1. Their youngest son of 4 found nothing more delightful than to switch the light on and off. He did that throughout the day and throughout the house. But especially in his own bedroom. Whether this was the cause of it all cannot be established definitely, but the fact is that one day the light bulb (when these were still in the trade) from the ceiling of his room burst into a thousand pieces. Switched on and off too often was Daddies hypothesis. And he should know because his job had something to with electricity or some such thing. The youngest son of 4 as a matter of fact was not even in the room when it happened, it was Daddy himself who switched on the lamp and caused the little explosion. Luckily, the fragments were not flung about too far away, stopped in their flight by the paper lampshade from Sweden. It was fortunate for otherwise Daddy might have got hurt! Also, fortunately, the youngest son of 4 was not there. Actually, where was he anyway? With one side of his slipper Dad wiped the pieces of glass aside and then reached up to remove the lamp shade. A simple little task. Removing the light bulb, however, was quiet a different thing. There was not much left of the lamp itself so he had to touch the lamp fitting. Dad was a wise and careful man. So he first flipped off the light switch and then opened the curtains wide open so he would have enough light. And now to business! But that was easier said than done. The lamp had been screwed in damn tight and he needed both hands to try to get the blasted thing out of the socket. And look, there the youngest son of 4 had also popped up in the room. Dad had all his attention to the work at hand so there was nothing to stop the boy. Click!
(Rotten luck for Daddy of course, but it is much worse for the son of 4, who still has his whole life ahead of him.)
They found the body on a Tuesday. And the surprise came on a Friday. In the mean time, not much happened.
At home, his wife had passed by Wednesday evening, but only to pick up some clothes and to criticise him for not visiting his daughter and granddaughter yet. So he went by on Thursday afternoon. There was nothing to do in the office anyway.
Peppy´s boyfriend opened the door.
– “Ah, it´s you.”
Peppy´s boyfriend had a lot of hair, most of which was knotted in a rastafari fashion. He made a gesture with one of his long arms to show him in.
– “As a matter of fact, yes, it is me,” said the Inspector.
In passing, the Inspector noted that the boy only wore some kind of bedsheet around his waist. The corridor was littered with clothes, packs of tobacco rolling paper, little metal tins, coloured hairclips, broken pencils, raffia mats and bits of uncooked macaroni. In the living room he saw his wife. She sat on the only chair in the room, with a huge african drum between her legs, some kind of turban around her head and an uncomfortable smile on her face. She looked like a protestant pilgrim´s wife visiting an Indian tribe on the first thanksgiving day.
– “There you are,” she said. And with her head she motioned which he way he should look.
At 7.40 AM the alarm clock went off. The Inspector opened his eyes and for a few seconds he hoped his wife had made coffee. Then he remembered, as he had done the days before, that his wife had gone. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, mainly because of one glass of Dutch jenever too many last night. He missed his wife but he would never admit that, not even to himself. He showered quickly, put on some clothes and left the empty house.
In his car, he wondered whether he should call her. He decided against it. If she had anything to tell him, she should be the one to call him, thought the Inspector. Then he started the car.
I went to the Metropolitan Magazine debate about Catalan nationalism yesterday. There were four speakers, two in favour of Catalan nationalism and two against. Each had 10 minutes to present their ideas. Afterwards there was a discussion. The whole debate was in English. That´s probably why most of the audience (about 50 persons) were “guirris”, i.e., people from outside Spain.
The four speakers were: Charles Ablett (half Welsh, half Catalan, Catalan speaking, against Catalan nationalism), Erik Jeffery (British, Catalan speaking, in favour), Nito Foncuberta (of the political party Ciutadans, against Catalan nationalism) and a guy I think he was named “Bosc”, but it was hard to hear because the chairman who presented him talked with his hand in front of his mouth (representing the political party ERC, a Catalan nationalist party).
Unfortunately, numerous times last night, Godwin´s law was put into practice: “As a discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches 1”. I´ll summarise what the speakers had to say below, as objectively as I can.