naming names

From Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Ernest:

CECILY […] This is no time for wearing the shallow mask of manners. When I see a spade I call it a spade.

GWENDOLYN [Satirically.] I am glad to say that I have never seen a spade. It is obvious that our social spheres have been widely different.

I wonder how different the average Spaniard’s social sphere is from that of the average angloparlante.
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mornington crescent

I get the impression that Google searches work in much the same way as the Mornington Crescent game: there you are, following links, jumping all over the place and never quite sure where you’ll end up next, and then, suddenly, you find you’ve landed up where you intended.

Well, ok, with Google you’re as likely to end up somewhere quite unintended but equally interesting, so perhaps the analogy breaks down a bit.
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the power of prayer

I didn’t know the Baptists were so self-condfident, but it looks as if this church is sure its congregation is safe from Hell fire – click and see the full-size image to read the text on the wall alongside.

Attending church insures you against (Hell) fire?
Attending church insures you against (Hell) fire?

Photo taken in central Madrid, July 2008.

mixed marriages

From the print edition of today’s Público newspaper, a double page spread on mixed nationality marriage; an assortment of news and commentary.

The left hand page is dedicated to the story that eight European states have agreed to make divorce easier with a new law that gives parejas mixtas the right to choose which law should be applied when they split up. It seems that there are 170,000 divorces between these so-called mixed couples in the EU each year, which is around 20% of the total number of divorces.
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No, I’m not about to write a technical post about visual basic script or vanishing bee syndrome, so, sorry, if you’ve ended up here by a mistaken Google link-through.

I just though that if visible panty-lines can have their own abbreviation, why shouldn’t visible bra straps?
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two old men

I don’t usually stop and talk to anyone on my daily walk to the village. It’s just a quick visit to correos to check for mail (9 times out of 10 there isn’t any) and straight back, working up a sweat.

There are maybe half a dozen old guys I see regularly, but we simply mumble un saludo and keep going. And there’s one vieja who does a short walk, all on the flat, as far as the polideportivo, and I might exchange a few words with her.

Today, however, I spoke to two old men.
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old wounds

A story on the BBC website this morning – Councils ‘unprepared’ for elderly – has me a little worried. Not simply because most English councils are unprepared for the impact of a rapidly aging population, though that in itself is cause for concern.

Firstly, the phrase “rapidly ageing population” makes me do a double take. Surely we are all getting older at the same rate – taking it a day at a time? What steps can I take to I avoid being one of those who is ageing more rapidly?
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