Lenox may be on the verge of an important discovery. (It has been suggested that I am Lenox, or vice versa. Many faces fortune wears, but that is not one of them.)
Francisco Gabilondo Soler has been denounced for his song, Ratón Vaquero, from the Cri-Cri show (more here), in which a Yankee mouse demands his freedom from the trap into which he has fallen: The offending lyrics in full: What the heck is this housefor a manly cowboy mouse?Hello you! let me out!and don’t catch me…
The neighbourhood Pixar voice-dubber alleges that Looper – an amusing dash through time-travel clichés – was going to be released in Spain as Lúpula, because it’s about hops. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR Sorry man, I was yust yoking – there’s been a lack of crap bilingual puns here recently.
Chez Lenox, not to be confused in any way or to the slightest degree with Lenin, whose typically deranged pamphlet, One step forward, two steps back, is here. Comrade Vladimir doesn’t address our particular theme, but those interested in the recent roots of Iberian politics may inspect with interest the mud he throws in the…
Nata con nueces de la casa, over at Charles Harrison’s, who is an absolute must for all Spanish students of English as it is spoken, and via Iestyn ap Robert, who I believe may fall into the category of a known unknown. Someone moaned that attribution of origin should be obligatory. That might make life…
Colin thinks this is one for me, rather than, say, for Pricasso, who I have to say looks like a right one. What year is it today? Have a good one anyway!
Over at PH. Dehesa de Los Llanos is one of a number of brilliant cheeses from down Albacete way that I have been trying, and generally failing, to introduce to friends whose first choice tends to be something local and expensive made by rich kids with mullets and flags out of what tastes like dog…
The other day some kind person passed me the memoirs of the influential moderate republican writer and politician Carlos Esplá Rizo, Mi Vida Hecha Cenizas [Diarios 1920-1965], who sees his life turned to ashes by Spain’s political failure after WWI and by his long exile following the Civil War. In 1950 someone fixes him up…
Jerez is in Spain. Dickslessia is not our national sport. Someone here thinks it sounds German, but you’d probably say “Hexe raus!” Your Ausweis is your ID. (H/t)