The lengths we go to to protect ourselves from being judged. From discarding our natural hair colour, wearing clothes that neither suit nor fit, makeup trowelled on, expensive designer sunglasses, spending thousands on a handbag, a piece of jewellery, an outfit. Males less so in terms of dress, but conformity manifests in other ways and some men crack from the impossible effort of trying to please everyone all the time. All for what?
To appease that inner voice urging us to do such-and-such, so we might fit better. To obey some emotional command that has no logic or rationality; yet it could not feel more carefully thought out and perfectly reasonable. I reckon a lot of people are unknowingly trying to avenge their childhoods.
This conformity applies to faces and the ageing process, the very things we cannot change.
But on what can be changed in Spain - at least I assume it can be - obesity is clearly an accepted physical state for which no judgments are applied.
Only in America have I seen so many morbidly obese people. It starts young; you see the signs in an inordinate percentage of podgy to chubby children, even overweight toddlers. Kids drink a lot of fizz and eat sugary things. By adulthood obesity is so normal it is clearly not a problem, let alone a national malaise.
Presumably it's cultural - sugar the main culprit, along with potatoes more often than not fried; the bread is thick and doughy, often sweet and loaded with butter. From potato omelette at breakfast to fries with most lunch courses, given out free at near every bar. What do they expect?
The bakeries are glistening offerings spread, sprinkled and sparkling with sugar.
I don't want to put anyone off Spain. The unsmiling service does quickly warm up, the wines are superb and unbelievably inexpensive. Fish is a national specialty, ox-tail melts in your mouth and if the bread was any good you'd go through a loaf mopping up the sauce. But you will notice how fat people are.
What better family event than watching the All Blacks play Wales here in Madrid, with one daughter over from London with her partner and another daughter from Whistler, Canada. The venue an Irish bar and what atmosphere, what decor it had: small stained glass window portraits of famous Spaniards, including two Nobels for literature and the artists Dali, Picasso, Goya.
Now, since when did booing the opposition goal-kicker creep into Kiwi culture? These people are a disgrace. If you hear it, rip into them. We must never descend to the level of football hooliganism and institutionalised idiocy.
