Push Pineapple

You know the confession game; the sort of thing you might get on radio. Phone us now with one thing you have never done that mostly all adults would have been expected to have done. Never driven a car!? Never been to a pub!? Never watched X Factor!?

I cannot claim any of the above, but there is one confession I have. And it is this. Until yesterday, I had never attended an ESRA event. Ever. There. I feel cleansed. I have come out as being ESRA-phobic. But now I am ESRA-phile. Possibly.

ESRA, the English Speaking Residents Association, held its "mediaeval fayre" in the cloister of Pollensa's Sant Domingo yesterday. A place more reverentially associated with the sophistication of the classics of the Pollensa Music Festival and less obviously and most absurdly Tony Hadley. From outside the cloister, there was a dreadful sense of foreboding: a Middle Ages and middle-aged Frank Sinatra giving it large with a full "My Way" treatment. From the old courtyard that this past summer staged Joanna MacGregor, the London Gospel Choir and cellists of the Berlin Philharmonic, there came the sheer horror that is "Agadoo". Push pineapple. Except there weren't any pineapples to push. There was, though, a pig on a gas spit, someone with a tea towel on his head and some very mediaeval stands devoted to security systems and currency transfer. It needed some inquisition, a touch of "auto de fe", but the only "tormento" was a set of stocks and a bloke being assaulted by small children with wet sponges; oh, and Black Lace, who were frequently to be found at the court of Edward III, even if Edward - it has been revealed in historical documents - did have a preference for Russ Abbot and his fabulous mediaeval madrigal, "(Oh What An) Atmosphere".

This was a peculiarly English weekend. On Saturday, there was the car boot sale without any car boots at Puerto Alcúdia's Jolly Roger. Not that this is an exclusively English/British occasion, just that it is something of a weekly rendezvous and gossip-exchanging point for old Britannia. The two events, the Roger's and the fayre, were worlds apart, and not just in terms of location. One cast one's eyes around the cloister of Sant Domingo. How many were there from Alcúdia? Hard to say, but only a very few who were recognisably so. One cast one's eyes around the Roger's terraces. How many were there from Pollensa? None, or none who were recognisably so.

Two towns divided by a common language and by a few kilometres. Rarely do the twain meet. It is not only the British. Many a Mallorcan rarely ventures in either direction, but at least the Mallorcans will, usually, be aware of what exists outside of their own domains. How many of the British do? How many in Alcúdia know of Cala San Vicente? Or how many in Pollensa might know of Mal Pas?

Two towns divided by a perceptual gulf, one of supposed superiority beaten back along the coast road by suggestions of supposed snobbery. Alcúdia is Corrie, karaoke and the Roger's boot sale; Pollensa is Howards Way, harmonics and ESRA. Two communities in non-alignment, except. Except there is always Black Lace. Could have been Alcúdia - allegedly.


Nine, yes nine
Now I wouldn't normally, but ... . Nine of your Premier League goals, everyone. Nine-one.


John Hirst - revealed
Well, I had chosen not to use the comments, but now ... Perhaps I should. "The Sunday Times" has come clean where others might have preferred not to. It says: "Hirst was sentenced to five years in prison in 1992 for 'obtaining deception' while working for Allied Dunbar". And this, pretty much, is what those comments all said.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Paul Young (most obviously), http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTWt_pKiMl4. Today's title - so in the chorus, it's push pineapple, then what? A more philosophical question though is, why would anyone push a pineapple?

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