Under Old Management

Thanks and apologies to the yet still faithful readers who ask me why I have not been blogging lately. Indolence is the short answer.
My wife has left me, only for a week she says, to go to Paris for Thanksgiving. Parisians, in their turn are making plans tout suite to spend Bastille Day in Pittsburgh. I am now a hermit, with only the chickens and the dogs. And the rain. And no excuse for not writing.
We now have two dogs. Tim, a year-old pedigree Brittany Spaniel walked in off the Camino about six weeks ago and is now officially ours. His ex-owner, when tracked down, was suspiciously willing to let us keep him, but he is a good and kindly creature (Tim, that is, not the owner) and company for Una. The chickens are down to three, we gave two away and Tim, on arrival at the house, immediately killed one to do us a favor and demonstrate his skills as a hunter. I remonstrated with him in my imperfect Castellano, and he is now on arse-sniffing terms with the survivors.
If given the chance, he would spend his waking hours sitting in front of me and staring me sympathetically in the face; wondering, no doubt, if I will ever get it.

The world grows more surreal every day, does it not?
I read in today´s El Pais, One Of The World´s Great Newspapers, although they unaccountably fail to say so on the masthead, that Scott McClellan, White House spokesman from 2003 to 2006, is now complaining that he was ordered to lie about all manner of stuff to shield his masters from the ensuing outrage.
Well, Duh!, as we European sophisticates are wont to ejaculate. No need to say more, except next time read the job description more carefully, Scott.
In Spanish, a spokesperson is a ´portavoz´a carry-voice , more or less. Nice way to put it, I think.
On another, more serious topic, the news that Croacia have knocked England out of some football cup was not an unforseen shock. I went to the Bar Deportivo to watch Spain, who were about ten times superior to Northern Ireland, make very heavy weather out of beating them.
It would take a Scott McClellan to explain that both England and Northern Ireland are really world-class but were just unlucky on the night. Someody should give him a call.