How could José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero be anything other than a good bloke? Just look at him. The other day he was attending a Franco-Spanish summit seated midway down a long table of busy-looking ministers. The cameras caught him looking around with one of those classic "which page are we on?" expressions.
An incident earlier in the week saw him in solemn procession with the back of one of his trouser legs caught in his sock. Security agents trailing him tried to discreetly dislodge it while he continued onwards, oblivious to this sartorial indisposition.
Zapatero still has the aura of a man utterly surprised to find himself living the life of his nation's political leader; almost as if he thinks he must enjoy every second because soon someone will tap him on the shoulder and tell him it was all a hideous mix-up.
