Rioja rhyme that’s right on time
I’m back from a very pleasant holiday in Spain, about which I’ll have more to say later. I had dinner in the bar where the Spanish Socialist Party was founded, saw a splendid firework display which cleverly involved setting off fireworks from the inside of the cathedral in Santiago de Compostella, and enjoyed trying to decipher the copious anarchist graffiti with my minimal knowledge of Spanish. Pictures of all these things and more, shortly.
I also experienced a fine proof that capitalist globalisation is rubbish. The café in the Museo del Prado is run by the same company as the canteen where I work; but could I get a plate of octopus for two pounds this lunch-time? I think you all know the answer to that one (luckily, I brought some tinned pulpo gallego home with me, which will make its way into sandwiches soon enough).
I’m going to be living the primitivist dream for a few days from tomorrow (although I nearly decided not to go away when I realised it would mean missing the Big Brother final), so it will probably be a while until I get round to posting on England, Hegel and why, despite appearances, Alistair’s recent political reidentification is something more interesting than just a bargain basement Hitchens knock-off (now that I’ve typed that out, it looks really offensive. Hopefully, I’ll be able to post the followup, which should make that description look less mean-spirited, before Alistair sees this).
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