Be careful what you wish for...

San Sebastian. Friday afternoon, and yet another depressing, organized, demonstration by families of imprisoned ETA terrorists. I´m calling them terrorists and not freedom fighters because these people have killed innocent civilians and continually harass the populace of Spain with their out-dated ideal of some sort of Basque utopia, which would not survive in today's globalized world. There is nothing wrong with wanting to retain your own identity and customs, Scotland, for example, manages to do it without the need for violence. So tell me, what was the point of blowing up the car park at Madrid's Barajas airport which resulted in the murder of two Ecuadorians? Anger at immigration? The dislike of modern architecture? Fuck All. Nada. Zilch.
It was this demonstration which got me a tad annoyed and resulted in today's blog. I´m not overtly political, neither right nor left, so I can´t be labeled as biased, I´m just commenting on what I see, and what I saw on Friday was complete fucking hypocrisy. Do these people, with their banners and photos of their loved ones, who may be in prison but are still alive, stop and think of the two Ecuadorian lads? Where was their fucking parade? The demonstrators may have a gripe with the Spanish authorities, their sons and daughters being locked up in prisons outwith the Basque country, but that's a consequence of their actions and I reckon being stuck in a prison somewhere in the south of Spain without being able to see your relatives as often as you´d like is a bit better than getting blown apart for no reason.
Maybe it is time to end the charade.
The IRA used the same methods to gain similar goals, a united Ireland and an end to British rule, and look how that turned out, a ceasefire, proof of weapons decommissioning, and a slow drawn out effort to sit down and talk. If the deeply divided politicians of Northern Ireland have decided, albeit cautiously, to end the cycle of hate and distrust then surely anyone can. The remains of the IRA are basically gangsters, and this is the only outcome for ETA, in fact it´s how they act now, with an organisation populated with bigots and frightened little men scared of losing the power they gained with a bomb.
I could go on, but I´m getting well pissed off and I don´t normally get so heated about a subject but watching that demonstration, with it´s haunting music and solemn faces, got me riled.
Here´s a thought, let´s say ETA and their constantly increasing demands were granted. They settled with getting Navarra, and a small south western chunk of France, and became solely independent. They´d be fucked. Their citizens travel would be severely disrupted, without being a part of the Spanish constitution they effectively would be out of Europe which would mean no EU passport, and independence does not guarantee automatic entry back into the EU, which let´s face it a country that small would desperately need. Be careful what you wish for..... or maybe they want to put the region back 40 years because the idea certainly belongs in the past.

Help! I need a smoking ban

One thing Spain has helped me to do, apart from drinking less and eating better food, is to start smoking in earnest again. First thing in the morning, last thing at night, my blazing comforter is there hanging between my lips. It´s not my fault, I know I´m weak but if I don´t see or smell it I don´t want it, and after a couple of cervezas the most natural companion is the camel, well camel lights. It doesn´t help either when the bartender has one sparked up and is serving you between draws, nor for that matter everyone else in the place, and the Spanish senoritas make smoking look dammed inviting. Older blokes still puffing away good style and looking all the more healthy for it, the older dears in their fur coats exhaling in style. I need a smoking ban, it worked for me in Edinburgh, I only really smoked at weekends, and having to get up and go outside for a fag cut down on the intake, but sitting in a poky wee bar here in San Sebastian, where all around you beautiful people puff away, the barman, handing you a beer, smiles as smoke escapes from his mouth, does not help me. It entices you, whispers in your ear, tickles the top of your mouth and before you know it there he is wafting poisonous fumes. He´s a bastard, he´s sick, twisted and he´s got me by the balls. I think I need to relax, I think I need a smoke.