One argument I hear often is that there’s not much point in learning languages like Galician or Catalan and that you’d be better off learning say, Chinese. In the great scheme of things that might be true enough. But where the argument falls down is when it is put forward by people who live in Galicia or Catalonia, people who may well come into contact with the said regional languages on a daily basis.
It may be useful to learn a language like Chinese these days, if for instance, you intend to travel to China or encounter Chinese clients in your work. But if not, then what is it about learning Chinese that makes it of more practical use?
I merely use Chinese as an example. The same could be said of many other international languages that have a far higher number of speakers than Catalan or Galician does.
The crux of the matter might be, as a student of mine in A Coruña who had no interest in learning Galician observed, “many people in Spain do not think of regional languages as proper ones”.
There are many reasons for this outlook. It is too deep a subject for me to go into here, but chief among them is probably the fact that neither is the principal language of the state.
It’s kind of funny though, when they are co-official languages in the autonomous communities of Galicia and Catalonia. Co-official, yet somehow inferior. And in the case of Catalan, it is more widespread than many people are aware of, being the official language of Andorra, and also spoken in a number of Mediterranean islands (including Sardinia), as well as parts of southern France.
The most vistited monuments and museums in Spain in 2007 were:
1. Alhambra, Granada, Moorish fortress comes out tops with over three million visitors.
2. Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, Gaudi's ongoing architectural experiment.
3. Prado,Madrid, museum hosting many classic art treasures.
4. Reina Sofia, Madrid, modern art museum in the Spanish capital.
5. Dali Museums, various museums in Catalonia associated with the nutty artist.
6. Guggenheim, Bilbao, (pictured).
7. Thyssen, Madrid, yet another fine art museum in the capital.
8. Macba, Barcelona, Catalonia's principal modern art museum.
9. Picasso Museum, Malaga, the city where the celebrated artist was born.
Twenty million fewer cinema tickets were sold in Spain in 2007. Sales dropped 16% from 122m to 102m in what was the third consecutive annual fall.
Spain is not unique in this respect. Many countries are similarly affected as people find other ways of watching new films or leisure time alternatives.
The USA bucks the trend with more tickets sold over the last three years, although more Americans were going to the cinema in 2002.
Mairi Simpson writes from Edinburgh to say: “Uncool as it is, I like Mickey by Toni Basil.”
My outstanding memory of this song is that it was the era of leg warmers. A strange fashion that seems to have made something of a comeback. Why not just get yourself a big thick pair of woollen socks that can virtually talk the Gaelic? Footless tights. Body warmers. What is the point of these things?
I got a body warmer from Ingleston Market in Edinburgh around the same time I bought my first singles there. They could easily feature here: Pretend by Alvin Stardust and the slightly more respectable Kings of the Wild Frontier by Adam and the Ants. My sister bought Hands Up by Ottowan.
I don’t recall wearing the body warmer much after I got home and back into my normal environment. I like brown clothes today but it wasn’t a stylish choice for a young loon. It soon went into the cupboard along with the sweatbands and the brown boots my dad got from his work at Ardersier oil yard. He said they were better value than Doc Martens. I wasn’t convinced. Even less so when I first wore them to school one cold January morning in 1982. I was laughed out of the music class by the respectable DM wearers. These cool dudes referred to my workman’s boots as “Clodhoppers”.
The next mistake was the sweatshirt I wore to school with “Lopez” written on it. Later the same year there was a Spanish player in the World Cup called Lopez Ufarte. That led to me being known as Ufarte for a short time.
These things happen to everyone I suppose. Children are cruel and anyone who claims their schooldays were the best of their lives should take a moment to reflect on this type of thing.
It comes as a surprise to me that Toni Basil didn't actually wear legwarmers. Ra-ra skirts are another story from that era but at least I wasn’t among the unfortunate males who turned up for class with their legs wrapped up in this ridiculous fashion. Bear in mind this was a few years before the likes of Motley Crew or Bon Jovi became popular. If these boys were fans of Fame, they would’ve been better keeping that to themselves as well. There was no macho street-cred to be gained from any of this. Did their mothers have a sick sense of humour? Why the loons didn’t peel them off as soon as they got out of the house I’ll never know. Maybe they were masochists.
This is a new feature where I invite friends to confess to their secret love of uncool songs (from the late 70’s or 80’s). If I have a personal memory relating to the song, I will write something around it.
First up is Alan Gaskin. He writes from Glasgow to say: “I really liked A-ha and I still do. Some of their tracks still hold up well today.”
Well Alan, I’m not sure about that. It's a struggle to get to the end of this video but the song takes me back to 1985 and my first proper job. I use the term loosely as work involved a forty-hour week including most Saturdays for a pittance of pay on theYouth Training Scheme – twenty seven pound thirty I got or thereabouts. Why it wasn’t a more rounded figure remains a mystery. Perhaps we were supposed to celebrate with a bag of Monster Munch or two when the week was over.
I was working in a supermarket and went once a week on day release to college in nearby Elgin. The classes took place in a function room in the Gordon Arms.
Occasionally, these classes provided an opportunity to meet up with one or two schoolmates I’d said farewell to just a few months before. Robbie Scott was also working in a supermarket somewhere. All the youngsters had placements in supermarkets or grocers in the Moray area; apart from Craigie Mac who was an apprentice panel beater in a garage somewhere out Dallas way. That’s Dallas, Moray, not Texas. They have little in common.
It didn’t trouble Craigie Mac that he was in a class talking about retail chains, customer services, shelf-filling and queue reduction at checkouts. Maybe it was a pleasant enough change to sit in a warm hotel instead of rubbing down car bonnets and inhaling paint fumes. He ploughed on with his day release for a few months, perhaps thinking that it was as relevant to his vocation as most of what he had been studying at school before summer.
Craigie Mac and I soon struck up our old school friendship due in the main to our mutual interest in cranking pipes and bevvy sessions. He was more skilled in the former and myself in the latter.
It wasn’t that easy to find classmates who were up for a good drink on a Tuesday afternoon. Most hadn’t yet lapsed into such bad habits and maybe even wanted to learn the rudiments of retail, but for me the arrival of the panel beater on the scene was a godsend.
One dinnertime, we crossed the humpback bridge over the railway line and headed for Fine Fare’s carry out counter. I might have just turned sixteen but rarely had a problem purchasing alcohol and was well versed in asking for it in a matter of fact way and in showing great surprise and looking a little offended if I was ever asked my age.
We then had to down the Scrumpy Jack as fast as possible, so it was thrown back in the car park and then a furtive pipe was partaken of under the humpback bridge.
By the time we arrived back at the hotel centre we were both struggling a bit. Not only that but the regional training manager had decided to put in an appearance. Kerr enjoyed a good confrontation. Only weeks prior to this he’d phoned my parents to check I was genuinely ill after I’d missed a couple of days college and the odd day of work. I really was sick on the day in question with a bad stomach bug. My dad didn’t have much time for his manner either and informed Kerr that if he still had doubts he was “welcome to come to the hoose and hae a look at the shitey drawers in the washing basket”.
Kerr was trying to joke with the other trainees as we tumbled in and took our seats. He asked us where we’d been. A smoke always made me go quiet and introverted but Craigie Mac was buoyed up by the cider and did the talking.
“Having a slash.”
This pissed Kerr off as it got a bigger laugh than any he’d managed so far.
“Think you’re funny, do you?”, asked Kerr, adjusting his glasses and sweeping back the dyed black hair on his head in a fashion that suggested he thought he was as cool as Morten Harket.
“Funnier than you probably.”
Robbie Scott let out a loud snigger. Then apologised and pretended to blow his nose. Kerr looked at him then turned his attentions back to Craigie Mac.
“Oh, is that so? And where do you work?”
“Dowles,” said Craigie Mac.
Kerr looked puzzled.
“Where’s that?”
“Dallas,” the trainer said. “He works in Dallas.”
“Dallas? I don’t think we have anyone in Dallas. Is there a supermarket in Dallas? Which store do you work for?”
“Beel’s Garage,” said Craigie Mac.
Again, that got a louder chuckle than Kerr’s supermarket gag.
“What do you sell in this garage?”
“Nothing. I’m a panel beater.”
“A panel beater? It hasn’t occurred to you that you might be in the wrong class?”
He turned to the trainer. “How long has MacGilvary been coming here?”
“A few weeks, I think” said the trainer, consulting the register while her face turned as red as her hair.
Kerr frowned then clasped his hands to his mouth as if in despairing prayer. Meanwhile, Scrumpy Jack fumes were invading the room.
“Are you drunk son or are you just thick?”
“Fuck you, ya old dick,” said Craigie Mac. “I’m oota here.”
He threw his desk up in the direction of Kerr and they dragged each other out of the room. We listened in amused wonderment as they exchanged words and blows in the corridor.
It was Craigie Mac’s last day at the college. I don’t know if he went on to become a successful panel beater but judging by the shiner Kerr wore later, Craigie was pretty handy with his fists.
