A century already!

There are basic lessons that are imprinted on certain middle class children by their concerned parents.

One of these lessons is contained in the information that policemen are our friends and are there to protect us. This is a very different lesson from that taught to the ruling and so-called working classes. It was only when I went to university that I heard what I thought were members of my peer group refer to policemen in very uncomplimentary ways referring to occasions on which they had been held by the throats up against a wall by these defenders of our liberties at the end of a Saturday night. I, of course, dismissed these tall stories as products of fevered imaginations. And continue, stoutly, to do so. Indeed!

Anyway, one of the lessons I was taught by my mummy was to be polite and helpful and to be gallant where ladies were concerned. Thinking about it; that is actually more than one lesson, but the import of the lesson (or lessons) was the same: be nice and helpful (especially to ladies.)

This came to mind, as it were, this afternoon in Barcelona Airport. After a more than mediocre meal we (Toni and I) were walking towards the embarkation gate for Bristol when our way was blocked by a stereotypical Spanish woman (right down to the dark, long dress and the hair done in a bun) in a state of mild hysterics. Although she was sobbing in Spanish, you will be astonished to learn that I found the detail of what she was saying a little difficult to put in English. Toni was spasmodically helpful here, indicating in hurried asides that she had gone to the toilet and had emerged from the loo to find her entire family had disappeared.

So our role was clear: show sympathy; be efficient; get her help; find her family; go on our way with a warm glow of self satisfaction.

Which we did; in a way. Except. Except, on our last visit to Barcelona Airport Toni had had his backpack containing all his electronic equipment (too painful to list) stolen by a two person thieving pair, one part of which was an old lady!

How sad is it that experiences like that changes your perception of reality to such an extent that an old Spanish lady in distress becomes a figure of some threat? Those thieves stole more than electronic equipment.

So back to Britain: damp, cold Britain. I am fed up with returning from a reasonable climate to the sick joke that is my reception back in my native land. When Toni came to live in Britain they couldn’t open the door of the plane because of the tumultuous storm attacking our frail aircraft. Just to make the joke a little more ironic this time round, the spiteful, lashing rain waited until we were the Welsh side of the bridge to unleash itself in its immeasurable wrath.

It is at times like this that the lesson from a contemporary of my parents (my aunt Bet) contained on a postcard serves to put things in perspective:
“OK, so our trains may not run on time,
Our National Health Service is feeling the pressure,
Our schools don’t always get top marks,
But at least we still make
The Best Cup of Tea in the World!”

As philosophies go; or even as statements of national aspiration go, it doesn’t seem to me to be too bad.

On the other hand, I’m not well, I haven’t slept properly in over a week and it’s raining. I don’t think you should expect profundity from a cold ravaged, bitter returnee to these cold shores!

Tomorrow, however, as many have remarked, even thinking it profound, is another day.

Roll on! As indeed is this blog: one hundred 'issues' old today! Gosh! Until you think that, if this is a daily blog (as it mostly is) then you get to your century when you are just over three months old!

Everything is speeding up today!