Culture Calls!

 

 

 

A laconic message on my phone saying that 8.00 am swimming tomorrow is cancelled.  No explanation.

     Is later swimming OK?  If people have booked later sessions, are they still available?  I could of course phone up and ask, but that seems far too simple a process, while there is fruitless speculation to tempt!

     And lie-ins are not an enjoyable prospect for me.  As I get up at 5.45 am each day for my 6.30 am swim, the fact that I have to stay in bed until 7.15 am on the weekends because of the later starts, is something of a trial, as my body clock is set to get me to rise earlier.  The extra time ‘gained’ in bed is lost to me as I struggle to stay rested and prone.

     And we have just had yet another mobile phone warning about inclement weather for tonight until the early hours – though I do not think that is a factor in the cancellation of the swim tomorrow.  Possibly.

 

Instead, I will concentrate on the performance that I am going to see tomorrow in the Liceu, the first production of the season, and starting with a Grand Opera Blockbuster – Aida!  And this will be the first of the productions that will have a specially produced individual programme just for me – a touch of tautology there, but worth it to emphasise the special nature of the publication.

     Aida is one of those operas that I have seen umpteen times, but I still consider it one that I do not know in the way that I would like to.  Obviously, I can hum along with the famous bits, but the totality of the experience has always eluded me.

     Sometimes it takes a particular performance or perhaps a truly inventive staging of the production to bring an opera firmly into my personal repertoire.   

     Seeing the dress rehearsal of Eugene Onegin in an 1980 WNO production conducted by Mark Ermler with Josephine Barstow and Tom Allen, with sets by Michael Yeargan and directed Andrei Serban, took an opera I had never heard before and made it an immediate part of my world.  I still remember the real corn stalks in the opening scenes, the floating window for Tatyana’s dream, and the gleaming white carpet for the final duel in the snow!

     Or an equally arresting production, which I again first saw in a dress rehearsal, of WNO’s 1978 production The Makropulos Case, with astonishing sets designed by Maria Björnson, the production directed by David Poutney and conducted by Richard Armstrong, with Elizabeth Söderström as Makropulos.  Once seen, so known; and what some might regard as a difficult opera to take to on a first hearing, rapidly became the opera that I have probably heard and seen the most!

     It is when I remember productions like these that I think of what might be my Perfect Opera Season of a dozen or so productions. 

     Here are the first six that came to mind, in no particular order:

 

The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny – Brecht/Weill

Four Saints in Three Acts – Virgil Thomson

Akhnaten – Philip Glass

A Midsummer Night’s Dream – Benjamin Britten

La Boheme – Giacomo Puccini

 

When I feel strong enough, I might attempt to draw up the other six candidates for inclusion!

 

 

Three Local Mysteries — Castelldefels, Gavà and Les Botigues

Three Local Mysteries — Castelldefels, Gavà and Les Botigues

 

 This was largely written with the active help of AI Chat.

1. The stopped redevelopment of the Passeig Marítim, Les Botigues

What is being done: The stretch from the Castelldefels boundary towards Port Ginesta is undergoing a complete reconstruction by Spain's Ministry for Ecological Transition. Work began in November 2025, budgeted at about €4.15 million, with completion originally scheduled for September 2026. There are separate Sitges council works around the Port Ginesta entrance. VisitSitges

Why has it stopped? The Ministry's project was being financed through EU Next Generation funds. The project missed the funding timetable and the available European allocation was exhausted. Continuation therefore requires a new Spanish government budgetary procedure/credit modification. Sitges council has been told that work should resume, but we have found no firm restart date.

The important distinction: this appears to be a financial/administrative interruption, not abandonment of the project. The half-finished state of the paseo is therefore, rather wonderfully, a physical manifestation of European and Spanish public-finance bureaucracy.

Still to discover: when the new funding is formally authorised and when contractors actually return.

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2. The enormous Castelldefels flood-water project

What it is: A new storm-water pumping station for the Interceptor Nord, being constructed in Carrer Aragó, near the Canal Olímpic/UPC area. Cost: approximately €14.8 million, principally funded by the Catalan Water Agency (ACA), with FEDER European co-financing. Ajuntament de Castelldefels

Why it is necessary: much of coastal Castelldefels occupies former marshland and is extremely low-lying. During intense rain, gravity alone cannot get the water to the Mediterranean quickly enough. The existing Interceptor Nord is capable of carrying much more water than the present system can effectively evacuate.

The new station is intended to allow the Interceptor to operate at up to 31 m³/second. Interestingly, council publications are inconsistent about the present capacity: earlier material says about 5 m³/s, whereas an August 2026 council report says 13 m³/s. The safe statement is therefore that the new installation is intended to raise effective evacuation capacity substantially, ultimately to 31 m³/s. Ajuntament de Castelldefels

Where the water goes: the Interceptor system ultimately reaches the sea at Plaça de les Palmeres, around Carrers 16–17. During exceptional events the sand barrier across the beach is opened/breached so the accumulated water can reach the Mediterranean.

That produces the environmental question: this is urban storm runoff, not treated sewage, but it isn't clean water either. It can contain road oils, tyre/brake residues, litter, sediment, animal waste and other pollutants. Increasing the hydraulic capacity also raises the question of what a very large discharge does to the sand and sediment dynamics of the beach.

Still to discover: the actual engineering drawings showing precisely where the concrete/engineered outlet ends, where the anti-return gates are, how water crosses the beach, and what protection against scour and beach erosion has been designed. That remains the most interesting unanswered question.

And the brick pumping building near the Canal Olímpic road is a different system altogether: Estació elevadora d'aigua residual Costa Castelldefels I—a sewage pumping station. The fact that both sewage and storm water require pumping is itself a nice illustration of Castelldefels's peculiar geography.

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3. The sudden death of La Pava

What happened: La Pava, a landmark beside the C-31 for roughly 65 years, closed abruptly at the beginning of September 2026. The complex had included the pizzeria, braseria, bakery, pollastres a l'ast/rostisseria and takeaway operations. The closure surprised customers, neighbours and apparently Gavà council itself. La Vanguardia

Employees reportedly finished a Monday shift and were told they needn't return the following day. The owners have made no public statement explaining the closure. Bruguers Digital

What the press says: recent C-31 roadworks and altered access have been mentioned as a possible factor, but no published source has established that as the cause. Indeed, the major works had been completed before La Pava closed. The press continues to report the reason as unknown. RAC1

What our digging uncovered: there is evidence of a much earlier corporate transition. The two companies associated with Grupo La Pava—Pizzeria La Pava SL and Madefin SL—underwent coordinated changes of administrator. Juan Marine Bellido relinquished them in 2023; Antonio Sánchez Valero succeeded him; and in February 2025 Eduardo Salvador Juan became administrator of both simultaneously. Customers were already referring to a “nuevo dueño” or saying “han cambiado de dueño” during 2024. That is circumstantial evidence of a change in control, not proof of precisely what was bought or sold.

The intriguing possibility: the restaurant business and the underlying real estate may be separate assets. Given the site's size and position—C-31 frontage, opposite the campsite and surrounded by the residential areas of Gavà Mar/Castelldefels—the land and buildings could represent a very substantial asset independently of the restaurant goodwill.

There is currently no evidence that we have found of an announced redevelopment, so we mustn't leap from “valuable land” to “they closed it to build flats.”

Still to discover: who owns the actual cadastral parcel and buildings; whether ownership changed when management of the restaurant companies changed; its planning classification; and whether any planning application, sale or development proposal subsequently appears.

 

Cullture, Politics, Money - and other concerns!

 

 

I am not watching or reading anything of real value at the moment.

     I am partially binge watching Ghosts (Netflix) and not (NOT, emphatically not Ibsen) but rather a jolly, undemanding Sunday-afternoon-TV sort of series.  This about a young couple who inherit an old house from a distant aunt and discover that it is full of ghosts.  Which the female part of the couple can actually see because of a near-death experience.

     The ghost characters span the years stretching from a Viking, via a representative of the indigenous peoples of the area, to a trouser-less almost up to date idiot, taking in a flower-power hippie, a black jazz singer, and an American Revolutionary Officer on the way.

     The variety allows for a somewhat picaresque approach as the back stories of the ghostly individual characters interact with the living or other ghosts.  It is effortless watching and there are some moments of wry humour.  But it remains a guilty pleasure that consumes time that I feel I should be spending on other more worthy matters.

     My reading is equally easy, with my just having finished reading Nine Minutes of Sun by F G Harrow.  This Sci-Fi novel is set on a distant ice bound planet where the inhabitants of the underground shelters are threatened by a heat devouring ‘other’ that threatens the existence of the human population.  It is a well worked narrative and the description of politics and the mechanics of living in challenging situations is carefully crafted and has a gritty realism within the fantasy that is compelling.

     As this was one of my ‘free’ books courtesy of the internet, I was not really surprised to find out when I got to the end that this book is one of a series, the rest of which needs payment!  Not unreasonable.  But my enjoyment of the book was not sufficient to encourage me to pay for the next instalment.

 

I am something of a fan of the Father Brown short stories of by G K Chesterton, though it is many years since I have read them.  Therefore, a casual glimpse of the television series based on the character was enough for me to give the tele my attention and follow the episode. 

     I was also drawn to the fact that the character of Father Brown, the unlikely Roman Catholic parish priest detective, played in the television series by Mark Williams, which has been running since 2023 and has over 140 episodes to its credit.

     Williams is perhaps better known as Arthur Weasley in the Harry Potter films and for his excellent comic work in The Fast Show.

     The episode that I saw was called The Viper’s Tongue and it originally aired in January 2022.  It concerns a woman who returns to Father Brown’s village to avenge the death by suicide of her sister on those who she considers drove her sister to it.

     And Williams as Father Brown was awful.  His acting was wooden, his charisma nil, and his ability to mouth religious platitudes embarrassingly unconvincing. 

     Just as with The Dresser you have to believe that the wreck of an old style actor in that play could have played Lear in his past, so with Father Brown the actor must have the ability to make you believe that he could be a Parish Priest with an extraordinary ability to solve seemingly intractable problems in crime.  It is the clash of incisive minded analyst and kindly, umbrella wielding priest that makes for the drama, and is the USP of the stories.

     Perhaps I just saw a dud episode, it is the only one I have seen, but all the rest of the cast were the usual professional jobbing actors and character part players that the British acting community do so well, giving the perfect acting setting for Williams to do his starring bit.  Which he didn’t. 

     What is especially galling is I know that I have seen him act better than this.  I felt cheated.

 

And it’s raining.  At least we have no had another of those intrusive mobile phone bad weather warnings, but we have an a period of extended heavy rain, so that we can be absolutely sure that all the usual places on our roads will be flooded.

     Next to a Catalan School and the site of The British School of Barcelona there is a building site which is supposed to be constructing something to deal with the flooding by capturing (in some way or other) the excess water that our inadequate drainage system is incapable of dealing with.

     As is often the way, what at first appeared just to be a big hole in the ground has developed into something much more sophisticated and much more expensive.

     I have been having extensive conversations with Chat and have discovered more information about this structure.  It is, in effect, a giant pumping station that can force excess rainwater through a system of pipes and out into the sea.  Since this new collection of pumps can pump up to six times the present volume of water, it would be good to know just what quality of water will be being added to our local patch of the Med every time we have a downpour.

     It turns out that there will be no treatment of the water and that the excess will be pumped out into a channel on the beach to make its way to the sea.  At present, although I have turned up an amount of technical information the precise details of where and when are not yet settled.  Chat has asked me to do some photographing of likely areas where the outfall is supposed to occur and we will take it from there.

 

Another question has been bothering us as well.  At the end of the sweep of our beach towards Port Ginester, there have been extensive works on the coastal road and the paseo, which have now ground to a halt.  The works here were supposed to have been completed last month, but the stretch is still a building site, and one half of the road has had to be closed with wire netting restricting access to the beach. 

     It turns out that money has run out, and so all work is on stop until funding is made available for it to continue.  The powers that be have said that work will resume “soon” – but no firm date has been given, and we all know what that means!

 

It does say something that AI does give access to what could only be discovered with hours of research and frustration.  Now the frustration is almost immediate when you find out just what has been going on in your name with your money.

     And that is progress of a sort!

    

 

They are here somewhere!

  

The innocuous request by Suzanne to borrow a few of my books has thrown me into a controlled panic.

     The last time that my books were even in a system that offered some sort of coherent order (at least according to MY rules) was when I was in Cardiff.  The move from Cardiff to Catalonia necessitated the packing up of all my books for transportation.     

     And then, at the other end, it was impossible to unpack them all because of restraints of space.  It was equally impossible not to have the maximum number of books available for me to see so, as soon as I could, I brought boxes of books, piecemeal, from the storage facility where the bulk of them were imprisoned.  This approach meant that my books appeared in irregular consignments which also meant a fairly chaotic arrangement on the shelves as they became available.

     I am ashamed to admit that the ‘fluid’ arrangement of my books has never really been taken in hand, with the end result that volumes from different genres and Literary periods rest cheek by jowl on shelves that laugh at any attempt at justification for their co-habitation.

     I keep telling myself that this un-systematic-system makes for interesting juxtapositions, and I have rediscovered various volumes in searching for something else that have easily deflected me from my main purpose, while at the same time reacquainting me with texts that I last read half a century ago.  Or even longer.

     And the fact I can say that gives one pause for thought!

     But to the present.  I know that I own the books that Suzanne has asked me for, but I’m buggered if I can find them.  As is usual in these expeditions (or excavations as they should be more properly known) I have come across things that I had forgotten about, yes, ‘things’ because my shelves are not just repositories for books but also accommodate framed pictures, tools, a soft toy, clothes and – you get the point, a well-run and organized library is not what I have, or would enjoy if I actually did have it.  I take the injunction “Know Thyself” not quite with the seriousness of the ancient Greeks, but as a gentle reminded to be aware of at least some of my limitations, and the ability to be ‘tidy’ is the antithesis of my affinity with clutter. 

     So, I should accept who things are and make the best of things and hope that in some other rummaging, order (of some sort) will emerge.   

Possibly.

    

 

Here comes the rain!

 

 

There are few things as comforting as being inside, safe and dry, while rain hammers down outside.

     The first few drops of what has become a fully-fledged (with mobile phone alerts!) storm, complete with long rumbles of thunder and distant flashes of lightning has now arrived in full force.

     In the extended prelude to this storm, I sat outside the café of our local pool sipping my English Breakfast & Earl Gray Melange in a camply OTT faux (moulded) cut glass outsized cup when the first erratic drops fell.   

     But you could tell that rain was immanent because of the swarms of flies and mosquitos that flocked to my unprotected skin – in spite of the fact that I am Group A+ - and not their favourite tipple of Group O.  And these flies did not take an angry sweep for an answer, relying on their insect speed to avoid any exasperated hand movements, and resettle on the tastier parts of my epidermis with smug pity for my leaden reactions!

     It was when the spots of rain developed a more insistent rhythm that I decided to call it a day and pay up and go.  It turned out that I was ahead of the storm and reached the house before the weather truly broke.

     As is usual here in Castelldefels, even in the middle of a downpour, you can still see patches of blue in the sky as a visible sign of the unspoken promise of the weather in this area that, “this too will pass,” but with the added adjective proviso of, “soon”.  That, anyway, is what I believe.  It may sometimes be delusion, but like all firm delusions, it keeps me happy and hopeful!

 

I have spent some time re-editing a poem I wrote recently called, “On Looking Into the Eyes of a Hoverfly” the newest version of which can be found at

https://smrnewpoems.blogspot.com/

 

I have almost reached the stage where I could compile a slim volume of poetry based solely on the number of poems I have written on insect life and my interactions with it.  Though I won’t.   

Though I will try and add new work to that blog on a more regular basis than I have in the immediate past. 

     I do urge readers to click the “follow” button in my blogs so that you can get the most recent additions.

 

PS We have just had another mobile phone alert telling us that "the rain is going to stop soon" and with that message the rain instantly increased in intensity with a gratuitous roll of thunder complete with lightning!  Nature will not be digitally contained! 

 

To float at last!

 

Loath though I am to admit it, three weeks exile from the pool and ‘forced labour’ in the gym has had some sort of effect.

     Today was Liberation Day when the pool was finally reopened after the (extended) period of Maintenance work.  This grim period usually extends over a fortnight, and I can just about tolerate the regime of light-use machine work that I devise to fill up an hour of exercise.  But this year the work was over three weeks, and that extra week was almost unsupportable.

     With the liberal use of Kindle on my mobile phone for the bike and the walk, I am usually able to get through to the end of my stipulated period of torture and feel justified in my monthly payment which is specifically for Gym & Pool, so I am entitled to be there, in spite of my pointedly ignoring the gym for eleven-and-three-quarters months of the year.

     Yesterday I ritually knocked the dust from my shoes and vowed that my return to that particular circle of Hell would be no sooner than one long calendar year’s time, when the Maintenance work must begin again.

     Meanwhile, at 6.30 am this morning I was first into the water of the newly maintained pool and relaxed into the comfort of an adequately heated environment and started my swim/exercise that starts my usual day.

     And this is where what I have been doing for the past three weeks (apart from a few carless days) comes into its own.

     I start my ‘swim’ with physio approved exercises that when I first did them just after my knee operations made me yelp with pain.  Pain that was stonily ignored by the physio themselves (they were a moveable feast of considerate torturers) as they urged me to further exertions.  Now, using the cushion of the water’s hold, I can do the exercises with some ease, even the knee bends that at one time I thought would be impossible short of general anaesthetic!

     After about 30 minutes of stretches and bends and a couple of leg paddle lengths using floats, I start my swim proper with a push off from the end and crawl with my face submerged.  At one time I could do a length and a half with no real problem, but I have struggled to complete 20m of the pool in recent times.  So, it was with considerable surprise that I effort-fully managed to do a full length of the pool, which surely indicates that I have not been wasting my time during the pool closure.

     My swim was engagingly interrupted by other ‘regulars’ indicating by voice and air pumps their appreciation of the re-opened pool.  And, I should add, I do not mean to give a one-sided picture of the facilities of our city.  There are other pools that we could have used, quite apart from a chunk of the Med that runs along the southern edge of Castelldefels and an outdoor community pool for our houses.  But Our Pool is different, and to use other (lesser) pools (or seas) would be, somehow, verging on the treacherous.

     There are five lanes in our 25m pool, and, in theory, they can accommodate three people in each lane.  In practice, this is not true as the side lanes have steps leading into the water restricting the width, and more than two swimmers in those is uncomfortable.  Therefore, in total, the pool will work best with (at maximum) about 13 swimmers – if those swimmers are doing lengths and not socializing.

     It was, therefore, with some degree of horror that a mother and two young children arrived and entered MY lane.  If anyone needed a definition of sacrilegious, then there it was, in every splash.  I will reserve my wrath, unless this becomes an habitual invasion!

    

     Luckily by the time this invasion occurred I had reached the end of the swim part of my time and I was doing the final set of exercises, so I was able to complete my time at the opposite end of the pool, and propriety was observed.

     I am relying on the fact that this was the first day of the reopening of the pool and that the numbers generally tail off as we regulars soldier on.

 

Lunch today in the Pool’s restaurant, was preceded by a glass of Cava, a tradition that could (I mused) be extended to cover a glass before my swim each day. 

     A passing thought.  Though a tempting one!

 

 

Palau de la Música - Bacewicz, Schumann, Brahms, Liszt

 

After three days without a car, I was informed by the garage that they had, after extensive testing, hit a maker specific point of repair, which needed the car to go back to the dealer for the air con to be fixed.  It was impossible for them to complete the repair without the authorization of the dealer.

     This is woefully bad news as any recourse to the Dealership means big bucks at the end of the repair, and a long wait for an opportunity to spend your money as appointments are as difficult to get as if the dealership was a British doctor’s surgery!  But there appears to be little choice, and I know that the mechanic that I gave my car to will have used everything he knows to get the job done, so if he confesses to failure, then you really do have to bite the bullet and traipse all the way to the next town to get the job done.

     Meanwhile I comfort myself with the idea of a concert in the Palau tomorrow . . . which was now yesterday, if you see what I mean, a day having elapsed when blog intent did not make it to blog actual.

 

Given the tea in the café next to the parking garage that I use (if possible) which is the nearest to the Palau, is of truly awful vapidity, I resolved to take a couple of tea bags with me to augment and turn the thin earl grey into something drinkable.  I, of course, forgot the tea bags and debated whether to go to the mini market on the Via Laietana, buy some tea bags, go back to the car to store the excess, take two to the café and have a decent cuppa.  In the event I had forgotten about the mini market next to the parking so a box of PG Tips later I was able to have my tea and a more than decent brie, salmon and egg wrap, before the concert.

     A little housekeeping was necessary to change my ticket for United Nations Day into credit in the Palau as I will not be going to the opera that evening as I have other entertainment in mind!   

     That was no problem and I now have an inducement to look further afield in the range of concerts than the ones that I have purchased for some of my Saturdays with my season ticket.  Unfortunately, all the concerts in which I am interested work out to be much more expensive than the sum I have available but, that’s life – at least they gave me credit!

 

The concert opened with Bacewicz’s 1943, Overture – a short piece with some very expressive brass passages and some oddly lyrical softer passages.  I suppose it is somewhat crass to expect all music written at a time of crisis to reflect that tension in sonic terms, but even with some disconcertingly percussive moments there are also passages which are Gothically playful, but underlying all is an uneasy and sometimes frantic beat that leaves the listener edgily engaged.

     The opening of this piece sounded somewhat unsteady with the major culprits being the horn section.  The sound felt a little muffled, I am sure that the acoustic of the Palau does not favour this type of music.

     A composer worth pursuing.

 

The concerto was the 1850 Cello Concerto by Schumann adapted for viola and played by Sara Ferrández.   This was an odd experience in that the concerto is not overly assertive on the part of the solo instrument – even though it needs real virtuosity (which Ferrández certianly had) to make it work.

At the back of my mind was the fact that this was originally written for the cello, and at times it seemed to me that the viola was aping that instrument in its lower register.

     The soloist's line grew from the orchestra, and then blended with it.  Yes, there were moments when the viola soared over the orchestra, but this was a concerto where the solo instrument felt fully engaged in the totality of the music, and the depth of that engagement felt more profound than the showiness of its smaller cousin!

 

The concert really came alive in the second half.

     The first notes of the first Hungarian Dance by Brahms (orginally published over the years 1869 to 1880 and originally for piano four hands) graphically illustrated an orchestra comfortable with the lushness of sound and an ensemble playing that radiated enjoyment.

     God knows when I last listened to this music, but it all came flooding back (with the exception of Dance number 10 which was new to me) and I was able to join with the audience in giving the conclusion of the dances a tumultuous reception!

 

Symphonic Poem Number 3 from Les Préludes by Liszt (1854) was the concluding piece in the programme, a musical journey through life, death and transfiguration.

     The muted opening of the piece does not give you adequate preparation for the triumphant entry of the brass – and my recognition of the music!

     This was orchestral playing at its superlative best, and the final moments reduced me to tears.  What more can you ask from a musical experience!

 

Throughout the concert I ostentatiously consulted my Personal Listener’s Programme, produced under my direction by Chat.  I have decided to prepare for all the rest of my Operas and Orchestral Concerts by having Chat produce similar programmes which give introductions and crucially, ways of listening and further listening. 

     They also give me some space to jot down thoughts that I may have about the opening of the concert during the interval when I must move about a bit to make sure that my knees don’t set in place.

 

The next concert is a celebration of the music of John Williams, and that I expect to be a somewhat different experience.  Though I am interested to see what Chat can come up with to aid my listening pleasure!

 

 

We Can't Repair It!

 

 

My garage man has admitted defeat.  After three days of trying to sort out my faulty air con he has admitted that the only real solution is to take the car to the dealer as they have ensured that some aspects of the repair can only be completed by the dealership. 

     One would have thought that air con is hardly an essential system in the running of the car and that repairing it would be something that any tom dick or harry (should those have been capitalized?) would be able to do.  “But,” I was told, “your car is a hybrid,” and that means that all bets are off.

     Even I know that nowadays given the electronic complexity of cars even a simple jump start is something that doesn’t work in modern vehicles and any attempt to try such a positively medieval technique to get the vehicle going again could result in serious damage to both car and also to the human trying to get things moving again.

     My car has an engine and two (count them) two batteries.  This I discovered when one of them stopped working and so did the car.  This was another of those circumstances when ‘return to dealer’ was necessary to get things sorted out.  My problems with the air con are akin to those that you have with the printer.

     It used to be said in the old days of vinal, turntables, hi fi systems, and loudspeakers, that the weakest part of the system was the loudspeaker.  I took the word of whoever felt qualified to say such a thing, whereas my assumption was the disc itself was the most unlikely part of the system, where stereo sound of a full orchestra was coaxed out of a needle going up and down and side to side in micro grooves on a piece of circular plastic.  But what do I know about these things.

     But if records were inherently unlikely sources of rich orchestral sound, printers seem to be constructed to frustrate and infuriate the owner and user.

     I have no intention of restating the evil nature of the pricing of printing ink, making it one of the most expensive liquids that normal people buy, or the horror stories that are repeated all over the internet whereby printers have secret electronic tagging of the number of copies produced and insist that a printer is out of ink when some arbitrary number of copies has been reached, in spite of hearing said ink sloshing around when the ludicrously complicated engineering of the ink cartridge is shaken.  And why is there no standardization for the cartridges?  And yes, that is a rhetorical question.

     One of my printers (and yes, I have more than one, doesn’t everybody?) there are reservoirs for the ink which can simply be poured into the receptacle, and it doesn’t have to be the machines’ own make, any old ink will do.  If that works, why isn’t it standard for all bloody printers.

     The answers are obvious, and they are all to do with money.

     In the dark nights of the soul that visit everyone who has ever tried to print something that needs to be done ‘now’ so that it can be sent off today, knows – that is the time that the printers is at its best-worst.  As it tells you that it has run out of paper, in spite of the tray being well stocked with A4, that there is no cyan ink, in spite of the fact that you are printing text in simple black, that there is a paper jam in spite of the fact that there is no paper anywhere except where it should be.  And then there is the message that tells you that the printer is not connected when you are standing next to the bloody thing with a computer that is sending information to it.

     If you can deal with printers, the logic goes, you can deal with anything.  It is always encouraging, that in a world of ever-increasing technological sophistication, problems can often still be sorted out by the simple expedient of, “turn it off and on again”.

     Unfortunately, this technique does not extend to faulty air con systems in hybrid cars.  More’s the pity.

     I am building up my strength to deal with all the faff and expense of getting things done.

     At least the pool is open on Monday so I can swim my cares away!