washes from our TV screens in a never ending wave and EVERYBODY (including the scum who deny it) knows that the guilty are those who 'govern' us. The evidence is overwhelming and conclusive, but PP has a parliamentary majority and, by god, they use it.

An example of that was when PP 'lost' the recent local elections in many of their strongholds where corruption under their astonishing rule had reached totalitarian dimensions. Apart from frantically shredding anything which might be incriminating and prove to be useful to the new incoming administrations their out-and-out shock at being dislodged from their traditional cash cows prompted them to extreme proposals.

One (just one) of their most astonishing proposals was to re-write the meaning of majority. In some of their previous serfdoms they were still the largest single party after the elections, but they lacked the all important overall majority which allowed them to do what they liked. So, their (really quite clever) solution was to propose a new law which stated that if the largest single party's vote was something like 40% they should be allowed to form the government, even if the other parties could unite behind a single candidate for mayor. They began to play around with percentages and the frustrated PP grandee who fully expected to be elected major of Madrid began to talk about democracy! Always a bad sign when a member of PP uses the 'D' word – it usually shows desperation and panic, because any thinking person bursts into uncontrollable laughter when they see anyone from PP talking about a concept in which they obviously have no belief whatsoever!

If you are British and reading this, you have no idea whatsoever about how blatant the corruption is and in what low esteem politicians and bankers are held. Whatever you think about Cameron and his Cronies (and I think very, very little of them) they are paragons of ethical virtue compared to the rubbish that clings on to power in this country. And, as far as I can see, has a very real chance of retaining power after the next general election if the disgraced PP party can link up with the C's (a right-wing party with a young leader whose lust for power is refreshingly obvious) then they could form the next Spanish government. And I will wholeheartedly in favour of Catalan independence.

Just to give Catalans something to think about. Monday is National Show Our Military Might Day when there is a military parade with the salute taken by the tall person who calls himself the king – a person who was put on the throne by the undignified collusion of PP and PSOE with no reference to the people of Spain whatsoever. This unsavoury parade is usually in Madrid, but this year it is taking place in Barcelona.

Perhaps this is the time to mention that some PP defence minister actually raised the possibility of military force to keep the Catalans in line if they took the Independence thing too far. And now we have a vast military parade. This is not going to turn out well. Mark my words. Though the public face of the parade will be photogenic enough with invited guests and invited populations to give the 'right' image for the watching viewers. It will be interesting to see how this 'event' is televised on Spanish television and then compare it with how it is treated on Catalan television.

It is at times like this I regret not having a Republican flag to fly from our window. I am obviously asking in the wrong shops!

Meanwhile I follow the non-progress of my phone as it continues to stay in Germany. Perhaps, now that I think about it, they are trying to find a vehicle which has actually passed legitimate exhaust emission tests before bringing it into Spain!

Confessions of an Unjustified Apple User

“Hello, my name is Stephen and I'm an . . .”

I have no wish to make a joke out of an opening sentence, which for many is a major step forward for addicts to alcohol: the point at which you admit your addiction.

I feel that I have reached this point of confession and I can admit that I have been, if only in my mind, to my own version of AA. Apple Anonymous.

In a strange way I am grateful to Apple because they have provided the impetus to break away from my dangerous addiction. Let us consider the facts.

The first computer that I owned was a Sinclair where the memory was 16k and each button was a command which showed on a LED screen. After wasting time on the only computer that my first school owned (the fabled BBC B) trying to become a programmer when I was and am a mere User.

There followed a series of computers and printers and, of course, trying to get to grips with early versions of Windows before it got a grip on you. I didn't have a Damescene moment, but my hatred fro Windows and the PC grew in inverse proportion to my growing infatuation to the whole glowing gadget thing that the computer represented.

And I switched to Mac. And it was as if I had been welcomed to a new friendly world of technology – an operating system that seemed to be on your side. As I still tell people, my example of the differences between the two systems was changing a file name. On one odd file I had misspelled a word and my efforts to change this irritating reminder of my fallibility resisted all my efforts in Windows 001 or whatever primitive version of a so-called operating system I was using to change it. So when I was presented with a similar spelling error in a file in my new Mac computer my heart sank. But I remembered that the Mac system was supposed to be on my side and so I thought logically and reasoned that to change a name I ought to be able to click on it and change it. And that is exactly what I did.

It was with considerable surprise that months later I saw a two page advert in a quality newspaper for Mac which comprised the full page of instructions for changing a file name in Windows and the simple click and change instructions on the other page – most of which, of course what white blank space. Clever. And a clear example of what I preferred Mac to Windows and the PC.

But Education did not. Schools lived and died by PC, and programs which were supposed to run on both PC and Mac but invariably did not, or did not run in the same way, or ran just enough to get your hopes up and then broke your heart as they failed to work yet again! But sheer perversity, membership of an oppressed minority and a deep feeling that Mac and Truth would win through in the end meant that I stuck with Mac through thick and thin. Even if I once went as far down the way of the apostate to buy one machine which had a PC and a Mac within the same case. In theory they were supposed to switchable with the push of a single key; in practice, it was never that simple. It never was.

But I stuck with Mac, until it was impossible to ignore the sheer amount of information that was being passed by because of Quixotic determination to stay with a system of computing that the mainstream world seemed to have consigned to oblivion.

So I switched to PCs, and hated them with all the old resentement- But Apple were able to draw me in. the iPod, the iPad, the iPhone, the AirMac and the Big Mac. I bought them all. And by the time I bought my AirMac (still the most elegant of really portable computers) I was hooked again. And, I told myself, it didn’t really matter so much any more. The operating system that Apple had stolen that I liked so much had been ripped off it is turn by the competitors, and the machines seemed to speak to each other with an ease that the early days never held.

The came iPhone 6. And my release from the shackles of Apple. The price of the phone, at least in Spain, showed contempt for the buying public. There was nowhere near enough innovation to justify the price, this was a clear and naked scream for cash from addicts. And, behold, I was free!

To an extent. I still have all my iDevices. And use them. But this computer I am using now is a Toshiba. With 2TB of memory and the ability to extend the memory with various ways of doing it. And a slot for an SD card. And so on. My iPhone has been replaced by a Yotaphone. My iPad still has a function and use. And who knows where my selection of iPods are now. And who cares.

So, my new/old/new life of Apple distancing begins.

And finding out just how difficult Apple makes the transfer of information from one type of machine to another is something which is providing hours of innocent fun at the moment. Though I am determined to have ALL of my music on all platforms on this single machine. That is something which is going to keep me occupied for the next few weeks. At least. And there is always some part of my music collection which lurks hidden behind some electrons somewhere in the various machines that contain it all!

And I must forget the renaissance and The Book and the Day. It is all converging! What fun.

Turning toward the Light!

There is something refreshingly illicit in typing on a computer that is not Apple. As a long time Mac user, I have been faithful to Mac ever since the days when the operating system of Mac was absurdly more friendly than early versions of Window.

But enough is enough. The iPhone 6 was the final fiscal straw which finally convinced me that the only thing that Apple really cares about is the money that the hapless fools who support them have in their pockets.

I have now moved from my iPhone to a Yota phone. I have to admit the Yota phone does seem to be designed with my specifically in mind as it has a double screen with one side of the phone being a sort of low-power using Kindle type screen ideal for reading. I have had to buy another phone as my previous one was stolen (so if you see anyone in Castelldefels who is not me using a double sided phone, then the chances are that they might have a few questions to answer about their ownership!) and we have yet to see another one in our area. With any luck the replacement should arrive tomorrow and I can consign my revived iPhone back to the oblivion it so richly deserves.

I am not stuipd. My Big Mac on which I do most of my work will stay in place. I am used to it and I find it does well, in spite of the fact that such an expensive machine did not have a CD player and writer.

My new machine is a Toshiba Satellite (an early iteration of which I once owned) and has a 2TB memory as I am Old School and like to have my music downloaded from the thousands of CDs that I possess. As you will have worked out, this machine does have a CD player and I will be able to download my eclectic mix of music which ranges from the outré achievements of Pansy Division to the rarefied music of the early Renaissance. I must not forget to upload what has to be the largest collection of music by Carl Nielsen in Castelldefels!

Following Toni's strict instructions I am only uploading 'free' programs, so I now have (and am indeed using) LibreOffice Writer to produce what you are reading. Time will tell if the little refinements that come with Office are things that I might miss. Toni is a harsh observer and will castigate any backsliding into what he perceives as throwing money away into the uncaring hands of commercial software developers!

Meanwhile. The Book continues to dominate my waking thoughts. Not that there is much I can do about it at the moment, as it is out of my hands and at the printers. I am waiting for the finished product to be delivered to me and then I will be able to make its availability on Amazon a reality.

Everyone has a different set of priorities when they come to test out a new computer. Mine rest in the amount and quality of music I get get out of the machine. I have now (somehow) loaded up some of my music via Google Play (if that is what the program is called) though it seems to be (even for my music) a fairly odd selection. So, at the moment I am listening to Finnish Favourites (as you do) and skipping over the obvious Sibelius and going for the more obscure (at least to British ears) composers to keep me happy. And I promise that I will stop using brackets with the reckless abandon that that last section of writing displayed.

At least I have some music to keep me company and I am more than prepared to add music a disc at a time to build up my library. Again. How many times have I loaded discs into various machines! Still, with 2TB this should be the mother of all repositories!

Today we had lunch in the restaurant which is going to be the location of The Celebrations for United Nations Day this year. There seems to be a fairly even split between those people wanting fish and those who want meat. Which I do not find convincing. But, hey, there should be enough for pick and mix, and I can only guess at the chaos that the second course is going to produce. I look forward to it all with ill concealed glee.

The majority of the conversation with the restaurant owner was taken up with how the tables are going to be arranged. I everyone turns up then there should be 24 of us. Which is a healthy number. After the last meal in the cramped circumstances of the upstairs room of the restaurant that used to be Porto's, I have no intention of restricting circulation this time round. It's my birthday and I want to see everyone!

After much scribbling on napkins a plan was devised, though I am not sure that everyone taking part in the discussions was equally aware of the conclusions! Never mind, crisis management is one of the pleasures of indolent planning!

And so, as an insanely happy woodwind section of Finnish music plays through the ear phones of a stolen phone – not stolen by me, you understand, but what I was left by the changing room thieves of Castelldefels, and that only because I had not taken the ear phones with me – I am inclined to stop typing as I feel that I now have a feel for the keyboard of this new machine.

Now for some serious work.

Into the Renaissance I go!