Those tree-hung disks aren’t really for scaring off the deer, silly. Take one home with you and, when you’ve had all you can bear of Hits of Hits or Dirty Dancing II, or when you figure that installing BitWare for Windows wasn’t that smart anyway, take it back and hang it on the correct tree.
Sorry but it’s the only photo of Sarkozy I could find this morning. And who says a spider won’t rule France one day? This sounds like a chimpanzees’ charter.
Zazie thinks it’s OK to waste food. I’m still figuring how to cook this: My head might have videoed it but my stomach definitely would not. Enjoy your lunch!
Off the other evening to see Chelsea-Liverpool on a big screen in a village bar in another valley. Coming down from the pass on an old walled stone track, I turn a corner and there’s a flock of goats nibbling the hedges. In the middle of the path, the cloth-capped ruddy-faced goatherd in classic caganero…
The EU says that you have to take animal carcasses found in the high mountains down to the bottom, truck them half-way across Spain to an abattoir to make sure they’re really dead, and then, to stop the vultures starving to death, you are allowed to bring them all the way back and leave them…
Apparently the four corners of a square reel used in this Huesca village in hemp yarn production represent four horses bound for France. I wonder which horses these were: those that awaited the Duke of Calabria, when he sought with three others to flee the court of King Ferdinand of Aragon, or others? (If folksy…
Transhumance is in the air, so here’s a smutty song from a commie from Zaragoza: Los pastores se van, se van, Los pastores lloran, lloran: ¡ay de mí, pobre pastora! ¿con quién follarás tú ahora? Rejigged: The shepherds are going, they’re going again, The shepherds are weeping, they’re wailing this strain: “Alas, alack, oh Phyllis…
