Our pilot warned he was slowing down as we winged our way to the Canaries to take the sting out of bone-shaking headwinds which were pummelling us.
The big, powerful holiday jet from Scotland rattled and rolled like a horse and cart being dragged violently over the cobbles around Aberdeen University.
As we departed, student freshers’ week in Aberdeen was well underway. Lots of young people, drink and high jinks.
I wondered how long it would be before stories surfaced of sexual harassment or even assaults on campus. On any campus, for that matter.
After all, a national survey for the BBC warned days ago that nearly 30% of teenage girls suffered sexual harassment in daily life, and almost half felt unsafe walking alone.
It’s the debilitating effect of unwanted attention, inflicted on students a long way from home or young people allegedly ensnared by famous celebrities.
Comedian Russell Brand is the latest whose career is decomposing in front of his eyes; only a police investigation will enable us to pass final judgment.
Some question why it takes alleged victims so long to complain. From my own experience of counselling abused children, it’s due to fear of not being believed after calling out adults in authority. Maybe young women have the same complex.
There is a pervading stench of self-entitlement among powerful people, suggesting that the rules of normal behaviour for the likes of you and me don’t apply to them.
Politicians often fall into the same trap: “do as I say, not as I do”. Partygate springs to mind, and the SNP MP who travelled up and down the country while infected with Covid.
We don’t yet know what police investigations into Nicola Sturgeon and co will yield – if anything, that is, which is important to point out.
And then we have the disastrous episode with Spanish football boss Luis Rubiales. We have kissed goodbye to him, mercifully.
Jazz legend Louis Armstrong sang “give me your lips for just a moment” on the romantic classic, A Kiss to Build a Dream On. At least he asked first. Rubiales simply helped himself to Jenni Hermoso’s lips.
Those few seconds of shocking poor judgment encapsulated two core issues: sexist self-entitlement, and crossing that line which defines non-consensual, unwanted attention.
Rubiales blaming ‘culture’ for assault is unacceptable
As some very inebriated passengers staggered off our plane, two young women in particular now grabbed my attention. Hugging each other to stay upright while lurching about, hanging onto those safety straps attached to the bus roof as we trundled towards the terminal.
They disappeared unsteadily into the darkness outside. I hoped they wouldn’t attract unwanted attention.
On a lighter note, their balancing antics reminded me of my hug-and-kiss technique: waving arms, lurching about and hesitating over whether to kiss or not (on the cheeks, I mean). What is the etiquette these days? Kiss or miss?
Estaba retirada y gané la COPA DEL MUNDO. pic.twitter.com/Hq6mmFQbyT
— Jenn1 Hermos0 (@Jennihermoso) August 20, 2023
I was refining my hugs even before Señor Rubiales blundered onto the public stage. I’ve opted for the no-cheek-kiss “swerve” hug, which looks like I’m leaning over a fence.
Rubiales might have survived by apologising profusely and begging for mercy. Instead, he dug more than just a hole for himself – he ended up creating a gigantic subterranean cavern with labyrinthian tunnels leading to dead ends where his feeble excuses piled up.
All that digging created a sinkhole, and he fell in. He went down fighting, protesting that a full-blown smacker on the lips was part of Spanish culture – but not mentioning the “headlock”, which prevented his target from dodging his slobbering slide tackle.
I have to take issue with his “culture” excuse. I’ve visited Spain for decades and, while the double-kiss on both cheeks is mandatory, I don’t recall any lips.
Figuring out the etiquette
Now, back on Spanish soil, I planned some unofficial research, though not hugging and kissing Spanish women at random. Hands-off observation seemed best, and I didn’t have to wait long.
We were sitting outside a late-night bar in a quiet little street. A middle-aged woman was passing by, on the opposite side.
A man at the next table leaped up and ran over to plaster her with kisses: two on each cheek, and then one more for good measure. She was obviously a relative or close friend.
The poor woman had to endure the same thing from his mate, but slightly fewer – four kisses. So, nine in all.
I saw similar going on between many Spanish people, but never lips.
As she passed again, I sensed she quickened her step; her friends waved. I rest my case.
Spain was also an opportunity for a nice personal family reunion. I gave my sister-in-law a “swerve past the cheeks” hug.
She stepped back with a look of indignation. “What? No kiss?”
Back to the drawing board.
David Knight is the long-serving former deputy editor of The Press and Journal
