Free-D

Without noticing, I have become totally reliant on my computer to the detriment of my previous excessive love for television, and my occasional flirtation with decent literature
 

Last weekend through a series of unfortunate circumstances, I suddenly found myself computerless. After the initial panic, I mentalised myself for the long haul  with the aid of a great novel recommended to me by VG (Paul Auster’s Brooklyn Follies, which I recommend to anyone who needs a lift), a pen and exercise book (just in case the muse took me) and a TV with terrible reception but the miraculous knack of picking up Canal+. I have to say the novelty of not being able to embroil myself in the tangled web of internet was incredibly liberating. Read the rest of this entry »

Normally international news is pretty much homogeneous and the reports and the opinion’s whether to the right or to the left are quite inter-changeable from one country to the next. There are notable exceptions, of course. A few years back there was the sticky issue of the fishing of fletán off the Canadian coast by Spanish fishermen, or the future of Gibraltar. The recent declarations that the evidence for the Madrid bombings pointed to Al Qaeda from the outset, came as no surprise to anyone who was listening to the international news at the time, which, with the exception of Spain, were in no doubt whatsoever that this was not the work of ETA.

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It’s a major challenge of course and those – especially from the younger generation – who are less controlled will break the silence. But in the main, the pasos are carried out in total with a mute respect. The funeral dirges, the bare feet, the intimidating anonymity of the hooded mask, and the sheer beautiful solemnity of the occasion, bear witness to the firmness of Christianity’s grip over the country. As with so many things here, the sheer heart-wrenching artistry of the act has become far greater than the sum of its parts, and as with bullfighting, if the aesthetic carries you through strongly enough, you can forget about the rather flimsy justification or pretext for its existence in the first place.  Read the rest of this entry »

I have an old book from the 1960’s about bullfighting and there is one photograph of the lobby of the Gran Hotel, as the bull breeders gather before a fight. The sun streams through the great windows, and every figure seems to be bathed in an afternoon glow. A waiter trots among them. The slicked back hair, the pot bellied, cigar chomping, gesticulating, elegance. Three women stand under the stairwell looking coy and shaking fans.

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