My second day of unaccustomed lie-ins, and frankly, I’ve had enough. The idea of getting up early is so engrained in me that any lingering in bed is effort not easement. So, I will be up and about by 6.15 am tomorrow and be getting ready for my swim.
Assuming that it is not raining, I will be using my bike to get to the pool. Apart from immediately after the spill, the only bike ride I have had was this morning when I went out in bright sunshine to have an exploratory jaunt – not geographically (my route is set) but to see how my legs held out.
I have already sort-of forgotten the pain of the original accident and I am more concentrated on the sharp reminders that come every time I get up and start walking, when the scab-mending skin on my knees stretches.
It is easy to imagine while cycling that the tugging irritation of the scabs is going to result in cracks and on your return, you will have to mop up the rivulets of blood from opened wounds. There was nothing like that, and so I am going to assume that the repairs to my epidermis are progressing well, and certainly well enough to take a little light swimming tomorrow morning.
We shall see.
Our Sunday lunch usually comes from the local pollo a last and today was no exception. The only difference was that I went to get the food at midday because we reasoned, with the lack of food outlets open thanks to the new lockdown regulations, other people would be thinking of the quality take-away that is normally popular in less trying times.
In the PC (Pre-Covid) days, you had to take a printed number and wait your turn. That process has been dispensed with and now we have to queue, in masks with social distancing. When I got there, very early for lunch, there were only three people ahead of me. By the time I left the queue was considerably longer. I had arrived at the tipping point of the queue and just made it before the masses descended!
Given the fact that we have been in some sort of lockdown for eight or nine months we have to think about what used to be ‘normal’ when we go about our daily lives. We do not expect to go out as much, to meet as many people to do the ordinary things that used to be part of a way of life.
It is easy to live near the sea in what is a seaside town and see people doing what they have always done. People walk and cycle and take the dog out. Over the weekends, in spite of forceful recommendations, we know that we have many more than the locals walking along the paseo by the side of the beach and the sea. We have the runners and the walkers and the families. Many of them are local, I recognize them daily as I go on my bike ride along the paseo the length of Castelldefels, but many are strangers who have come (as they have always come) to one of the visitor friendly beach resorts near Barcelona.
I am still shocked at the number of people who, walking along the paseo, don’t wear masks or wear them under their noses. Some wear them on their elbows on hold them in a hand and some show no evidence of any mask at all. It is at this point that I wonder about what these people think is happening around them, what do they think the word ‘pandemic’ means? What do they think that their individual place in society demands? As it is all I do is mutter “Covidiota!” under my breath and cycle on.
Tomorrow, Monday, is the first day that the new restrictions will hit home, with parts of Castelldefels being fairly desolate places without the people and movement that come with thriving (even at 30% - 50% occupancy) of bars and restaurants.
Tomorrow is the Name Day of Toni’s sister. We would normally make the trip up to Terrassa for an evening meal and the distribution of presents. Now everything has to be put on hold as I have no intention of moving outside my little Castelldefels bubble, and that disinclination has state approval.
It does make me wonder about the sense of going to the opera. On the one hand I do want to support the arts and t has been a long time since I was last in the Opera House in Barcelona – the last season was delayed and then cancelled. My birthday is the date of the first opera of the new season. But how can such a gathering be justified when bars and restaurants are closed? How can the Liceu do better than small, more easily managed venues? I have to admit that I am still in two minds about the safety of the forthcoming experience.
We have been told that tickets for the performance will be sent to us via email; it is now six days away and I have had nothing. I assume that Monday will be the day that we get final information about where we are sitting and our allotted seats have been changed in the interests of safety. This is one experience that I am still debating taking.
Although my birthday celebrations have shrunk somewhat, I am already looking forward to greeting guests to the celebrations for the Completion of My Seventieth Year in October 2021. DV.
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