We’ve been watching Vicky Cristina Barcelona. It’s a good movie, generally. I’ll make no comment on the bohemian morality here. But the pacing and music and light is lovely (and apparently Woody Allen is good for a baby’s frayed nerves, too).

It’s funny though. Everyone in the film is idle. The Americans because they’re rich, staying with someone who’s rich, or married to someone who’s rich, and rich because they work for a multinational or embassy. The Spaniards because they’re, um, artists.

You look at all those lovely young creative types talking and drinking and discussing and smoking and pursuing truth and beauty in the bars and cafes and living in amazing houses and you think, wow, the Spanish government is screwed.