Community cohesion confirmed

Cathedral of St Mary the Crowned

I had a delightful morning. The weather was perfect: sunshine with just enough of a breeze to take the edge off the heat, and just to complete the idyll, the kids were at school, the dog asleep indoors, and the coffee at the Piazza, (el martillo to seniors, Sir John Mackintosh Square to many non-Gibraltarians) strong and smooth. While I dipped churros into a small mound of sugar on the edge of my plate, I watched dozens of people meander along Main Street having celebrated the confirmation into local Catholicism of their children.

I'm not usually a fan of religious festivals and avoided the sinister Spanish Easter processions that smack too much of paganism, idolatry and hypocricy for my liking, and the celebrations for the end of Our Lady of Europa jubilee year. But, hot on the heels of the first Holy Communion celebrations that saw pre-pubescent girls dressed as brides and pre-pubescent boys flaunt their innocence also in white, along with gifts and parties and lots of flash photography, this religious celebration, caught in Main Street, brought home to me just how beautifully the different religious traditions all relate to each other in Gibraltar.

While I drank the coffee - and I like it to still be steaming hot when I get to the bottom of the cup, so I don't hang around - I watched the kids that had been confirmed into the Roman Catholic church excitedly chatter to their large and extended families, and these exchanged greetings with passing friends, some of whom wore the kappel of Judaism, while others, in jallabah's or hijabs or kofi's, smiled and kissed their congratulations as they headed for Friday prayers at the mosque.

Ibrahim-al-Ibrahim Mosque

While Gibraltar's Roman Catholicism is still the predominant religious tradition that still governs the calendar for schools and holidays, and continues to exert a stupefying influence on social and political modernisation, the way that people are able to understand, accept and enjoy each other's traditions is as refreshing as it is wonderful. While in some places overt displays of faith are played down so as not to cause offence to people of other religious persuasions, in this tiny city, people can worship openly and are respected for doing so.

One of Gibraltar's synagogues

I'm not sure why it should be like this in Gibraltar and not so in many other parts of Europe, or, indeed, the globe. Perhaps it is that religion itself allows for a spiritual growth that opens up an understanding of the spiritual needs of others. But I'm not so that this is the case. I prefer to think that in such a small place as Gib, where the memories of the isolation of being locked into the Rock are still so fresh and only one generation old, we all had to get on with each other, we needed to learn about each other's ways, accept them, understand them and live with them. It made life easier, and in these days of continuing religious wars, the religious co-existence in Gibraltar is exemplary.

Puppy love!

I've inadvertantly, and a little reluctantly, become a dog owner. Spot, pictured above, unimaginatively named by my kids, turned up at the front door one evening when her previous owners were looking for someone who would take her off their hands. I should have known then not to bother, but as I tried to shove the kids back indoors and ignore their pleadings, the pup pounced into my arms and got licking. Well, I caved in, and now I don't know whether to regret it or take it on board and embrace it.

Suddenly, as well as becoming proficient in poop-scooping, de-worming, and dashing down six floors, dog in arms, to get her outdoors in time for a pee, I've unwittingly joined those hoards of people who walk aimlessly round and round Harbour Views with furry friends attached to the ends of leads, in an attempt to prevent soiling of floor tiles . I trudge about unwillingly, wishing I was still in bed, while these dedicated folk seem to love everything about their pooches.

What I have noticed is, well, that I notice dog poo. And there's loads of it in Gib. So, I wonder, if all the dog owners I encounter at unsocial hours, pounding their pavements with pooches in tow, all pick up their dog's effluence, something I've gratefully observed, how come there's so many turds trailing on the pavements from here to the border and back? Dirty dogs I'm not keen on, but dirty dog owners, who leave the mess to pass on diseases to kids and breed maggots, cockroaches and goodness-knows-what else, are totally unacceptable. When I had to wash some off Spot's paws the other day - not hers, but another mutt's she had accidentally trodden on - I thought that a system of by-laws and fining would help, but most effective would be making the guilty owners bath in the stuff. Then maybe they'd learn.

And talking of animals, I witnessed the catching of a mangy old cat while I enjoyed breakfast at the Piazza yesterday morning. I can see why my Dad enjoyed hanging around gossiping with the other Grumpy Old Men who congregate on a bench and mull over one shared copy of the Gibraltar Chronicle. "El Martillo", he always called it, the old name the Piazza was known by. Just as even now, people my age call it the "Piazza" when officially it is Sir John Mackintosh Square.

There I sat, watching the crowds scuttle by, sipping strong coffee and dipping churros in a little mountain of sugar in my saucer, when I caught sight of a man wielding a cage and suddenly bending over and stuffing a cat into it. Seconds only. Like greased lightning. And off ,they rattled in an old van, I hope to the GSPCA, but alarmingly taking the one-way road towards the kebab shops. I wondered if this gifted cat-catcher could also be persuaded to deal with the pigeons, which are far more disease-ridden and pestilential than cats, and don't catch rats. But then, no "palomos", and no government, from what I understand from the Grumpy Old Men.