The local paper seemed to be bemoaning that President Zapatero hasn't been included in the phone calls made by Obama or to Obama to congratulate or whatever it is they do. The Spanish take things to heart ( ha!) and this hasn't been the only thing lately that makes them feel left out. As I find it quite difficult to take any of them seriously anymore I am not surprised their leader hasn't been called or invited anywhere.I think what I am trying to say is they quite often do my head in. Difficult bastards are the words I am grasping for.

I saw an advert today that was loosely described as a comedy festival by using words like ja ja ja ( ha bloody ha ) and the G-7 of humour, and asked if there 'was life after the Expo?' If the lack of interest from the girl at the train station in Zaragoza is anything to go by then I doubt it. Meeting a friend there who had come over from London the other day I realised how I don't even notice the lack of care and pride that can be seen on the daily round. The most startling once it had been pointed out to me was the street furniture, bollards in this case that had been pinned down by a couple of screws or none at all during the festival, and had now been tossed aside into a corner near the entrance to the 'lovely' new station, the one that someone has drilled holes in all over it for aesthetic reasons obviously and for reasons unknown has lost most of the corners. I thought about going back to take a photo of the spheres and send it to the various dignitaries with 'Que Cojones' attached. What a load of bollocks in other words.

This is partly why I can't take anyone seriously. It is a nice place to live but don't expect anyone to 'get it'. I feel sorry for those that might or could, especially the pupil the other day who told me her teacher likes to stick a video on during their 'alternativa' class, a class that replaces the option of studying religion. The teacher also tells them they can do their homework so long as they are quiet and don't interrupt her viewing of the film.

Another pupil has told me there is a third or even a fourth way to tell the time in English but couldn't remember what her teacher had said in the lesson. We went through the various ways of telling the time even though I told her one way would be enough to be getting on with but she still insisted there was another way and I wasn't saying it. I even found myself saying things like it's five and twenty to nine just to get to the bottom of the story.

Friend from London has brought a book that I am off to read. Everyday Drinking, The Distilled Kingsley Amis which of course will be accompanied by a snifter or two.