Waiting game: Crown Prince Felipe at an award ceremony on 4 June. Photo: Getty
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Can the Spanish monarchy survive without King Juan Carlos?

His successor, Crown Prince Felipe, faces many challenges: the growth of republicanism, lessening support for the main political parties and the ongoing moves by Catalonia to become independent.  

King Juan Carlos of Spain has always been an extraordinary monarch. Placed on the throne by a dictator, he soon sacrificed the autocratic powers he inherited and played a critical role in the country’s transition to democracy after the death of Franco in 1975. That story – and particularly his part in the collapse of a right-wing coup attempt in 1981 – is the single most important strand in the narrative of modern Spain. Like a benevolent father figure, Juan Carlos stepped back from his position of authority and gently pushed the now adult nation to look after itself. And, on the whole, the Spanish have been grateful to him for it.

In many ways, he resembles the kings of folk tales; the fortunes of Juan Carlos have been inseparable from the destiny of the country over which he reigns. As the newly democratic Spain began to prosper – joining the EU in 1986 and watching its economy grow until it briefly became the eighth-largest in the world – so everything seemed rosy in the royal family. And the king’s popularity soared. The constitutional monarchy that he had done so much to establish appeared secure.

But, with the economic crisis, the problems began: austerity measures, high unemployment and a series of corruption cases going right to the top of the Spanish political class. The royal family became embroiled in the scandals when Juan Carlos’s daughter and son-in-law were implicated in the embezzlement of nearly €6m of public funds. The monarchy’s approval ratings suffered enormously, and soon this sickness of the nation appeared to be reflected even in the body of the king. Since 2010 Juan Carlos has been operated on eight times, most notoriously in 2012 after breaking his hip while hunting elephants in Botswana.

In these circumstances, it was not surprising that the king announced his abdication after 39 years on the throne. The question now, however, is whether his successor, Felipe, is sufficiently unsullied to restore the monarchy’s fortunes and the nation. He faces many challenges.

First, republicanism in Spain is growing steadily. Recent opinion polls suggest that over 43 per cent of Spaniards do not want the monarchy to continue. Many of those who support the institution do so through a sense of loyalty to Juan Carlos: although he was appointed by Franco, he earned his position in effect by bringing down the old regime. Felipe is considered well prepared but has merely been born into the role.

Secondly, the two main parties – the right-wing Partido Popular (PP) and Partido Socialista Obrero Español (PSOE), which both back the monarchy – no longer enjoy the support they once did. At the recent European elections they polled under 50 per cent between them for the first time. The governing PP will support the legal moves needed for the abdication to happen smoothly. So, too – probably – will the PSOE. But the Socialists are also starting the process of electing a new leader after a terrible showing in the EU elections and already the cracks are showing. Many in the party are calling for a referendum on whether Spain should become a republic.

Then, apart from all the other factors that make the present situation so tricky (the growing divide between rich and poor, the move towards the political extremes, collapsing public faith in state institutions), there is perhaps the biggest single challenge facing Spain: the ongoing moves by Catalonia to become independent.

Spain – or the Iberian Peninsula – has been breaking apart and reuniting for centuries. For well over a thousand years a pattern has played itself out, in which various “regions” split off to create sovereign nations whenever a powerful individual (such as the caliph Abd al-Rahman III or King Philip II) has been lacking at the centre. Fear that this might repeat itself in the 1930s was one of the principal causes for the outbreak of the Spanish civil war. Franco subsequently held the country together by force for almost four decades.

As a democracy Spain has been sailing through uncharted waters: it has held together up to now despite lacking an authoritarian figure at the centre. Yet in many ways Juan Carlos played that role at a symbolic, subconscious level.

With his abdication, that central individual has gone and the patterns of history seem ready to repeat themselves: the Catalan president has stated that the independence moves are going to continue as planned. Spain as we know it may be about to undergo important change.

Jason Webster’s most recent book is “Blood Med”, newly published by Chatto & Windus (£12.99)

This article first appeared in the 04 June 2014 issue of the New Statesman, 100 days to save Great Britain

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What David Hockney has to tell us about football

Why the sudden glut of blond footballers? A conversation I had with the artist back in 1966 gave me a clue. . .

In 1966, I went to interview David Hockney at a rather run-down flat in Bayswater, central London. He was 28 and had just won a gold medal at the Royal College of Art.

In his lavatory, I noticed a cut-out photograph from a newspaper of Denis Law scoring a goal. I asked if he was a football fan. He said no, he just liked Denis Law’s thighs.

The sub-editors cut that remark out of the story, to save any gossip or legal problems. In 1966 homosexual activity could still be an offence.

Hockney and a friend had recently been in the United States and had been watching an advert on TV that said “Blondes have more fun”. At two o’clock in the morning, slightly drunk, they both went out, bought some hair dye and became blond. Hockney decided to remain blond from then on, though he has naturally dark hair.

Is it true that blonds have more fun? Lionel Messi presumably thinks so, otherwise why has he greeted this brand-new season with that weird blond hair? We look at his face, his figure, his posture and we know it’s him – then we blink, thinking what the heck, does he realise some joker has been pouring stuff on his head?

He has always been such a staid, old-fashioned-looking lad, never messing around with his hair till now. Neymar, beside him, has gone even blonder, but somehow we expect it of him. He had foony hair even before he left Brazil.

Over here, blonds are popping up all over the shop. Most teams now have a born-again blondie. It must take a fortune for Marouane Fellaini of Man United to brighten up his hair, as he has so much. But it’s already fading. Cheapskate.

Mesut Özil of Arsenal held back, not going the full head, just bits of it, which I suspect is a clue to his wavering, hesitant personality. His colleague Aaron Ramsey has almost the full blond monty. Paul Pogba of Man United has a sort of blond streak, more like a marker pen than a makeover. His colleague Phil Jones has appeared blond, but he seems to have disappeared from the team sheet. Samir Nasri of Man City went startlingly blond, but is on loan to Seville, so we’re not able to enjoy his locks. And Didier Ndong of Sunderland is a striking blond, thanks to gallons of bleach.

Remember the Romanians in the 1998 World Cup? They suddenly appeared blond, every one of them. God, that was brilliant. One of my all-time best World Cup moments, and I was at Wembley in 1966.

So, why do they do it? Well, Hockney was right, in a sense. Not to have more fun – meaning more sex – because top footballers are more than well supplied, but because their normal working lives are on the whole devoid of fun.

They can’t stuff their faces with fast food, drink themselves stupid, stay up all night, take a few silly pills – which is what many of our healthy 25-year-old lads consider a reasonably fun evening. Nor can they spend all their millions on fun hols, such as skiing in the winter, a safari in the spring, or hang-gliding at the weekend. Prem players have to be so boringly sensible these days, or their foreign managers will be screaming at them in their funny foreign accents.

While not on the pitch, or training, which takes up only a few hours a day, the boredom is appalling, endlessly on planes or coaches or in some hotel that could be anywhere.

The only bright spot in the long days is to look in the mirror and think: “Hmm, I wonder what highlights would look like? I’ve done the beard and the tattoos. Now let’s go for blond. Wow, gorgeous.”

They influence each other, being simple souls, so when one dyes his hair, depending on where he is in the macho pecking order, others follow. They put in the day by looking at themselves. Harmless fun. Bless ’em.

But I expect all the faux blonds to have gone by Christmas. Along with Mourinho. I said that to myself the moment he arrived in Manchester, smirking away. Pep will see him off. OK then, let’s say Easter at the latest . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times