Asturias is not Spain, or at least not in Bray, Co Wicklow, and bottom right are the toys thrown out of his pram by the author in order to underline his point. For those who doubt that I took the photo in Ireland, here are two more of a microwave designed by Korean anthropologists for…
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.
What is the connection (if any) between the symbol on this house in Sin, Huesca, and that of the Día supermarket chain? ( Sin really does exist. Here’s the sign: One would obviously like to live in it, at least for a while, but owners are reluctant to sell. )
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…
I’m now doing most of my work from locked-down government machines in rural internet centres, which means using online applications for almost everything. Here’s my first clip, using something called Jumpcut, of a guy on a beach in Co Wicklow: [ There was a brilliant video here of an Irishman rubbing his leg with seaweed…
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…
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…
