Friday, August 17, 2007


¡Agallas de Hierro!

Two very excellent people got married yesterday -- to each other!
Huw Rees and Manuela Ruault are now man and wife. I have been privileged to regard them as my friends: they are kind, intelligent, large hearted people, awash with talent and humanity, and I love them both very much. I regret that I was unable to attend their wedding, but tonight I'll drink a toast in their honour anyway. Huw has the funk, Manuela has the elegance, a combination superb and delightful. Big love to both of them, is what I say!

On Monday I had the worst day I've had since arriving in Spain, on Tuesday I had the best. Amazing how things can change so fast! I went dancing with Rosa, a journalist from El Mundo, and her friends. The fiesta was simply astounding. Thousands of people dancing to pulsating music, the streets flowing with beer and spirits, everybody in a happy mood. The universal goodwill was tangible. Wednesday night was less frantic but more cultured. On a stage in the Plaza Mayor a curious event took place. The fiesta coincided with the 60th anniversary of India's independence and someone in authority had decided to celebrate both occasions simultaneously. There was flamenco and bhangra, and at one point a tabla player and flamenco guitarist played together...

How candid is one supposed to be on a blog? I often think a blog isn't the right place to talk about emotional matters, and yet it also doesn't feel right to simply report on writing or travel news without casting any light on the inner story. And it's not just my emotional life I'm sometimes reluctant to comment on, but other personal details of a physical or mental or spiritual sort. However there inevitably comes a time when truth overrides tact, and such a moment is now... Recently I have done a lot of walking and dancing: my trousers are made of a rough fabric. Therefore I am presently suffering from massively chafed bollocks. Today's routine, and perhaps tomorrow's, will be partly determined by techniques to ease the aforementioned chafing, walking with a wide legged gait, primarily.

Elsewhere it has been suggested that my bollocks are made of iron.

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