The Town this Saturday (and the Rugby)

There is life in the town today.

There are a number of coloured awnings in the Square. Different groups are doing comedy acts, singing, organising games for the children, handing out leaflets and collecting signatures, in the name of eradicating poverty, Aids, rickets and other bad thin gs. At least they will probably achieve something, however small, and these things can only be done a bit at a time. And they are collecting moent and making their causes known in a friendly way which attracts people to them. In other words, they are decent people giving up their time and energy  trying to do a little good, and with the wit to actually do it.

Unlike the miserable bunch of communists who had attached themselves to a corner of the show. They were spouting the usual rubbish, which I'm sure not even they believe any more, or even listen to. Since nearly all the real poverty in the world is their fault, they can't have much to offer by way of a solution.  And they resolutely fail to appreciate that in order to relieve poverty you have to let people create wealth, when the whole point of communism as far as I can see seems to be to stop that happening.  Still, Viva la Libertad de Expresión!

There was a young evangelist in the Plaza del Pilar, outside the Caja Madrid, standing on a box with what I think were kick-boxing gloveson his upraised hands, speaking about the love of God and how he gives us more than we can possibly imagine. He spoke fairly fluently and confidently and seemed to understand what he was saying. A few people were gathered round, listening, out of curiosity I imagine. I don't think that's the way to make converts, but it gave him satisfaction.

On a different subject entirely, in rugby I'm a Welshman. My great-uncle Cyril played for Wales, it's in the blood. I've seen the Warburton play- it was a terrible tackle, the kind that breaks necks- and I've read the Laws- it is clearly typified as dangerous play- but I'm a bit out of touch with rugby generally as you can't see much over here, and so I lack the context to make any kind of proper judgement. People are saying that, whatever the IRF has decreed, that action is usually a yellow card rather than red. Should I be spitting blood, or just saying 'bad luck' and accepting defeat graciously? Wales should have won in any case; they missed two clear chances near the end. It's a funny old game.

Added: The more I look at that tackle, the less I think Warburton has anything to moan about. It was very dangerous indeed. He lifted the player five feet in the air, turned him over and dropped him on his neck. No, there's no malice, just an excess of adrenaline and poor judgement, but that and bad kicking cost Wales a game they should have won. So if I'm spitting blood it's because the skipper made a fool of himself when he should have known better.