On the promenade, one of the town hall workers has a small engine on his back which powers a blower, technology´s answer to the broom. It strikes me that he is simply transferring dust and rubbish from one spot to another, when I spot a vehicle with two brushes in front of it. The brushes rotate in opposite directions, sweeping all they encounter beneath the vehicle´s belly, where its prey is inhaled by a vacuum.
Horchata as I remember is a sweet drink with a nutty taste which they used to sell in milk bars and the like when I lived in Spain nearly 50 years ago. When I tried it again recently I found it unpallatable, but at that time it had, I suppose, lost the attraction of novelty. It comes to mind to day when I see the word Orxata, which I take to be the Catalan word for horchata. What strikes me as intereting is that it is chalked on a blackboard in an American style chain called Dunkin´Coffee. Where the entire menu and sales idea is trans -Atlantic or perhaps mid-Atlantic; and here, you have a local Spanish traditional drink and a Catalan word fighting through a franchise like a persistent plant, despite the attention of gardeners, forcing up between paving stones.
As I stand amid sparkling waves, up to my shoulders in the sea, I see, against the blue sky, an ochre yellow butterly fluttering on a more or less intentional course parallel with the beach.