With nothing better to say

There's an ad on the Spanish telly for erectile dysfunction. I see it when I watch the local version of Wheel of Fortune. Maybe it's a reflection of the age of the early afternoon TV audience. The person who tells us about the product wears a white coat, a doctor's coat. He has a beard, a bit of a paunch and specs. He's white. He looks like the sort of doctor your average white Spanish, set in his ways, male with an erectile dysfunction might trust. It's the white coat though. The uniform of the trade. You'll see uniforms everywhere in Spain from Mercadona to Civil Protection.

We popped in to Bar Mucho for a beer the other day. We went in minutes after it had opened. We were the first customers of the day and the young Spanish server was cleaning down tables. The music in the background was reggaeton or reguetón - Spanish language music. Normally the background music in Bar Mucho is international English language stuff. I've heard or read various pieces about reggaeton and it's importance to the music industry. Apparently for the first time in the history of "pop" music, modern contemporary music, Spanish language songs are outselling English language songs in Spanish speaking countries.

When they ran the Dutch Grand Prix two or three Sundays ago I heard the report on one of the five minute Spanish radio news bulletins (I didn't hear the more recent Italian results). It reminded me of the wry observation that, when the Titanic sank, the Halifax Courier carried the headline - "Halifax man lost on Titanic". The bulletin told me about Alonso in 6th and Carlos Sainz in 8th. I'm sure they mentioned the Verstappen victory but they didn't report on the other podium places. And where Halifax leads the rest of Britain follows. Mind you I suspect that in the Cameroon they mention Cameroonian successes first.

The telly was on in the background but when they said "La nueve" I looked up from whatever I was doing to watch. I have to be honest here. I've heard several times that exiled Spanish Republican troops, fighting alongside the Free French under the command of General Leclerc (no relation to the F1 Ferrari driver so far as I know) were the first allied troops to enter Paris during the Liberation of Paris in August 1944. I presumed this was another slight exaggeration to boost national pride. The unit was called La Nueve, The Nine, The Ninth I suppose. Their American built halftracks and Jeeps had Spanish derived names like Brunete, Ebro and don Quijote. I'd always supposed this was a bit of an overstatement, I'd supposed they'd been there but that they were part of a bigger force. In fact it seems that of the first 160 troops into Paris, 146 of them were Spaniards. They were Spanish soldiers from the defeated Republican side in the Spanish Civil War and they joined up with the Free French forces, on the other side of the Franco Spanish border, to continue their struggle with fascism. 

I've not done italki for ages. Well no, I have. I hadn't done italki for ages but last week I did. Italki is one of the several online language teaching and learning platforms. A teacher and a student get together on Zoom or Skype or whatever online, virtual, remote, method they choose to talk face to face. In my case I simply use it for Spanish conversation but people also do proper classes with lesson plans and suchlike. I like it because it's cheap, to a time that suits me and, obviously enough, it gives me an opportunity to speak Spanish which I hardly ever do. I've changed teachers a lot. Before I start with a new person the only thing I say to them is, "There's no need to prepare anything, I just want to talk". Nonetheless, every time, without fail, the teacher is determined that we will have a topic of conversation. They send me something to read or a list of "interesting" vocabulary. I ignore the articles and the word lists and we just natter away. Conversation is like that. You start with erectile dysfunction and end up with online classes.

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The photo is from a book Pingüinos en Paris (Bajo dos tricolores), Una novela sobre los luchadores republicanos de La Nueve by Jordi Siracusa. The author asked for a mention if I used one of his pictures so there it is!

On C90s and Romesh Ranganathan

Valencia, the region we live in, has had less severe Covid restrictions than some other regions. Bars and restaurants, cinemas and theatres, shops and hairdressers have been open, with varying restrictions, since May of 2020. We've been confined to our region and there has been a curfew from ten in the evening for months and months but, overall, we've got off pretty lightly. On May 9th the State of Emergency will end and, when it does, heaven knows what will happen. The Spanish Constitution outlines rights and duties and free movement is one of the rights. I'm interested to see how things go as the regional governments try to enforce restrictions that will be challenged as unconstitutional in the courts.

Spain hasn't yet reaped many of the apparent benefits of mass immunisation because the vaccination programme has been very slow. At first the organisation was a bit slapdash but now the main problem seems to be the supply of the various vaccines. The regional health authorities have used, or have a use for, all the serum made available to them. The confusion around the safety of some of the vaccines for certain age groups also caused so many fits and starts that the social networks are awash with complaints that some groups have been immunised before other groups have had their first jab.

Given that we have been supposed to stay at home as much as possible lots of the things that normally happen haven't. Even the things that we have been allowed to do have seemed a bit desperate, a little like doggedly lighting the barbecue under the eaves of the building despite the wind and rain. It's fine walking along the coast but gazing out from misted sunspecs, because of the mask, onto a panorama of closed shops and bars soon loses its appeal. It also feels a bit uncivil too. Like the way that dancing has been criminalised. But fewer things happening means less to blog about.

One of my few sources of outside news are the italki sessions, the one to one online Spanish sessions with "native speakers". I've already written blogs based on several of those conversations but, drastic times call for drastic measures, so here I go again. 

Last week Juan Pablo seemed a bit down. He told me he'd just turned 30 and that he was still living at home without anything he could call a career. He supposed his life would be pure decline from then on in. We spent a while talking about what he wanted to do in the future. Simply as something to talk about I suggested that he go into business for himself. It was noticeable how uninterested he was in that idea and how quickly he dismissed most of my suggestions. I wasn't surprised and not just because my ideas were a bit far fetched. General perceptions, backed by numerous surveys, show that most young Spanish people hope to land a traditional, reasonably well paid, steady job rather than to make it big as an entrepreneur. Obviously enough video blogging has now joined the old favourite, pie in the sky, jobs of footballer and rock star in the lists. It's very unlikely that the next Elon Musk or Kylie Jenner will be Spanish. Failing in business here produces a stigma that nobody from the United States, and only very old Britons, would recognise and the bureaucratic obstacles to starting a business in Spain are still manifold and labyrinthine.

If Juan Pablo felt old then Susi helped me to feel ancient. At one point, no doubt after a failed play on words on my part, she told me that she didn't understand British humour. I said that I thought one of the main differences seemed to be that Spaniards often like physical humour. The sort of comedy that involves silly voices and falling over. I was at a bit of a disadvantage because the chance of me knowing anyone famous from the Anglo world who would be famous here was remote. When I left the UK people like Catherine Tate and David Walliams were cutting edge and YouTube comedians hardly existed. My grasp of the Spanish comedy scene is more than tenuous. I suggested to Susi that UK comedians were more like the standups Eva Hache, Berto Romero or Luis Piedrahita and not at all like Santiago Segura in the Torrente films (sexist, racist, slapstick) or José Mota (silly voices but and some sitcom type sketches). As Susi continued to look confused I suddenly remembered. Benny Hill. Benny Hill I shouted. Benny Hill was incredibly famous here. People loved Benny Hill. But apparently not Susi. Too young (her) or too old (me) I suppose.

A bit later I'm talking to Susi about how my experience is that Britons are more culturally in tune with European countries than they are with the United States despite the shared language. I have a time worn anecdote that involves someone in my 1989 Rover 416 Gsi choosing to play a Beethoven cassette because it was "more British" than the salsa, rancheras or cumbia which made up the bulk of my in car entertainment at the time. The story fell down a bit because Susi didn't know what a cassette was and also because my pronunciation of Beethoven wasn't immediately recognisable to her. 

It just goes to show though that whilst Susi may be young she isn't that "hip" either as the new Wolf Alice album in July has a cassette release. I also noticed that a singer from Murcia called Yana Zafiro is offering stuff on cassette along with lots of Bandcamp artists. Never mind, all of it is something to chat about.

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By the way if you fancy having a go at the italki lessons yourself, for any language, let me know. I'll recommend you and we both get to save some money if you actually sign up