24 Hours From ...

Now, I was thinking of making a major announcement today, but thought that maybe I ought first to just run it by the appropriate body. Anyway, it has to do with a popular daily newspaper. So I will keep my powder dry for a day or several.

Still, this does not prevent me from consulting the pages of a popular daily newspaper and unearthing the odd item of interest. Thus it was yesterday. Apparently, a report reckons that Mallorca needs up to five more golf courses and that nobody on the island or indeed on all the islands of the Balearics should ever be more than 50 minutes away from a golf course. Well, two things here. Is it possible to be more than 50 minutes from anything in Mallorca, let alone a golf course? If one is walking, then perhaps so, but I suspect most golfers have some sort of transport, if only one of those lunatic buggies. Slightly baffling that, I'd say. The other thing is, does Mallorca need five more courses? Doubtless the Muro protagonists - the hoteliers and certain town hall representatives - would say yes, but while the endless debate as to that course rumbles on, we have learnt over the past few months that courses have been denied to Santa Margalida (on the Son Real finca), Campos and Binissalem, the enviro lobby having been just one dissenting voice.

I can think of many things that people should never be more than 50 minutes away from - a hospital, a chemists, an off-licence and a bunker against weapons of mass destruction. But a golf course? I am reminded of a report from April of last year (that was referred to in a popular daily newspaper) which stated that Mallorca was basically golfed out in terms of courses. Yet now we have a demand for ever more. The argument that golf brings in wealthy tourism is not without foundation but, as has been my position viz. Muro pretty much all along, I would like to know the real business case in favour of a new course, wherever it might be or however far or close it might be to anyone. But why 50 minutes and not, say, 42 or 30? There are already some 25 golf courses in Mallorca, so I would very much doubt that there is anyone further than 50 minutes from one. But were there, then is he or she or they muttering angrily that they are 51 minutes away from a golf course?


Yesterday, and apropos of what I thought I might announce but haven't, I was parked miles away from the HQ of a popular daily newspaper and was ambling back past the Plaça Major in Palma when I heard the unmistakable strangling of some bagpipes. Not the mini-local variety but the real McCoy, and a bekilted gentleman giving it large with his pipes. What was this? It was part of this international folk dance malarkey that's going on in Palma at the moment. Anyway, on the stage in the Plaça Major were two chaps with bagpipes, making a frightful racket as is normally the case with bagpipes, another chap beating a big drum, two boys holding flags and a troupe of girls dressed up in sailors' outfits who were engaged in some dancing of a folk style. Scottish, so I thought. And one of the flags was indeed the cross of Saint Andrew. It was the other flag that made me wonder. That's not Scottish, thought I. That's English. It was in fact the shield of Newcastle United FC. And the troupe turned out to be from North Tyneside. As they retired from their routine to the accompaniment of applause and the pipes playing the porridge oats thing, I wondered, since when did people in Tyneside wear kilts or indeed play bagpipes. Proximity to the Scottish border and all that, but had I just witnessed an aspect of English culture of which I had previously been unaware? Presumably I had - and it took a chance passing in Mallorca's capital to make me aware. Strange old world.

Oh, and talking of English culture, I should have mentioned in respect of the Leicester piece the other day, that Leicester does have some Roman remains, which I kind of suspected it would have, but for literary effect and what have you ...

And also ... listening to Maconie without Radcliffe, something about Twitter. Someone mailed the show to say it's rubbish. Yea, I'm still not sure to be frank, but I will persist.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Police (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeQ2yXE1mpU). Today's title - I can't think of anything that is 50 minutes from anywhere, so instead ... . Where was he 24 hours from and indeed who was he?

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Message In A Bottle

You never know but maybe the message is getting through. Miquel Nadal, the Balearic Government's tourism minister, in the context of less than brilliant levels of bookings by the crucial Spanish and British tourism markets, has admitted that the islands' tourism has a "great dependency" on the sun and beach variety of tourism. This admission may seem obvious, but it needs to be stated and re-stated. The current economic situation has only helped to reinforce the fact that this admission needs to be constantly re-stated.

The problem is, and has been, that the tourism authorities, in general, have taken their collective eye off the ball - the one bouncing on the beach and blowing in the gentle breeze as grains of sand fly off. So much effort appears to have been diverted to the minority tourism niches that they have forgotten that what makes Mallorca's tourism tick is sun, sea and sangria. If you don't have the mass tourism that comes primarily just to lap up the heat, and that can equate - to a certain degree - to cheap and cheerful, then you don't have a tourist industry; well, not one that sustains an entire economy. At times, one has felt that there has been a pretentiousness and a delusion as to so-called alternative forms of tourism. While these have a part to play, they are not the core tourism product; they never have been and they never will be. The message for Mallorca is, or should be, very simple. Come and have fun in the sun. Don't be deterred by believing you have to come and undertake a course in culture. That is not what Mallorca holiday is. But it is what the tourism authorities have placed a growing emphasis on, at the expense, one feels, of the main product. It has taken the current "crisis" to refocus minds, or at least one hopes that it has. It is mass tourism that provides employment and sustains businesses, both the direct tourist businesses such as bars and hotels, and the indirect - the ancillary services that support these direct businesses. Niche markets, by definition, are not mass markets. They cannot support the island's economic model to anything like a sufficient level. It should not have needed an economic shock to bring the message home, but perhaps it's as well that it has happened. So when Sr. Nadal takes his summer break and is lounging on a quiet Mallorcan beach and a bottle is washed up on the shore, with a bit of luck the bit of paper will say: "keep it simple".


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Tracy Chapman (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dl6yilkU1LI). Today's title - no clues needed.

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You Got A Fast Car

Need a hire car? You might be out of luck. Reports such as that in "The Diario" yesterday refer to the fact that car-hire fleets have been cut, in some instances by a half. It's all down to the economic situation, not necessarily demand, because there is plenty of that, especially when the weather is as poor as it has been over Easter, but because the car-hire companies have not been able to obtain the credit to get new vehicles. Typically, these companies look to sell on their vehicles, and that's been a problem as well, so fleets comprise at least some older cars.

The consequences of this can cause problems for those businesses that are linked with car hire, such as villa-rental agencies that include car hire as part of the arrangement. I understand that there has been some rather frantic calling around to try and get cars, many of which are already hired out direct thanks to the growing popularity of pre-booking through the internet. For customers coming off the street and looking to hire, it may be problematic when the season really gets under way. This all goes to emphasise the degree to which all aspects of the tourism "offer" are in some way linked to funding from the banks, or not, as the case may be.


If you have a hire car or any other car and you happen to be enjoying the local roads, then do watch out for the obstacles in your way - like tourists. The side roads are one thing, but the main roads, such as the carretera, are another. The new islands and crossing-points that have burst out like blooms in spring in Playa de Muro may as well not be there, like the ones that blossomed last year in Alcúdia. Why is that people find it so difficult when with buggies and all the other paraphernalia to make the walk ten metres to the right or left and cross where there is an island or a crossing-point? Moreover, what actually goes through people's minds when they stand in the middle of the road on the bridge in Playa de Muro. This now has pavements on both sides, with a concrete barrier conveniently tight to the road that will doubtless be glanced or hammered into at various stages by vehicles through the summer. It has therefore been narrowed, not widened, which might have been an idea. But as a result, if you are a pedestrian and you are in the middle, you are under distinct threat from getting winged. Or you have to make the traffic stop. Which thankfully is what has so far happened.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Fleetwood Mac, "Green Manalishi". Today's title - well, you might not even have a slow one. Who was this?

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Trying To Drive Me Mad

So, that by-law about street drinking. The one that was intended to put an end to the botellón on weekend nights in Puerto Alcúdia, the street drinking event that occurs by the Magic roundabout, with car boots opened in order to disgorge the contents of entire drinks cabinets or more likely cheap booze stores. A package of measures was announced back in the autumn (26 September: Did You Have To Pay That Fine?) which was designed to rid the streets not just of the public displays of getting rat-arsed but also street selling. There is a tendency here to believe that things are announced and that nothing much will in fact change or happen. I wonder why some might think like that.

Saturday night. By the go karting. Cars are pulled up. So much so that they take some negotiating by other cars in order to pass. There is a big bloke going home. Ex-army. Not one normally prone to be concerned about going back along the streets late at night. He was looking over his shoulder. Even he found the situation intimidating. Lord alone knows what anyone else might think. Tourists for example.

This has got to stop. The town hall have put the measures in place. It's to the police to effect them. It probably isn't a Guardia matter as, being a local law, it falls to the local police to deal with. But God knows, this all happens just down the road from the Guardia station. The town hall has said, in the past, that there are adequate police to cope with the likes of the street selling along The Mile. In which case, one would think there would be adequate numbers to put an end to the drinking.

Before anyone suggests that this is just an issue in Alcúdia, it is not. And it just goes to emphasise that this nonsensically romanticised view that in Mediterranean climes (well Mallorca at any rate) there is no such thing as the youth getting pissed is way wide of the mark.


And other intimidation. The driving sort. The speed restriction along the carretera through Puerto Alcúdia and the islands that have now sprung up along its length into Playa de Muro have been a good thing, especially in the season. Yet there are still those who don't want to play the game. It happens not infrequently, like yesterday afternoon. You can be doing 50 or more like 60 in truth and there will be someone up your arse, moving wide, not with the intention of overtaking because that really is foolhardy but with the puerile notion of seeking to intimidate, or maybe to be simply a complete prat. I knew full well what would occur. At the fish hook roundabout entering Playa de Muro, the road goes into two lanes. He went into the left one and looked to overtake on the roundabout. I should know better myself, but there are times when you just think what is your problem. So I put my foot down and he had to give way. Stupid, but there you go.

The road layout is now such that it has reinforced the danger that the roundabouts can pose. Then there is the I'm going to use the side road in order to overtake mentality. Someone nips off, hares down the side road and looks to come out in front at the next mini or main roundabout. It's dangerous, not least as the side roads now start to get littered with tourists wandering all over the place. Why is it so damn important? The answer is that it is not.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Pearls Before Swine (aka Tom Rapp). Today's title - line from? They reckon it was the one when the writer had just about finally flipped.

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Frog In The Window

Returning once more to the theme of tourism promotion and what the Mallorcan tourism wallahs should be doing or not, I wonder if they have thought about some internet banner advertising. I mention this as the BBC website has featured something known as "the Greek experience", which could be interpreted in a way that the slogan isn't intended to mean, but which nevertheless looks quite pleasant - shot of the Acropolis, blue skies and a not unattractive young woman; rather what you might expect in other words. But it seems that this form of promotion, rather than being something that might be ignored when one goes to the site and immediately clicks for the sport section, is less than potentially just subliminal. Having gone to that sport section, there was an item about Matthew Hoggard and his desire to get back into the England test team. Vaguely interesting I thought, so hit the link for the video. Odd. The Hoggster had changed. In fact he had disappeared. He was now a Greek experience; indeed he was "the Greek experience". What a good idea. Sir Alex Ferguson berating a referee, or so you might think. Go to the video. No. It's the Mallorcan experience. Excellent means of advertising. I commend it.


The lack of warmth may be deterring the Albufera frogs from entertaining us by night with their croaking chorus of thousands. Or perhaps there is another reason. Deadly Chytrid fungus. Something I admit that had escaped me, before Les kindly pointed out that the local frog and toad population has been inadvertently infected with it. As far as I am aware this does not turn them hopping mad and ready to seek out humans and leap at their throats, but the fungus can be bad news for the frog and toad population. However, I must have had this on my mind as I had a dream featuring a large black frog sitting under the window that was acting in a threatening manner. Anyway, don't let anyone worry. The frogs and toads are not on the march, or hop - yet. And as it was Les who brought this to my attention, I feel it is only right to reciprocate by pointing out that somewhere in the vast bank of material that is the Vamps mega-karaoke are probably some frogs. If not, then there will doubtless be some AC/DC. For those who enjoy head-banging, playing an air guitar and wearing schoolboy shorts, I have to inform you that AC/DC will be live - in Alcúdia of all places. Well, not quite, but "The Bon Scott Band", a tribute outfit, will be at the bullring next Saturday. I shall pass on more info on the WHAT'S ON BLOG. Quite an achievement to be playing live in some respects, given that Bon ceased to be Bon almost thirty years ago. But, suffice it to say that I will be washing my hair that evening. Mind you, there is clearly some AC/DC interest locally, as Toni at Pippers in Puerto Alcúdia told me that he was off to Barcelona to see the real thing last week. Unless it was "The Bon Scott Band" and no-one pointed that out to him.


Oh, and apropos sheep (from yesterday) and quite coincidentally, Karen at Foxes tells me that there is a sheep a couple of houses down from where they live. It will probably soon be an ex-sheep, a sort of Bon Scott sheep I suppose, but meantime its presence is driving the local dog population nuts: mad, hopping mad - like frogs.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - James (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LGfnw4YscBA). Today's title - you will be doing very well if you know which '60s act did this; today they (he) would be referred to as psyche folk or something like that. Think jewels and pigs.

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Sometimes (Leicester Piggott)

You may know that if there is one thing that drives me nuts it is the Alcúdia is like Blackpool comparison. Turn this around. If you were to say that Blackpool is like anywhere, where would you choose? With a degree of certainty, I can say that you would not choose Alcúdia. If it can't work in reverse, how can it work in forward? The answer is that it can't, because it isn't. If Alcúdia is like anywhere, other than Alcúdia, it is in fact like Leicester. True, Leicester is not by the sea, it is not a resort, people do not go there on holiday, it does not have a Mile, it does not have Roman ruins, a mountainous range, a first-rate marina, too many supermarkets called Eroski or, perhaps oddest of all, as far as I'm aware, a bar called Linekers. It does, though, have a football team and a rugby club, as does Alcúdia. Despite all those things being absent and the tenuous link through sport, it is still comparable with Alcúdia. Why? Well, ask yourselves this. Why is it that every other person you stumble across seems to have come from Leicester or Leicestershire? Even those who might appear to have no connection whatsoever with the city or the county, turn out not to have come from, say, Hertfordshire, but from Leicestershire.

And for the same reason, i.e. the numbers who have deserted and pitched up in the middle of the Med, after Leicester, Alcúdia is like Hull. Now, Hull may seem to have slightly more that is similar than Leicester, but that is purely down to the presence of the sea. Alcúdia does not of course have a river: Hull does, a black one, as I recall. Or maybe it was just the glowering skies that had turned an otherwise turquoise Humber into the colour of night.

I daresay that this will provoke someone to tell me that in fact Alcúdia is more like West Bromwich or Hemel Hempstead, which would of course be absurd; well in the case of West Brom certainly. Alcúdia is rarely to be found on fire, which is the case with West Bromwich; well it was on the one and only occasion I happened to go there. Hemel Hempstead, on the other hand, which may also have suffered its own local difficulty with fire, has, more importantly, its own magic roundabout, but God forbid they were to attempt anything on that scale in Alcúdia, given the difficulty that the locals have with simple, single, straightforward roundabouts as opposed to anything that resembles the Olympic rings. Then there will be the north-eastern lobby for Newcastle or Darlington and even that for the whole of Wales, and that really would be ridiculous. How could a town in northern Mallorca be like an entire country? It's not as if there are any sheep in Alcúdia. Well not normally on the beach at any rate.

But when the tourist authorities have the bright idea to go and put on a "show" in Manchester as a means of promoting Mallorca, how much thought have they applied? Perhaps there are parts of Mallorca which are identifiably Mancunian, but not Alcúdia. They should have put on that show in Leicester city centre.


Talk Of The North - Part Two
No sooner to close than Phoenix-like resurrected. Ann confirms that it will be re-launched under new ownership. So there you go. You will still all be able to talk in the north and of it as well, especially all those from Hull if not Leicester.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Captain Beefheart, "Moonlight On Vermont" from "Trout Mask Replica". Today's title - erm, well, about all I could think of with a Leicester flavour, not that it was that Leicester. This has been here before, but it's a cracker; oh and they were/are a Manchester group.

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That Old-Time Religion

Easter has arrived, and it is time for some old-time religion and the religious production of hotel occupancy statistics, followed by expressions of an oh Godly nature or with a nod in the direction of the anti-God - "like hell it is". Delving into the reports, one discovers that, despite the weather being if not quite of a biblical flood style then of a rather damp nature, in Alcúdia the occupancy is pretty much like last year: roughly a third of the hotels operating and with an 85% take-up. Or so it's being said. But if so, then one might pray that a trend of mirroring 2008 numbers throughout the season would be a Godsend. Amen to that, we would all say; well, those of us who say "amen", which I tend not to.


The ongoing madcap stop-go situation that is, may be or may not be the golf development on the Son Bosc finca in Muro has taken a further twist. "The Diario" is saying that a report by experts from its own ministry has seemingly been ignored by the Balearic Government's environment ministry. That report warned that certain natural habitats and flora would be demolished. Moreover, these habitats would be lost, in contravention of a national Spanish law that places the onus on autonomous regions, such as the Balearics, to ensure that this doesn't happen. The paper makes, without comment, a link between the mayor of Muro, who supports the development, and the minister; that link being that they have a political party in common. It also says, once more, that the town hall is including the development in tourist material, despite the fact that not only does it not exist but work has not even started. That aspect is bizarre, to say the least . The ministry, for what it's worth, is casting doubt as to the "validity" of the report.

I confess I have rather lost the plot where the various reports and legal references to Son Bosc are concerned. But I seem to recall mentioning something about this ministry report in the past. Or maybe I didn't. It really is an unholy mess, which does rather go to prove, as with that other nonsense, the issuing of building licences, how too many levels of government can just confuse things no end. Muro town hall, the Balearics' ministry, the national government. You can probably toss in the European Commission, the European Parliament, the UN, the United Federation of Planets as well as, I daresay, the odd vested interest.


Talk Of The North
Some will already know that the current issue of "Talk Of The North" is to be the last. Economic situation and cuts to advertising, and all that. Few publications are immune, be they national dailies or a local fortnightly. It's a shame. It was a worthwhile project, especially in the sense of fostering a community identity. I would like to extend my best wishes to Ann; indeed I have done so.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Here are some middle-aged men who really should know better: Sex Pistols (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvxrYm4nxXY). Today's title - well, not the original of this, but which occasional and crazy hero of this blog once referenced this. Clue: captain, my captain, and it's not Robin Williams.

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Pretty Vaca-nt

I asked the other day whether the "Catalan imposition" and the whole issue of Catalan versus Castilian blah blah is really of that much interest to the wider British community or just one that attracts the attention and thoughts of a small minority. I am inclined to believe that it's the latter. I say that, because most expats exist in a bubble of indifference towards anything of any political or social consequence on the island, while many are too busy bothering with their lives and their businesses to take any great notice, and understandably so.

That said, it is an issue that arouses, if not passions among expats, then a certain degree of point-scoring. There has been a debate going on in "The Bulletin" about it. Some of those partaking are familiar names who regularly contribute to the letters pages of the paper. Unlike some who criticise those who write to the paper, I take a different view, which is that at least they are taking an interest, enough to make them want to write. However, it does, from time to time, spill over into public displays of who knows more than others. And so it was yesterday. A very long and tortuous letter appeared that took issue with a previous one. I don't agree with it all, but I'm not inclined to bat about historical facts, such as that regarding when Spain became Spain. The important point of history, in the context of the Catalan thing which is the issue under consideration, was the union of Castile and Aragon because, from that point on, Catalan became a secondary language within the kingdom that was Spain, whenever you would like it to have started, and largely irrelevant in terms of empire.

Essentially though, I do believe people should be interested, if only as onlookers of what is basically someone else's gig. And for what it's worth, I do also believe that incomers should try and learn some Catalan. Whether the expat likes it or not, whether he reckons that Castilian is or should be the sole language or not, he cannot ignore the fact that there are a lot of people here who quite like speaking Catalan. The subject can be debated till the cows come home or the "vacas" do likewise, if one prefers Catalan, but it certainly isn't about to go away.


Following on from the news of the death of the tourist following that fight in Puerto Alcúdia, comes news of an earlier incident that has apparently left someone in a coma. A Spanish TV crew has been in Alcúdia, sniffing around close to the Magic roundabout where it is said to have taken place. "The Bulletin" reported that Alcúdia was "reeling" from the news. That is rather overstating the situation: no-one seemed to know anything about it. The danger is that these isolated cases, albeit that two have occurred so close to each other in terms both of location and timing, are blown out of proportion. News should not be censored or not reported; of course not. But right now any bad publicity cannot do any favours. It needs to be kept in perspective.


A while back I mentioned the Bony expansion in Puerto Pollensa's church square. I saw José yesterday, having been interested to find out when his new bar was due to open - the new bar being what was the Selpell leather shop next to Bony. I can tell you that it will not now be Bony II or Más Bony-to, as José has pulled out. So those who worry about a dumbing down of Puerto Pollensa through the onward march of Bony- and Dakota-isations can rest easy in their beds for now. The extent of the Bony expansion is the newspaper shop and the newspaper shop alone.


The Twitter thing
I've been trying to get my head around the point of this, which explains why there haven't been any entries for so long, but I reckon I've come up with the answer. A sort of messaging service. I suppose that's what it is anyway, but I'm going to be doing a sort of what's on through it. So from now ... Just go to the follow me bit and with some luck there will be something worthwhile to follow. Unless I get bored with it or forget. Promise I'll try not to.


QUIZ
Today's title - "and we don't care".

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A Bad Start

I suppose the last thing you hope for, when things appear a tad gloomy, is that someone, a tourist, loses his life as the consequence of a street brawl. But that is what has happened in Puerto Alcúdia. I don't wish to go into the circumstances of the incident - it has been reported in the press, for example in "The Daily Mail" as well as locally - but it should be emphasised that this can happen anywhere. It's a facile thing to say, but it is the case. Let's not even begin to characterise this as an "Alcúdia problem", because it is not. It's very sad that it has occurred, and that's the extent of it.


In looking to boost the tourism season, the Balearic Government's Minister for Tourism, Miquel Nadal, is investing four million euros for promotions in the key Spanish and British markets. Well, not the minister personally, but the government. This announcement seems a little curious. Curious because I was under the impression it was always meant to happen. I'm not sure why quite a splash is being made of it, this "it" including his tennis-playing namesake appearing in TV ads and a special push being made in Manchester. A few months ago, it was said that Manchester would be a particular target. There will be a "show" which shows off everything good about the Balearics - from food to recreational activities - similar to ones that have already taken place in Madrid and Berlin. This show will run for three days from 1 May. First of May. Isn't this a little late? Maybe not. And hopefully not. But does a "show" in the centre of one city make a huge difference? Seems a bit unlikely, but as they've done them in the other cities maybe they have had an effect. I can't help feeling that for all the promotion, on TV or elsewhere, with Rafa Nadal or not, that right now the thing which would have most impact would be significant price incentives. General advertising of the Balearics-have-all-these-wonderful-things-to-do nature is a longer-term style of brand promotion. What is needed is some blatant short-termism. Price, price and more price.


More on the U-turn over the Puerto Pollensa pedestrianisation. You will now be able to do a U-turn if you wish to and be able, once again, to go in both directions. The other U-turn, that by the town hall, was not "linked", says the transport consortium, to its report (according to "The Diario"). The consortium, which is a kind of quango I suppose, goes on to say that it was willing to "study and negotiate" in respect of the siting of bus stops, which was cited as the reason for the abandonment of the pedestrianisation project. Whatever. I'm not sure that anyone much cares whether it was linked or it wasn't. The town hall is for turning, and many will be pleased that it is.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - MGMT (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVnRzEjpUmE). No question today. Doesn't seem appropriate.

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Find Some Models For Wives

"Find some models for wives." Today's title and therefore quiz question. It's a line from a brilliant song, about pretending, but not everyone pretends. In the other-worldly high-life of Mallorca, there are models for wives, and perhaps even some models for husbands. And that high-life is at its highest around water - that on top of which a luxury yacht bobs - if such tonnage could ever be said to bob - or that which laps gently at the side of the villa pool while an attendant serves the fruit cocktail, having first peeled the grapes. The boat world and the luxury real-estate market.

I'm only guessing but I reckon she was a model for wife. I met this German chap. He had become Bronze-Aged, a mobile hardwood, a mahogany, from which could be cut, moulded, hewn and crafted the finest furniture. There is a breed of German that is unrecognisable as Caucasian, as that term is generally applied and which I suppose is slightly ironic. It is difficult to state for certain what category this particular Germanic tribe falls into, other than that of solar man or woman. So much sun has transformed its members that they, were they plugged into the grid, could generate enough energy to keep northern Mallorca in lights and air-conditioning for a whole season. They are their own solar panels. He, this particular chap, both owned a yacht and ran an estate agency. Two models for wives maybe. The one with him was gorgeous - and a good trio of decades younger. She was blonde, which does not, by itself, preclude transformation into a species from a tropical forest, but she had seemingly eschewed the further profession of sunbed resident.

Germans, in my experience, spend half their lives on their backs smelling of Piña Colada sun lotion and the other half in medical facilities. It was once put to me that they are a nation of hypochondriacs. Much of that has to do with having a wonderful and very available health system, and also paying for it and making damn sure you get a return from it. It's just as well that there is such a good system, given that many of them are walking, talking skin disease. However, they may end up looking like the Ents from "Lord of the Rings", but it doesn't stop them having models for wives.


And the first burst of reasonably warm weather has tempted the early tourists to discard their clothing with a gusto and take to the streets in a display of flesh, huge amounts of it. Notwithstanding the occasional German who could be mistaken for a large and perambulating Cadbury's Flake, most of those stumbling, squint-eyed into the first heat and sun they would have encountered for several months, are Milky Ways - or, in certain cases, the entire chocolate factory. Not, however, that Cadbury or Nestlé have yet to develop the full-fat milky bar with edible tattoos. Or maybe they have.

Now what was it that Clarkson said? "Big, fat ... knuckle-dragging, tattooed, pastry-faced ...". They won't be finding models for wives.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Monty Python's Spanish Inquisition; oh, and it was Cardinal Fang who fetched the comfy chair (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSe38dzJYkY). Today's title - so, which American band is this?

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Nobody Expects The Catalan Imposition

Certain issues are still rumbling on - Clarkson and Catalan. Not the two of them together - God forbid - but the ongoing coverage of Jeremy's distaste for expats and the "Catalan imposition" in the English media suggests that they are either subjects of burning interest or those which have caught the interest of a vocal but small minority within the expat community. Clarkson is a matter of passing note, but the Catalan thing is most certainly not - "nobody expects the Catalan imposition; Biggles, the comfy chair". *

To what extent, though, should the Catalan thing be an issue for the Brits? It's not our language, so how can it be our debate? Insofar as officialdom works in that language alone, sometimes in contravention to the law which demands that both Catalan and Castilian are used, and insofar as the priority given to Catalan affects education, then it is an issue for many. But I don't know that I am alone in thinking that it isn't really my debate, or that of any other Brit, except in the sense of it being a genuinely interesting social-political-historical phenomenon.

It is too easy to seek to nuance this debate in ways that will chime with the British, as in, for example, comparing the Catalan situation with Welsh or Cornish. Such a comparison is wrong-headed. Catalan was and still is a genuine European language. It contributed significantly to European development until it was effectively granted second-language status through the Castile-Aragon union and the elevation to supremacy of Castilian as the language of nation, commerce and empire. And so it has been ever since, subject also to fascistic diktat that saw it proscribed. But it survived as a significant language. Because it did not acquire international status, unlike Castilian, is no reason to suggest its unimportance. Swedish is not an international language either, but no-one is proposing the Swedes give it up, and there are roughly the same number of Swedish speakers as there are Catalan speakers.

With the exception of Belgium, an arguably artificial construct in any event (if any country can be considered not to be artificial), nowhere else in western Europe is there a linguistic argument that compares as a political and social issue. For this reason, it is fascinating to observe and, for the most part, that it is what one has to do. The "Catalan imposition" may seem idiotic and politically motivated (I prefer to call it impractical, though I did say idiotic the other day), but unless one is a Catalan native speaker, I suspect one cannot understand fully the significance of the discussion. One is not of course suggesting that it is on anything like the same scale, but there remains the irony that Catalan, forcibly banned by Franco, should now be the tool for an imposition in reverse.


And that open road ...
It seemed just like the old days, not that those days are actually that old; only some six months old. For no other reason than it was there, I drove along the coast road as far as the Club Náutica roundabout in Puerto Pollensa, went round it and came back. Yep, the pedestrianisation experiment is truly over. But as I was coming back towards Alcúdia, it struck me that it would have been a damn good idea to have kept it in place. One forgets, quite quickly, the extent to which cyclists, people wandering in the middle of the road, vehicles parked up onto the kerbs can make the stretch in the port itself a nightmare to drive along. Bring it back!


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Gary Barlow (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5dpHSeIZAI). Today's title - and this is a play on? * Before you mail me, it wasn't Biggles who was instructed to fetch the comfy chair.

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Open Road

Hey ho, what do you know? All that air, most of it hot, all those column inches, all those protests, all those threats of legal action for this and that, and ... the pedestrianisation of the Puerto Pollensa frontline has been called off. Damn. That's put an end to all the fun.

It was probably always the case that it was going to require some impulse that allowed for some face-saving, and that is what has been forthcoming - in the form of objections from public transport interests. These were rarely given much of an airing - hot or not - when the issue first raised the hackles back in the autumn. Surprising perhaps that they seemed not to have been given much consideration or indeed column inches, but it is they that have seemingly led to the change of heart at the town hall which introduced what was always only a trial, it must be remembered, but which caused such an unnecessary fuss owing to a lack of consultation. They (the town hall that is) say they will now look at the whole issue as part of a wider plan for the port, but for now, it's over, and traffic can move in both directions. The key to the abandonment is the fact that the relocation of bus stops would be highly inconvenient. I guess we can also forget the idea that the bus "station", such as it is, the one by the entrance to the Club Náutica, will now not be moving either.

There was also the not insignificant factor of the local police, the head of which had recommended that the road be opened not just in one direction, which had occurred, but in both, a radical proposal for a road with two lanes, I'm sure you'll agree. So, joy all around one supposes and this brings an "end to a botched job" on behalf of the town hall government, or so says the Alternative, i.e. the one-man United Left, who has been a constant critic of the scheme. (Quote in translation from the report in "The Diario".)


Boats and cuttlefish
There had been any number of fingers being crossed this past week. The dire weather, and there were deluges on Friday, had threatened to wash out the spring fair in Puerto Alcúdia - the boat and cuttlefish do. There is a God after all. Well, actually, there isn't, but let's not go into that just at the moment.

The sepia sampling tent was well-thronged, as you might imagine. Anything involving food brings the locals in by the charabanc-load, and today will require convoys to haul in those after some nosebag. It's good to see that people's priorities lie with their stomachs as, away from the scoff, the boat show was a little on the slow side. It was not, though, just a man and his dog, but a man, two women and two dogs - as you can see. But the Saturday is never that busy; today will be packed.


No Frills - new offices
Just a note to say that No Frills Excursions' new offices are now open. In addition to the old one in Avda. Playa in the port, there are two more direct No Frills' outlets in Puerto Alcúdia - one along The Mile, the other opposite the Astoria Playa hotel. There's some credit-crunch busting also - see the WHAT'S ON BLOG - http://www.wotzupnorth.blogspot.com - for details of this and the early April programme, football included.


And yesterday's quote was from, of course, Jezza Clarkson - HIGNFY http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZEnfUDVxTs


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Turtles (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gfuRz1w_8ss).



Today's title - from the solo phase, which just went to prove that it is often better to stay in a group.

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So Happy Together - Again

There was a nice photo in "The Diario" yesterday. It showed a happy Alcúdia mayor, Miquel Ferrer, shaking hands with an equally happy Miquel Nadal, the Balearics' Minister for Tourism. Friends - for now. They are both members of the Unió Mallorquina after all, and they were rivals for the leadership of their party. Perhaps they still might be. But Nadal won that leadership race, and Ferrer became a number two, if, that is, you can have "a" number two, as opposed to "the" number two. Who is number six? Whatever. Still, they are in the same party, and so one hopes that they are in accord when it comes to the all-important issue of tourism. The photo suggests they are.

A while ago, there was an agreement between the two regarding the promotion of the Nordic walking routes in Alcúdia. Now, they have come together to agree and approve a rehabilitation plan for the beach in Puerto Alcúdia, a plan costing 720 thousand euros, four-fifths of which will be stumped up by Inestur, or the government in other words or acronyms, not that the government is an acronym, but you get my drift, or maybe you don't.

This might sound like a lot, but it is important to know that this area - and we are talking mainly that part of the beach from the marina as far as the top of The Mile and to the canal - is thirty years old or more in terms of development. An upgrade is probably due, and so the latest round of regeneration, coming on the back of the WiFi network that was introduced last year (to an admittedly underwhelming response), will focus on new street lighting, benches, showers and children's play areas.

In the same report, the mayor is said to be concerned about this coming tourism season, but believes that there has been a recent awakening in demand. But he does also say that demand is being stimulated through all-inclusive offers. And this may be just the problem. You win one way, but lose in another. All-inclusive is a no-brainer for many a family, and right now it is almost essential. Not many much care for it, least of all bars, restaurants and shops (i.e. pretty much everyone except the hotels), but we are just going to have to accept the situation. Still, call it the "Barack bounce" or maybe the "mayor of Alcúdia bounce" but, as I write, the pound is up to 1.1 euros. The recovery starts here. It's official.


Meantime, it is pre-tourism season time, and the weekend's boat and cuttlefish fairs are, as in the previous three years, a boon to Puerto Alcúdia. Well they would be, assuming the appalling weather cuts out the deluges and the cold. I can reveal - and for the occasional enquirer to this blog who has asked if I "appear" anywhere else, this may be of particular interest - that I am doing stuff with "The Bulletin". The spotlight due to appear today is me, assuming it hasn't been lost somewhere in the system. Not quite the blog style, but there again it's not the blog. As I put this entry together, I don't know if I will be down as "staff reporter", as I have been already this week, but be assured 'tis moi. Not sure how that all works really, given that I am not "staff", but far be it for me to quibble. Never been known to do that here on the blog, so I'm not about to start now. Anyway, buy "The Bulletin", everyone. Support your local blogger and the esteemed organ that is "Majorca Daily Bulletin"!


I felt you might wish to know or be reminded of what a certain journalist had to say about those he encountered on a trip overseas. I don't know the context, i.e. the place or indeed the people, but who do you imagine it was that described them as - "big, fat, idiotic, useless, slack-jawed, knuckle-dragging, tattooed, pastry-faced, pock-marked, dim-witted, work-shy, gum-chewing riff-raff"? And if you're good, I'll tell you the episode of "Have I Got News For You" that this comes from.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Katie Melua. Today's title - this has been a title before, in the days before I youtubed all this stuff, so if you don't know, you will need to go back a year and find out when this was last a title.

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The Closest Thing To Crazy

A hotel in Cala San Vicente that is not going to be opening this season, that is to be closed this season - possibly. "The Diario" was reporting this yesterday and saying that the establishment concerned would neither confirm nor deny it; the paper would only use the word "posible", which is an s less than an English possible even if it is pronounced differently. I spoke to a tourist office and mentioned this report. Oh yes, it was being reported elsewhere on the internet. It was ... well which one do you think? It doesn't take a lot of imagination to fathom out which one, as it was stated that it was a 3-star hotel in the Cala, so it wasn't, for example, La Moraleja. What was also being reported was that this was to do with a major tour operator. I don't know if that is the case, but the hotel is not on that tour operator's site; well, not now it isn't anyway.

I shall wait to learn more before going into this, but it tells a story - possibly - and a far from unimportant one.

Somewhere else that is closing, has closed in fact: the Crazy Horse in Puerto Alcúdia. Seems like the end of an era. The bar had opened, the 1.50 Saint Mick was chalked up, but a couple of days ago I passed by, it was obviously shut, I mentioned it to someone, and was told that that was that. Finished. Gone. Ended. And the expectation is that some flats might occupy the space at some point. Not just at the moment, one suspects.

I said that I wouldn't do the bad news stuff, but sometimes you have to. Yesterday morning, with the rain and the cold - that became heavier and more pronounced as the day wore on - I was in the old town of Alcúdia and talking with a few people; it would have made you want to slash your wrists. "Cr-eee-sis" + "mucha lluvia" = "desastre". We're all doomed, Captain Mainwaring.

Get over it, get on with it. It will be better than you think. The weather is total crap, but not forever. That said, if it rains on Saturday, as it rained yesterday afternoon, I will be very unhappy, as I have a gig to do with photos and a vox-pop at the boat and sepia fairs in Puerto Alcúdia.

And here is the weather forecast; well, the weather report. How crap can this weather be? How wet and cold can it be for the start of April? We knew we would get it in the neck at some stage, but this is truly awful. I'm going back to bed for a few weeks. Wake me up in May, or June.


But hell, Easter's on its way. And who will make you happy bunnies at Easter? You know; of course you know. Little Britain's specials. See the WHAT'S ON BLOG - http://www.wotzupnorth.blogspot.com - for details of the LB Easter goodies.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqiABp2sHIc, a speeded-up remix of The Thompson Twins. Today's title - what pretty well kicked it off for her.

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Doctor Doctor

There was a protest in Palma yesterday. Protests take different forms. They are for different reasons. Here, in Mallorca, you can add the use of language as to why people take to the streets. History tells us that we should not decry protest in support of language, especially on the streets of Mallorca where the local tongue has been proscribed, banned and rendered dormant. In the past. Not now. And the current protest is not spoken or chanted with that same voice. It is shouted with a Spanish, a Castilian force.

This was a protest against the imposition of Catalan. There is an irony and not some sadness that popular opposition should rise against the language that was denied during the Franco era. How things have changed. How they have turned. If this were not so idiotic, so politically-linguistically-medically driven, you might believe that it had all been a first of April joke.

It's now the second of April, and there was no joke. What this protest was about was the use of Catalan by health workers. If you want to work in the public health service, you have to speak Catalan. If you don't, you won't have a job. If you don't have the right certificate that says you have acquired the necessary level of Catalan, you won't have a job, even if you understand the language perfectly. It doesn't matter if you are skilled, medically qualified, competent. What does, is what you speak. And this in a country in which the national language is Castilian, a country that does of course recognise its other main language, Catalan, and gives it joint status in certain regions, such as the Balearics, but does not give it - Catalan - precedence. Unless you are a health worker in Mallorca. But not if you are a health worker in the private health sector. Only in the national health service.

When I was in hospital over Christmas, there was a Portuguese nurse at Muro hospital, Muro hospital that is private. I asked him about this Catalan provision. It didn't affect him, but it was a reason why he preferred to work in a private hospital. He was, however, learning Catalan. I could hear him, replying to the CDs on his PC that he played as he passed the time during the late evenings. He had no wish to work in the national health, but he was still willing to learn the local language. Maybe he was hedging his bets, maybe he was making provision in case he needed to go into the public service, or maybe he was just wanting to learn the local language. And if it were the latter, he was doing so because that is where he is. It was his choice, a choice without being coerced.

However, health workers are now being coerced, and you have to ask why. It's not a straightforward issue about communication. Both languages are understood by Mallorcans. Catalan is of course the local language, but so is Castilian. What is more important? Language or competence? What you speak or what you are capable of professionally? They are tough questions. But only if you are insistent on making a politically-linguistically but not medically-driven point. Right now, it's coming down to a test of language versus a protest. Whither the patients?


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - "Linger", The Cranberries (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BPLXJAWUnwI). Today's title - just depends which language; comes from some blog regulars.

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Such A Fool For You

The problem is that, whatever I say, you're not going to believe it, are you? I could tell you that there is this nightmare situation with crocodiles in Albufera and a threat to all life - animal, human, the vaguely human, the expat-type human with barnacle noses. I could tell you that, but you'd say that it was bollocks. Shows how much you know. I could tell you that there's a free pint to be had in the Foxes Arms for anyone with pink hair called Quentin, and you'd think I was making it up. I could tell you that the rising sea that I told you about two years ago is now indeed starting to engulf the ground at the Sa Pobla Cricket Club. You'd say, come off it, you're pulling my plonker. I can tell you I'm not, but it's up to you what you think, see if I care.

So, I'm not going to tell you anything that you might think isn't true, not even that the Taste of India re-opens today. See, I'm not going to tell you that. And I haven't.


Meanwhile ...

Clarkson. What a glorious row this is threatening to become. I have even contributed to it beyond the confines of this blog of all blogs: yep, on the letters page in "The Bulletin". I can understand the offence that some have taken at what Jezza had to say in his column. If I had a barnacle nose and spent all day in a Hawaiian shirt and in a paralytic state, then I might find it all a bit near the mark. However, I don't have such a nose, I do not own and never have owned a Hawaiian shirt and I have not been paralytic since I engaged in some projectile vomiting in the communal toilet and shower area of my university residence block on the occasion of my twenty-first birthday. Well, you try keeping down a pint of crème de menthe and God knows what else, having also inhaled. And also try combating a filthy hangover the next morning while mopping up the remains of a spaghetti dinner that has wrapped itself around and behind the toilet base.

What needs to be borne in mind is that Clarkson is a shock jock journo. And he's very good at being one and also very effective. See how much of a stir he's created among the Mallorcan expats. Brilliant. That's how it should be. That's what he wants. The style of the shock jock journo demands outrageous generalisations; it's the stock in jock trade. It's just unfortunate that occasionally the target seems rather too close for comfort. And when it gets that close, some people get upset. Yes, it does seem as though he has been happy to drink at the font of some Mallorcan hospitality and then turned round and given his hosts a kick in the balls, but personally I still find what he said funny and not without a certain amount of truth - but only in some cases. Trouble is, it doesn't work; from an impact effect, from a shock effect, if I say "a certain amount of truth - but only in some cases" it doesn't work. It won't work; it's too indirect. You've got to be explicit: all expats are drunks, that sort of thing.

Mind you, I could tell you more about all this but you'd think I was making it up ... . Actually, I don't think you would think I was making it up. But it's ok, I'll tell you later, when it's just you and me.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - I warned you (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bKAPVpA46o).



Today's title - a line from what? Words cannot do justice to this song - one of the most beautiful ever, period. Believe me?

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Kisses For Me, Save All Your Kisses For Me

It felt a bit like a school prize-giving ceremony, except that many of the prize-winners failed to turn up. This was the press launch for Puerto Alcúdia's annual cuttlefish feast of a fiesta, at which representatives of some of the restaurants taking part were in attendance in order to collect their tin cuttlefish: or maybe they weren't made of tin, just that they seemed to ping a bit.

On the old pier in the port is a building which is that of the brotherhood of fishermen, a collective, the mention of which, in certain quarters, inspires, if that's the right word, a musical outburst of a Eurovision nature. I've no idea why. It was here that the launch took place, and also lunch. There was a lot of cuttlefish (sepia) in different styles. The chap from the Pane y Vino restaurant seemed to be the one who had been handed responsibility for overseeing it all.

It wouldn't of course be an official Alcúdia event if the mayor wasn't dragged along. Poor chap seemed to be suffering a bit of a cold. Normally, you don't have flash and TV cameras pointing at you when it comes to that awful how do I cope with the result of my chesty cough moment. There can be few worse things; realising your flies are open being one of them. And no, they weren't.

The government, the Balearic one that is, had sent its own emissary, in the form of the minister for agriculture and fisheries. There was a lot of stuff about quality. She went on a bit. The audience, none of them seated, were beginning to shuffle their feet and take a greater interest in the photos on the wall. Actually, some of the photos are fascinating as they show the history of the port area and will be an exhibition at this weekend's boat fair, which coincides with the cuttlefish do. I recommend you go and have a look.

The audience, though, may have been getting agitated as they were anticipating receiving their tin cuttlefish. What a fine souvenir for the participating restaurants. A flat brown thing shaped like a cuttlefish, well sort of, if you can imagine a cuttlefish having been squashed, but looking more like a painter might hold it in one hand. There were words about the fair of 2009 scratched onto it. I'm not sure what the restaurants are meant to do with them. That's probably why so few of them had bothered to turn up to collect them. That's where the prize-giving came in. Caty, who runs fairs and markets, for the town hall, and who some of you may recognise as also running the flower shop-cum-supermarket next to Little Britain, read out a list of restaurants and cafés. It was as though she was going through the register. The names of the naughty ones who had nicked off were duly noted; well by me at any rate. Bodega d'es Port, Jardín, La Traviata, Nova Marina, Piero Rossi and many more. None of them had turned up. Was it a coincidence that those who had were probably all less well known? Or perhaps they just hadn't got a tin cuttlefish.

Being a prize-giving here, there was a whole load of kissing going on when the restaurants' representatives walked forward to claim their painter's palette. Caty, the minister, the chap from the brotherhood of fishermen, the mayor; all had to be kissed, both cheeks. Clearly, no-one else had noticed the mayor's earlier phlegmatic dilemma.

The sepia and boat fairs take place in Puerto Alcúdia on 4 and 5 April. See the WHAT'S ON BLOG (http://www.wotzupnorth.blogspot.com) for information.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gskAeWgEExk). Today's title - I'm going to put the video up tomorrow, unless you pay me a lot a money.

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Index for March 2009

Advertising - 14 March 2009
Albufereta - 9 March 2009
Balearic Government - 19 March 2009
Beach towels - 5 March 2009
Boat and sepia fairs, Puerto Alcúdia - 5 March 2009, 27 March 2009, 31 March 2009
Café Bony - 6 March 2008
Can Ramis building collapse - 11 March 2009, 12 March 2009
Catalan and promotion - 24 March 2009
Copyright - 29 March 2009
Corruption - 23 March 2009
Cyclists - 22 March 2009, 24 March 2009
Driving test - 7 March 2009
E. coli - 9 March 2009
Economic crisis - 14 March 2009
Eroski - 24 March 2009
Expatriates - 19 March 2009, 30 March 2009
Fairline - 13 March 2009
Fira Nàutica Mostra Sípia 2009, 27 March 2009, 31 March 2009
Google maps - 18 March 2009
History, Alcúdia - 3 March 2009
Holes - 18 March 2009
Holiday lets - 9 March 2009, 10 March 2009
Homelessness - 8 March 2009
Hunters' fair, Pollensa - 1 March 2009, 9 March 2009
Inca - 7 March 2009
Jeremy Clarkson - 30 March 2009
JK's Bar - 6 March 2009
Landscapes - 17 March 2009
Lucky-lucky men - 2 March 2009
Mike Oldfield - 28 March 2009
Names - 13 March 2009
Pirated goods - 2 March 2009
Publishing - 25 March 2009
Puerto Pollensa building work - 1 March 2009, 21 March 2009
Puerto Pollensa market square - 20 March 2009
Puerto Pollensa swimming pool - 1 March 2009
Roundabouts - 11 March 2009, 12 March 2009, 20 March 2009, 21 March 2009
Sa Pobla-to-Alcúdia railway - 2 March 2009, 5 March 2009, 13 March 2009, 15 March 2009
Sandwich and Moments - 13 March 2009
Scandal - 19 March 2009
Selling in bars - 29 March 2009
Sleeplessness - 26 March 2009
Supermarkets - 24 March 2009
Tourism promotion- 16 March 2009
Tourism spend - 1 March 2009
Tourist offices - 23 March 2009
Vora Mar Restaurant, Cala San Vicente - 28 March 2009
Water - 4 March 2009

Jeremy

There are times when I feel smugly vindicated. I could have told you so, and occasionally I have told you so. Take Jeremy Clarkson. 5 February: Murder On The Dancefloor - this is what I said:

"It will be thronged with expats desperate to try and ingratiate themselves with the Top Gear trio. I would advise caution. Clarkson's vitriol would doubtless extend to mostly all expats. If I were you, I'd avoid the Top Gear-ists like the plague. Not that I don't like Clarkson; quite the opposite. And anyone who has seen fit to punch Piers Morgan is fine by me. One trusts that the programme will show some suitably pleasant landscapes and be a rather more positive representation of Mallorca than some Chardonnay who has vomited over a nurse in Muro hospital A&E. (But) if you think Clarkson might go easy on the local expattery, do be warned: remember he once said that anyone who had moved to Spain had held up a post office."

Good old Jezza. Along with May and Hammond, he managed to pack out the race track at the end of the Classic Car Rally gig. Word has it that the stands were thronged, not with classic-car-adoring Mallorcans but with self-regarding and needing-to-be-seen expats - British ones at that. There were doubtless a few like Ben who were there for a love of cars, things that make them work and getting grease and oil all over themselves. For the most part though, it was those who were notching up another event on the social calendar, those wanting a chance to show off the latest Rolex or Jimmy Choo's, those who are just plain mad, and also the chancers sniffing a business opportunity or just some hoped-for, aspiring-to stardust being sprinkled by being in the proximity of the famous. Poor bloody saps that they are. They should choose their celebs wisely - if at all. Clarkson was always going to be dangerous to know. I warned you, but you didn't listen, did you? Never under-estimate, though, the lather of excitement and vacuous expectation that can be whipped up by the froth of even minor celebrity in the air-filled heads of many expatriates.

There is a stratum of society which, when the merest whiff of a celeb comes wafting through the ether, loses all sense of propriety and seeks to prostrate and prostitute itself at the feet of whatever celeb it happens to be. I once took a flight from Heathrow to Leeds-Bradford. Next to me on the plane happened to be Mark James, the one-time Ryder Cup golfer and indeed captain. I knew James lived locally to the airport. His being on the flight was not, in itself, that unusual. He spent the journey reading a golfing magazine and turning down any refreshment. Thinking that he would probably rather not wish to speak to anyone, least of all myself, I didn't say a word to him other than to say "good evening" when I sat down. When it came to the time for everyone to disembark, there was an unholy scrum involving several passengers from the rear of the plane pushing their way past others, clutching business cards and calling out: "Mark", "Mark". They all thought they had found their new best friend. He was at least polite in telling them to get lost. Jeremy Clarkson on the other hand ...

You see, the problem is that not every celeb is actually a journo and a very funny one who has scant regard for whom he offends and who also writes for "The Sunday Times" the week after he has been in Mallorca. Jeremy Clarkson is and does, and you really should have banked on him having a go. Just be grateful if you are not an expatriate, because if you are, wherever you may be (with the exception of the USA), you are damned - by Clarkson - and a failure. It's no good you or indeed I saying that Clarkson's message does not apply. It does. You, you, you and you, all of you, you expats, you're all failures. That's his message. Thought he was coming to Mallorca to do some wonderful PR work? No he was not. The naïvite but also the superficiality of the expat community here beggars belief. The Top Gear presence was little more than an excuse for showing off on a grand scale. And why was the British Consul at the rally? What had it got to do with him? It was because it became an expats' function, which makes one ask who the rally is in fact for. My understanding is that Mallorcans stayed away from the race track and observed the rally only along the route and in the villages.

It may yet prove that, when the rally footage is broadcast, Mallorca is shown in a good light. But there must be a fear that Clarkson or one of the others will have a pop at the place and at the people, because that is what Clarkson has most certainly already done. I should feel offended, but I am not. Partly, that's because I knew it was coming and partly because, well, he isn't wrong.

'I was in Majorca last weekend, which is jammed full of British expats all of whom would begin their explanation of how they got there with the same thing: “Well, after I sold the cab . . .”
'There they were, in their chips and footie bars with their desperate eyes and their booze-ruined noses, regaling everyone with their stuck-record views on life back in Blighty.
' “Don’t know how you can live in Britain. Bloody weather. Bloody Muslims. Bloody Brown,” and then, after a wistful pause, “. . . you don’t have a copy of today’s Telegraph do you?” '

Like moths to a flame, the expats were mindlessly attracted by the prospect of celebrity, only to find that they were then burned by the very thing that attracted them. Burned, ripped to pieces, shown up, made fun of, whole lives questioned, shat on. To hell with Clarkson, you might say. But I won't and can't, because I agree with him. Oh, and he's also very funny. Read the whole thing for yourselves. And if you don't read, I suspect you don't want to know the reality. Excellent stuff:

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/jeremy_clarkson/article5992555.ece


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The KLF once again (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwtSdJaPCSI). Today's title - Jeremy? Truly brilliant song that came out of the grunge, some say it wasn't grunge, movement. Unquestionably, like Mark Hollis (Talk Talk), one of the most distinctive of vocalists. Who?



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It's Grim Up North

"This is Radio Frio. AlcudiaPollensa.Blogspot.com, also known as It's Grim Up North.com, further known as the Unjustified Invasions of Kopyright.
"This is what APB is about, those photos and designs that are, how does one put it, borrowed."

I don't mind the fact that my time is spent, going out of my way, hanging about, taking photos, for which I am rarely expressly paid, as they (the photos) form part "of the service", and then maybe having to return because the weather is not right, the terrace has too few people, the sun is not shining. Actually, I do fucking mind. When, that is, I have to keep going back or someone has forgotten that I was coming. But normally I say nothing, because they're clients or friends or whatever, but the deal here is that people do not appreciate that elsewhere, in the UK for example, all that time and travel should be paid for. Typical for here. Let's try and avoid paying anything. Cheapskates. Should be a local place name. Like Blubberhouses or Loggerheads. That's Cheapskates, sorry Blubberhouses, near Harrogate and Loggerheads in Shropshire. It's grim up north.

It costs, this going to take photos and perhaps not being able to take them, and so does the design side. But you go along with it, until you find that someone has taken the piss. Either the photos or the whole design can appear somewhere - without my damn permission. How many discs of photos have I ever given out? Loads. I give them out, so they (clients) have a record not so they can be used, without permission, by those who have not had to go to the time and expense as I have. Intellectual property. Some don't even need discs originals; they just take what I have done, scan it or take their own photo and then reproduce it, in the process making it look really shit. Why don't they just ask? Does it never occur to them? Who gives a damn here? And I put these "courtesy of" notes onto designs, only to find they are not there when the final print version appears. What happens there, do you suppose? I know. It's taking the piss. We don't care that you have gone to time and trouble and actually done work that we either could not do ourselves or would not do, but from which we are quite prepared to extract a financial advantage.

You know something. I have a whole list of where these photos or designs have appeared, and whether permissions had been granted or not. And one of these days ... Just thought I'd let you know.


Meanwhile. Don't forget that Alcúdia now has by-laws which allow for the fining not only of street (and bar sellers) but also of those who buy from them. These laws have been designed mainly to stamp out the lucky-lucky men and their trade. We'll see, but it is noticeable that some bars have put up notices which say that selling is not permitted and that if it is done, it can result in a fine. 400 euros says the notice in The Smugglers. I think I might actually be 500, and that's just for the one who does the buying. So, think of this as the second warning of today's entry.


And returning to a theme of a few days ago - that of newspapers, internet and all that. This morning there were precisely no British newspapers at the nearest place selling papers, bar one paper, while at another there were no broadsheets. So I shall happily forego parting with five euros and look at the "Sunday Times" online. Maybe it's the grim rain, maybe the boys didn't get up because of the clocks changing, or maybe it's just because it's crap. A lot here actually is down to the fact that it is crap, whatever crap it is and whatever some might say. Anyway, sorry, Rupert, you ain't got my fiver today. And that one British newspaper that was available? Good old "Daily Bulletin", the J.R. Hartley of the newspaper world.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Vivian Stanshall. And here is something very fine indeed - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSRJvq4Wd48. Today's title - of course.

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Plus ... Tubular Bells

It is reassuring, in these economic straitened times, that a restaurant, a not insubstantial one in terms of size and reputation, is reopened, especially when that restaurant happens to be in a resort suffering death by a thousand cuts (all-inclusives, Poles, cranes at the water's edge, forgetting to put the sunbeds out, an ever-shortening season), namely Cala San Vicente.

The Vora Mar restaurant had been closed since ... since when? 2004, 2005? Anyway, a few years. Despite its name, the Vora Mar is not one of the Cala's quaint on-top-of-the-sea eateries, like those tucked onto the steps leading down to the Cala Barques by Hotel Niu. The name does actually mean sea shore, but the restaurant stands atop and overlooks the resort as you come into it along the twisting, dry-stone-wall-lined road from the Puerto Pollensa-Pollensa main road.

For many years at L'Aup, the place on the corner of that road as it leaves the main road, Jose quit the finca and size of L'Aup to work in the kitchen at the Cala San Vicente hotel, but now he has returned in order to re-open the Vora Mar. As often with Jose, he has things to show you; things that you have maybe seen before and others may be not. I confess that I don't remember the contribution to "glasnost", but there it is - there they are - Gorbachev's signature from L'Aup days. Apparently, the former Soviet president used to divide his eating loyalties between L'Aup and La Terraza in Alcanada.

I have been asked to do the sunny terrace-with-people photos at Vora Mar, the type of photos that can be virtually unattainable at this time of the year. I'm due to cut along tomorrow, but rain is forecast, so the photos may have to wait, and therefore any examples of them to be shown on the blog will also have to wait.


I don't know if he ever ate at L'Aup or indeed the Vora Mar, but Mike Oldfield is unlikely to be eating at either in the near future. He has left the island. Not that you would know it. Of course not. Only a whole page devoted to the gaff he now wants to get shot of. The strange thing is that, protestations that he will miss the island notwithstanding, I have this recollection that not so long ago he was saying how wonderful it was here and that this was his home, and all that. Or maybe it was someone completely different. In the world of celebs I'm afraid I pay little attention, except when their entries in Wikipedia are used as newspaper copy. "Plus, Tubular Balls."


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Simon Dupree and The Big Sound (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EUHTLQ8UnnM). Today's title - who narrated Tubular Bells?

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We Are The Moles

Town and port. "Poble" and "moll". The "frontier" between Alcúdia town and port is the cemetery road that leads down to the horse roundabout. Those who live and work down in the port area are the "moll" people*. The distance between Alcúdia's port and town may be negligible compared to that which exists between the towns and ports (pobles and molls) of its close neighbours - Pollensa, Muro, Santa Margalida - but distance there still is and has been in terms of centres of power and the annual demonstrations of local pride, the fairs. So, deprived of their own fair and obliged to undertake the arduous journey to the old town, the "moll" people asked, why can't we have our own fair? They asked, and quite remarkably they got. Land and sea. Town and port. The mayor, the current incumbent, Miquel Ferrer, seemed to think it was a pretty good idea, and it was therefore decided that the October Alcúdia Fair in the old town would be reserved for crafts, for agriculture, for machines, for the land in other words; the new fair - that combining boats and one of the fruits of the local Mediterranean - would be for the sea.

This year sees the staging of the fourth annual joint nautical and cuttlefish fair. It was the fishermen of the port who helped to create the event, the nautical element of the October fair being spun out and joined with the sepia (or at least the cooking thereof) which, in March and April, is at its most abundant. The fishermen's calendar is determined by what proliferates in the local waters, and it was the sepia that won the rights to its own gig, together with the re-located boats.

Sepia, it has to be said, is not everyone's cup of tea or indeed plate of cod. And that would be because it isn't anything like cod. It is, of course, like squid. Indeed many will insist that it is squid. The Brits for example. Show them a photo of a cuttlefish and they'll say "calamari", which is not correct but which may not be completely inaccurate either, if that doesn't sound all rather Mallorquín. It all has to do with definitions, and the cuttlefish, which is not a fish in any event but a mollusc, falls into the same overall family as the squid. But to call a cuttlefish a calamari would be to risk that a cuttlefish might be riled enough to spray ink all over you. It is not calamari, as we know it. It is the thing that, in its dead and dried form, budgies peck at. So there. (Incidentally, on youtube, if you google, you can see a video of an "angry cuttlefish", which isn't particularly angry; in fact I don't think it's at all angry, but it's a quite good short vid.)

Anyway, you should know that on April 4 and 5, the boat and cuttlefish fairs will be taking place in Alcúdia, i.e. in Port d'Alcúdia, because this is an event of the "moll" people, not of the non-moll, aka the poble, further known as the "pueblo" people. And a jolly good event it always is, too. I shall doubtless be adding to the sum of knowledge regarding this whole shindig over the next few days, but I'm wondering if I should keep my powder dry, or my dead cuttlefish dry, as there is more fax 'n' info to be imparted (possibly) on Monday when members of the press, such of course as myself, are brought before the great and good of the town hall. But I will let you know about that.


* A point on pronunciation. "Moll" is like "moy", as in Chris Moyles, but without the "les" part. The "moll people", therefore, sounds a bit KLF-ish, which was the answer to yesterday's quiz (see below). Justified Ancients of Moy-Moy and all that.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The KLF (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LXEOESuiYcA). Today's title - not quite "molls", but this was by The Moles, who were a mystery band from the '60s, but who were they really?



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3am Eternal

What time is love? It's 3am and is the sound of breathing and the sound of nothing on the main road. On the carretera. What was the sound on that same carretera, do you suppose, the sound when that car went headlong into that cyclist? It was not far from here. Do you suppose he screamed? How would that work, do you think? Suddenly, a car comes straight at you. Do you have time to emit a sound? Why the hell am I thinking about that? Why am I thinking of it at 3am? Thinking how far away was it really? The report said Can Picafort, but also at position 24 kilometres. 24 kilometres on the carretera; that's Muro not Can Pic. Had it occurred at 3am, it would have been heard. It would have broken the breathing. Sit bolt upright out of sleep that had barely begun. Eyes staring.

3am. There's silence on that road. Open the shutter and the monster pine will be brooding, as it always broods in puffed and billowed silhouette against the thin orange of distant streets in Sa Pobla and Muro. Count the time between cars. A sheep jumping game. Was that it? Sheep jumping? Was that what was meant to send you to sleep? Why would that work? Ancients of moo-moo. Cows jumping. That would be altogether much more fun.

That silence continues though. And then the squeaking of the early-spring frogs and night birds. More a squawking that comes suddenly. The frog chorus has not started yet. Not in the way it really kicks in. Maybe a week or two to go yet. The massed terraces of frogs in Albufera, rubbing and chatting and scraping through the night, a crescendo that starts from nowhere and continues for hours - a ceremony of spring and mating, or whatever it is that drives frogs on, this screeching above the throb and pulse of the power station. Drum 'n' bass goes techno in a nature-manmade collision of night sound. But still yet, there is little - nothing - that drives on the road, on the carretera. Then, in the distance, what's that? And in no time, it rushes past. How fast was that? Where do you suppose the police go at 3am? Maybe that was the police. I'd always presumed there were armies of them at all the roundabouts. 3am.

3am eternal. Maybe half an hour passes between cars. Can't be that long surely. Is that the hoot of an owl? Are there owls? And so it's another sleeping pill. That'll do it. Eventually. Ever since I suffered that attack of semantics (3 January: A Good Heart These Days Is Hard To Find). And so, because it's 3am, again, and sleep seems as distant as a plane that might just be flying above were it allowed to be, there's another game. How to sleep. It's Grim Up North. That's where the game comes in. Repeat over and over the names of towns in the north. The north will rise again:

"Bolton, Barnsley, Nelson, Colne,
Burnley, Bradford, Buxton, Crewe,
Warrington, Widnes, Wigan, Leeds,
Northwich, Nantwich, Knutsford, Hull."

So it becomes:
"Alcúdia, Pollensa, Búger, Lluc,
Sa Pobla, Muro, Campanet, Vent,
Mal Pas, Siller, Singala, Pi,
Can Picafort, Barcares are all in the north."

You try to put out of your mind that it's 3am. Out of your mind the fear it is 3am eternal. No, no, that's not it. It's just a game. To try and sleep. And it's all been based around a chance email and mention of Grim Up North (thanks, Steve). It's a fine title. It should be used. Maybe it will be. But for now. For then. At 3am eternal, bring the beat back ...


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Carly Simon (http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1cj0j_carly-simonnobody-does-it-better-li_music). Today's title - today has partly been a paean to one of the greatest: who were?

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Nobody Does It Better

The Germans do it better. There are many things that the Germans do better, much to the annoyance of the British. It is not a matter of annoyance but one of mystery - as far as I'm concerned - as to why the Germans, where Mallorca is concerned, are so much better at producing publications (in fact, even the Swedes seem to do it better as well). There may well be some German horrors lurking that I am unaware of, but they would be hard pressed to be worse than some of the things that the British can be held responsible for (or irresponsible, to once again use that Peter Cook line). There is one particular magazine that rarely is to be found in the north of the island. Just as well. It is unreadable. And no, I'm not naming names. That is not really why I have brought this subject up. I want to ask the question - why are the Germans that much better?

One might argue that the answer lies in a far bigger market, but that is not the case. The residential German market is, if memory serves, around 50% greater than the British, but we're not talking huge numbers of people - maybe 30-35,000. I stand to be corrected on this population stat. And by all means do say if I'm wrong, but that's my recollection. Even if this market were double or three times the size of the Brit sector, this still would not be enough to explain the fact that in terms of layout, editorial, advertising content and sheer sophistication, German publishing on the island is superior; indeed it is better than much of the Spanish.

That word - sophistication. That's a word that's bugging me. Or rather it is gnawing at me and telling me that this is where the difference lies. Can this be? Perhaps so. Is it that the Germans are more sophisticated? And by implication that the Brits are unsophisticated? Yet, I can well remember being told - by Germans - that Mallorca is the place where downmarket Germans go. That, of course, is completely wrong as a generalisation, as it would be were it to be applied to the British. There is no such thing as a homogeneous tourism market from either country; nor is there a one-size-fits-all residential market. And it is because of this very diversity of markets that it is, as I said on 19 March (I Can't Read You), so difficult to reconcile "competing demographics". Sophistication cannot be the explanation, except in the sense that the publications have tended to take a sort of top-down approach in pandering to a higher common denominator.

Whatever the reason, there is a wider issue and that has to do with the sustainability of publications for what are small markets, be they German or British. There is huge competition. "The Sun", to take an example, is now actually printed in Mallorca. The distribution and availability of publications is now no longer the hit-and-miss and two-to-three-days-later affair that used to be the case. And then there is the internet.

The combination of recession and online has hit regional publications particularly hard. National ones are not immune either. But it is at the local level that these "threats" should have always been especially keenly considered by publishers in their "SWOT" analyses. Mallorca is a local level. The expatriate markets within Mallorca are even more "local" if you like. You wonder how publications here can make sense - not in their hard-copy format at any rate. And in "free-to-air" digital format, they make even less sense, unless there were huge ad revenues - which there are not.

Publishers have created many of their own problems. Why are newspapers available for free on the internet? There will always be a role for the physical paper, so long as people - like me - prefer to have something in their hands rather than just looking at a screen. But for how much longer? Much as I prefer to handle a paper, I am very content to read content for nothing - and I do. The argument that free content would be supported by internet advertising revenue was always bollocks. It never stood up as an economic model, and doesn't. The recession has brought this home. The Germans may do it better, but they, and the British, are unlikely to do it at all, publish local titles, unless they can do it better on the internet. That is going to have to mean that people pay for content. And so they should. Trouble is, you've got hordes of Brits here going around nicking broadband access in order to fritter on frigging Facebook. They're not about to pay for stuff when they're engaged in not only free exchange but also theft. And even worse still, I'm on the point of joining them. Not the theft bit, but the Facebook. Where does it all end?


Oh, and apropos sophistication. Did you know that "The Sun" printed 300 thousand - 300,000!!! - more copies for their death-of-Jade special. I am most terribly sorry. She has died young, she has done good things for smears, but for pity's sake, three hundred thousand more ... . Words do, just for the moment, fail me.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Dr Dre, Eminem and Xzibit (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CaG6Kju0E-Q). Today's title - was her big hit about Jagger, Beatty, Taylor?

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What's The Difference Between?

Two supermarkets, same company, three kilometres apart, same stretch of road, same town - different prices. How does that work, do you suppose?

Let me be more precise. Two Eroski stores, both on the Carretera Artà, the main coast road from Puerto Alcúdia, one store close to the port, the other close to Playa de Muro. Now, would you think the prices would be the same in the two stores? You might think it, but you would be wrong to do so, because they're not. Take, for example, the bakery-provided "pan integral cortado" (smaller pack). 65 centimos down the near-to-Playa de Muro end of the Eroski empire, 67 centimos near to the port. A bottle of bog-standard Rioja, the Siglo - 3.50 in one and 3.66 in the other. A pack of plain-flavour crisps (small family size), a difference of 6 centimos. I daresay that there are other price differentials. I'm not about to check the whole stock. Who or what do you think I am? Watchdog or something? How can it be, though, that two stores in the same chain so close to each other can have different prices? It could just be an aberration in the close-to-the-port store, i.e. a cock-up, though cocking-up more than one price sounds more like policy. In the Pollensa Eroski, the one close to the old town, the prices for the above items are as in the near-to-Playa de Muro one. So, all I can say is that, unless you have to use the one near to the port, I wouldn't bother, because it's cheaper to go to the one down the road. Now, I wonder what the prices are in the one near Hidropark and the one by the Can Picafort roundabout ... .


Shop theme today. Despite its name, Alcúdia Pins - both the area and the hotel - is not in Alcúdia; it is in Playa de Muro, very much in Playa de Muro, almost into Can Picafort very much in Playa de Muro. Alcúdia Pins is not really an area that people would go to, unless they were staying there. At least you wouldn't go there, if you were local and Mallorcan and wanting to go shopping. Not only are there not many shops, what shops there are can be avoided elsewhere. Alcúdia Pins is a hundred per cent tourist zone; it serves no other purpose.

While the eponymously named Alcúdia Pins hotel (or is it that the area is eponymously named?) is very strongly British, the tourist mix in the area is varied. Germans, Scandinavians, the new tourists of eastern Europe, Irish, mainland Spanish. There may well be the odd Catalan speaker knocking about, but not many. And what number there might possibly be would not be as great a number as the other nationalities, even the Irish. Why, therefore, is there a shop selling gifts and clothes with a sign in English and Catalan? Easy, you might say, because we are in Mallorca, and they speak Catalan. Well of course. But who is this shop's market? Tourists. Tourists from places that do not speak Catalan. If you were to choose a second language for that sign, then go for German. You could stick Gaelic up and it would probably be understood by more people.

Now I don't know that this is the case, but it is just possible that the sign is a beneficiary of the linguistic subvention. Which is? The system by which local authorities grant money for the use of Catalan for promotional purposes. And these promotional purposes include shop signs. It doesn't matter that there is no-one there to read it. In other words, they chuck money around in support of the language even when it serves no purpose. I could of course be wrong, and there is no subvention in this particular instance, but the principle behind it might just be deserving of some attention.


Ben's Classic Car Rally link
When this went up yesterday, there was a fault. It was fixed later, so if you tried yesterday and it didn't work, apologies. It's all correct now.


The Can Picafort cyclist accident
A 66-year-old cyclist from Luxembourg was killed in a head-on collision in Can Picafort at eight o'clock yesterday evening. Without wishing to pre-empt the thorough investigation, the report (from "The Diario") says that the cyclist was in the centre of the road and not wearing anything reflective - at eight o'clock it is dark.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - The Stranglers (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cy9-epdDw9E). Today's title - you may have noticed I don't go with rap too often, but this was something really good - three willy-holders together.

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Always The Sun

There is a story that you may have missed. It has to do with a town called La Muela in Aragon on the mainland. Though a story from "the peninsula", it could just as easily be of Mallorcan origin. And that is because it has to do with corruption in public life.

What makes La Muela particularly interesting is that it reveals that nothing in Spain, not even the sun and the wind, is immune to corrupt practices - allegedly - so long as there is a backhanded buck to be made. The story surrounds wind farms in La Muela and the boom in clean energy, which also includes solar "gardens", and the consequent boom in less-than-transparent behaviour and the acquisition of monies from questionable sources. All allegedly, it should be repeated.

As so often with these cases, a mayor is implicated: La Muela's in this instance. Other officials in other parts of Spain are under investigation in connection with certain suspicious activities, such as the trafficking of licences to provide solar gardens. In the wider sense, these are all environmentally sound manifestations of the malaise in the construction industry and among "notoriously corrupt real estate developers". These words come from a piece in "The Observer", as does the information for this blog item (http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/mar/22/la-muela-renewables-spain-corruption).

Apart from demonstrating that Mother Nature is herself corruptible or an unwitting party to corruption, these cases show just how widespread inappropriate behaviour is in Spanish public life. The spate of scandals in Mallorca, which now includes the latest tourism minister implicated in the case of a road scheme (always construction, you see), has led to some comment that not only is Balearic administration so riven with corruption it should be given over to central control from Madrid but also that there should be early elections to sort things out. The problems with these suggestions are that you wouldn't necessarily know if you could trust a central control system any more than the local one while early elections might bring back into power the Partido Popular, the party most exposed to corruption charges dating from the past few years.

One is left, I am afraid, to conclude that, rife though corruption is and has been in Mallorca, it is not the only part of Spain to suffer and that perhaps this is all just part of a cultural phenomenon. That seems a facile thing to conclude, but what else is one to make of all these cases? If you can steal from the sun and the wind, you can steal anything.


Mysteries of public provision
A whole series with that title must surely beckon, but let's try this one for starters. I was in Pollensa yesterday. The place was packed. Market day. Weather was very fine. Sun, sun and sun. Lots of tourists, and not only German and Swiss cyclists with their tell-tale Hürzeler accessories. And yet ... Why, on a Sunday of all days, when it's the market and there are quite so many people around, is the tourist office shut? I know Pollensa town hall is broke, but they may as well say to hell with it and pay double time.


Mallorca Top Gear Rally
Officially renamed thus as clearly no-one else took part, despite the best position in the race of the three only being 30th by Jeremy Clarkson. Above is a photo of said presenter/journo together with Ben, and there is a host of photos of Ben and Sara with the Top Gear-ists and other shots at http://picasaweb.google.com/mallorcaben/MallorcaClassicCarRally2009#.


QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Canned Heat (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OrljWGIHB7c). Today's title - and always the wind, too, but not in this song by ...?

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