The view of Castillo de Bil-Bil from our apartment balcony
Dear reader, we have returned from our much-needed sojourn to Benalmadena in Spain...
...and not a moment too soon, it seems. Our flight was like a roller coaster last night, and took much longer than expected, due to the high winds over Europe. Today the peculiarly-named "Storm Ciara" [thoughts: a) why do they need to name a bleeding storm at all? It's not as if the British Isles aren't used to all this weather in winter - and with the number of storms we generally get at this time of year they'll soon run out of names for them; and b) speaking of which, wtf is "Ciara" all about anyhow? Sounds suspiciously like a "council-estate name" to me...] has brought such strong gales that loads of flights are grounded, and because of the rain myriad train lines and roads have been closed up and down the UK. At least it's not freezing cold - but I fear our tans may well wash off.
So - what did we miss while we were away? Nothing much unexpected, really - Coronavirus panic, Trump's aquittal, Huawei, post-Brexit celebrations in the UK, sniping from EU leaders, and the Harvey Weinstein trial - it was banner-headline-business-as-usual for the tabloids. Speaking of hoo-ha, the back-slapping awards season is majorly underway - the Bafta awards were on last week and the media are full of Oscar predictions. What was also surprisingly "of interest" in the UK [as with all things, American Cultural Imperialism wins out, more's the pity] was that thing called the Superbowl that Madonna blew the roof off a few years ago; apparently this time it was the turn of Shakira and J-Lo. I shan't bother to look it up on YouTube. In other news: syphilis is on the rise in the UK, a fox was evicted from the House of Commons, and Cafe Rouge opened a cheese-themed hotel (for some reason).
The world bade a fond farewell to "Spartacus" aka the legendary Kirk Douglas, as well as to the less-of-a-legend mercenary soldier "Mad Mike" Hoare (whose life inspired the film The Wild Geese, starring Richard Burton). We missed what would have been the 95th birthday of Patron Saint Elaine Stritch, as well as David Jason's 80th and that of comedian Jimmy Tarbuck, the 70th of the glossy Morgan Fairchild, the 45th of the lovely Natalie Imbruglia, and the 35th of sex god Cristiano Ronaldo.
Could you not tell?
But of course, the BIG tabloid headline-grabber of the week was when chirpy former children's TV totty and breakfast telly host Phillip Schofield came out of the closet (after 27 years married to a woman) - to the surprise of no-one, really. As I said when some oik in our beach bar asked me what I thought of the news (tongue firmly in cheek): "I haven't been so shocked since 'H' from Steps 'admitted' he was gay..."
Enough of all that nonsense. Our thoughts are still firmly in Spain, and not the blustery UK.
So, to that end, here's a performer of the first order, who, despite her death in 2006 remains very much the top diva (Mas grande, indeed) of Spanish music. Quite rightly, she's also somewhat of a gay icon - as I have mentioned several times before (click the label at the foot of this post), she's Spain's answer to Dame Shirley Bassey - and this clip just serves to reinforce that image, methinks. Oh, the hair! The sparkly gold outfit! The histrionics! We love Rocío Jurado..!
Is it good to be back? NO.
[PS Sorry, Savvy - nothing salacious - redacted or not - to tell about our trip, really. It was all very quiet and relaxing.]
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