Concerned? Write!

 

 

I am determined to write something which related to my next book.  I have written notes and sketched out possible content, but I haven’t formally written a passage which could be part of the finished product.  I feel that I am at the stage where the writing of anything is better than writing nothing, just to get me going.  I do realize that what I write today may well be discarded in the future, but that junked writing is usually a way of forming my literary path forward to what I regard as a satisfactory conclusion.

     What makes the writing more difficult is that I am attempting to use a central theme as the unifying element in a book that will be composed of a number of discrete parts.  If it is not to be too ‘bitty’ then the theme will have to play a major role in the cement keeping the whole thing together.

     I will be able to work on the detail of the different parts, but they will only be effective if I can unite them in a way that is not too forced.

     Any writing I do tonight, will be a way of keeping my mind off what is happening (or perhaps not happening) in a certain dinner party in Brussels where one of the politicians in whom I have no trust whatsoever is seeing himself as a sort of White Knight bravely jousting his way in the savage lair of the EU and staunchly defending the national freedoms that he has done so much to imperil!   

     I truly believe that Johnson is coward enough to risk a no-deal outcome rather than get a deal which, while it might be good (or at least better than no deal) for the country would do little for his prestige and life in the Conservative party.  But, sufficient unto the day and all that, let’s wait (again) to see what happens.  But I remain pessimistic and, let’s face it, I have the evidence of the last four and a half years to justify depression when I see Conservative politicians going to Europe to do their thing!

 

The swimming pool was substantially emptier today now that the Puente is over and people are back to work.  I managed to do my entire swim in a lane to myself, so that always starts me off in a good mood for the day.

 

I am hearing more people express qualified doubts about early acceptance of the vaccines.  The rumour mills are working overtime and I have already heard a number of what I think are unsubstantiated claims of reactions to the drugs.  Considering how few have actually been vaccinated, it is truly remarkable how quickly people are speaking authoritatively about them.  I am still, however, staunchly in the early adopter camp.  All I need now is someone somewhere to offer me a jab.

     At present I am not clear about how Spain and Catalonia are going to roll out the vaccinations, but I am determined not to be disappointed if I get mine sometime in April.

     I have also noted that some experts are saying that we should get used to the wearing of masks for virtually the whole of next year, with next winter being a time when we will need to be especially careful, no matter who has had the vaccine.  An important point was made by one expert who said that being vaccinated did not meant that the individual was incapable of spreading the virus to others, only that the person would be unlikely to suffer the effects of the virus personally. 

     This is going to be a very difficult message to get across, as it is much more likely that people will consider themselves immune as soon as they are injected and make the assumption that they are safe, when they most assuredly are not.

     Well, if nothing else, it will give me the opportunity to purchase a daffodil mask that I will wear on St David’s Day, March 1^st, 2021!

 

Give him the bloody tape, for God's sake!

It is not just the uncanny physical resemblance that makes the Trump Baby Blimp so compelling, not even the tiny hand clutching a mobile phone, no, it is the nappy.

Nappies are needed when you are incontinent and, by the lord, Trump is nothing if not that.  Admittedly we need to take the incontinence as a metaphor as we are also assured that Trump is a germophobe - though considering the walking, breathing louses with which he surrounds himself that designation should be taken with a pinch of salt - or insecticide.

His form of incontinence is as though he has recently read Macbeth (fond hope!) and taken to heart one of the eponymous hero’s thoughts (I use the word ‘hero’ because Trump likes dictatorial murderers)

            “The very firstlings of my heart shall be

            The firstlings of my hand.” (IV.i.153)

No sooner does the Orange Monster think of something than his twitching fingers seek out those fatally attractive buttons and the world is made privy to his inchoate meanderings.

I do not wish to labour the link to a deluded, misanthropic, paranoid, unfeeling psychopath as I feel that Macbeth would be insulted by the comparison and would further state that when he betrayed his best friend he did have the good grace to give a very public display of guilt and continue to suffer from that betrayal until his death.  Trump, on the other hand, has such a towering ego that he even out-knives that ruthless political practitioner from my youth: Mac the Knife aka Harold Macmillan, Conservative prime minister from 1957-1963, characterised by one of the better  Private Eye front covers:

Trump in his relatively short time in power has been indiscriminate in his scattergun attempts to blast his many, many enemies.  At least Macmillan’s targets were ‘reputable’ figures of some social and political standing (well, they were Conservatives so. . . ) whereas Trump is so much more of a bully than he is ruthless and is prepared to take on all comers be they great or small or very, very small.

Anyway, ‘incontinent’ is the key word for Trump and it certainly describes how he procedes, and his ‘approach’ to his high office has come to some sort of crunch point with his fawning, lickspittle visit to Helsinki.

Actually, I am not 100% convinced that the generally accepted view that the Kremlin has kompromat on Trump is totally correct.  Trump knows that if there is a tape somewhere of him pissing on prostitutes or watching them pissing on each other, it’s not going to do him any real harm.  Well, as long as he doesnt care about his reputation, which is now so deflated that even all the hot air bluster from one of his acutely embarrassing rallies will not reinflate it.  As a proven liar, racist, homophobe, sexist, mob-friendly, unfeeling, family-buster etc etc etc monster, a little episode of Golden Showers will only add to the mystique of convention-bending horror that has characterised his presidency.

But say there is a tape or some form of clear evidence that he has behaved in a (for previous presidents at least) disgraceful way, and say further that that evidence is held in the bloody assassin’s hands of Dictator Putin, surely, even the repressive Murderer by Nerve Agent must be getting just a little embarrassed by Trump’s belly-up please scratch me approach.

Consider the unfolding disaster that was Trump’s visit to Europe.  By the time he arrived in Helsinki he had questioned the existence of NATO and roundly insulted virtually all the members of that organization; he treated the EU with contempt and actually called it a ‘foe’ of the United States; he insulted his host country of Britain, undermining the Prime Minister while actively talking-up the reputation of the Blond Buffoon; he insulted the Mayor of London with slurs and lies and stated that there were many demonstrations in his favour.

How much does Trump have to do before his Russian Masters are satisfied.  They are not quite as childish as he and they must be choking on the embarras de richesses that the so-called president is giving them: it’s rapidly becoming something out of the mind of Marx - and I don’t mean the one buried in Highgate.

I suppose that Fox and Friends could spin it so that the clear absurdity of the craven position of what used to be the office of the most powerful person in the world towards the 11th or 12th ranked country in terms of GDP, could be seen as a clever and ironic joke, the patent ridiculousness of Trump’s position inviting laughter at the way that the Russians simply lapped it all up!  Unfortunately Trump has no sense of irony as that would indicate a subtelty of which his wrecking ball metality is clearly incapable.

So, with NATO, the EU, the UK, traditional alliances - all in chaos, what else does Putin want his lumbering poodle to do?  What else can he do?  Unless Trump starts bombing Europe - but Putin would not want that as the radioactive clouds would blow towards the homeland.

It is at times like these that I think back to the doomsday scenario that accompanied the 1964 Republican election campaign of Barry Goldwater for President - you see, I can put a capital letter there on the title of the office because, compared with Trump, Goldwater was a thoughtful statesman - that we in Britain shuddered about as we contemplated such a political wrecker getting anywhere near the nuclear triggers.   

The ghost of Goldwater must be howling in whatever section of hell is reserved for unregenerate Republicans as he sees a Republican president lauding a Russian murderer above the security and intelligence services of the United States!

Some people on both sides of the political divide are using the term ‘traitor’ to describe what Trump is doing and has already done.  I am tempted to bring the term to Britain as well and suggest that what is going on as far as Brexit is concerned has much more to do with personal and political power and its retention than anything to do with the state of the nation.

God help us all!

I shall now, in an updated version of Candide’s actions, go and cultivate my sun tan!

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Reality will bite!

The twenty-somethingth of this month is going to be significant for me.  On that date I will have to take an examination in Spanish for which I am supremely unprepared.

It was not really my choice to ‘go on’ to the next level in the language at the start of the year, but my (vicious?) teacher encouraged me to progress with comforting words of specious consolation.  I had not, to be fair, ‘nailed’ the last examination – though I got a pass and a certificate that (I think) is the minimum basic level of Spanish competence that will get me nationality – as long as I pass the accompanying examinations on my knowledge of Spanish culture, politics, administration, Real Madrid and the King.

That examination I am not too worried about.  The knowledge needed is factual (though partial) and I know that I can cram for that with no problems.  The problems come with the reality of what Spanish nationality can mean.  As far as I can see, Britain and Spain do not recognize dual nationality.  Indeed, at the moment, what is the point of dual nationality when we are both part of the same EU?  But, thanks to the “lower than vermin” Conservatives and the idiot Brexit voters, that is all about to change.

In a few years time I will be effectively disenfranchised.  After 15 years residence in a foreign country I will no longer be allowed to vote in British elections.  As I am not a Spanish citizen I cannot vote in national elections in this country and, when we leave the EU, I will not be allowed to vote in local elections.  I will then be in the situation where I am taxed in both countries and allowed to exercise my democratic rights in neither.  My freedom of movement will be curtailed and, although it appears that I will have the right to stay on in Spain, I may have to apply for residence and I will certainly lose my present rights to move to and settle in any country in the EU.

After the well documented economic effects of the Brexit self-harm become a reality, it is highly likely that my pension will be further reduced.  The value of the pound has fallen since the announcement of Brexit and I expect it to fall further when Brexit becomes real.  My pension is paid in pounds sterling and is taxed at source and then transferred to my Spanish bank where the total has bought fewer and fewer euros as the disastrous chasm draws nearer.

The present state of my health necessitates regular visits to hospital for check-ups and controls.  I see my doctor regularly and I have a scheduled series of tests stretching into the summer.  I take daily medication for which I pay a token amount.  All of this could change.  At present, although I do not pay it, the real cost of my medical treatment is printed on the information that I am sent.  The treatment of EU national resident in Britain has been scandalously heartless.  The reputation of The Home Office has been comprehensively shredded as more and more examples of callous administrative indifference or active antagonism come to light.  Why shouldn’t EU countries reciprocate? 

Our Prime Minister is the shameless architect of the “hostile environment” and she is presiding over a country where voiced xenophobia is becoming mainstream.  She, and her riven, minority government are disgraceful and in no way reflect my attitudes and ethos, but she and her squabbling rabble are the public faces that the EU sees and I, and people like me, are likely to be the collateral damage from an ideology-driven Brexit that serves (some of) the Conservative Party and ignores those likely to be worst affected by it.

Which brings me back to the solution to my Brexit problems (well, at least some of them) – becoming a Spanish citizen.  As I have no intention of returning to the UK except as a visitor, it makes sense to link myself more closely to my chosen country.  We will leave to one side the question of Catalan independence, and concentrate on what is, at present, on offer.

I have zero intention of giving up my British citizenship.  Though I may be thoroughly depressed at what I observe of the present Daily Mail encouraged right wing exclusivity in the country, I take some comfort from the “This Too Will Pass” school of philosophical tranquillity and fondly believe that sense will eventually prevail and all manner of things will be well.  However, the immediate future demands action and Spanish citizenship seems one realistic way of combating some of the fall-out from the Brexit collapse.

No matter how much rumination I indulge in, there is no alternative but to cough up the readies and buy in some legal advice.  We are now in the tax return season and I do have someone who has done my tax returns and in my next meeting I will start making serious enquiries about the practicalities of citizenship and will-making and all the other little bits and pieces that make for a quiet life in a foreign country!

The necessity for speed has been emphasised by the breathlessness that I experienced on returning from a shopping visit to Aldi to get the necessary stuff for Toni’s birthday meal.  I was glad that I wasn’t alone and that the fetching and carrying was shared, but I still felt exhausted on our return.  This is not good, and such exhaustion concentrates the mind wonderfully. 

Whether that leads to action, well, that’s another question entirely!

Things are different?

When I was a kid . . .

There probably isn’t a greater turn-off opener than that one.  It is the sort of phrase that is regularly used as a weapon by the older against the perceived privilege of the young.  There is nothing that riles a certain proportion of the older generation that seeing a very young child with a mobile phone.  And especially the young child using it with a proficiency that the resentful oldie can only wish for.

Technology means that kids have things like music players, film players, TV, radios, cameras and, yes, telephones way before the generation that includes me ever had, but – just think about what my generation had and continues to have.

Free milk, free school, university grants, free university tuition, full professional employment, good health care, generous pension scheme, professional retirement at 60 with professional pension, state pension at 65, membership of the EU throughout my working life, free access to foreign countries within the EU, access to the work markets of the EU, and so on.

Yes, my parents did not buy a television until I was 11, though we did have the radio.  I did not have a ‘real’ record player until I was in my teens, though I had had a second hand wind up version with some old 78s for one birthday.  Our holidays were usually in the UK and in B&Bs, though I did go to Spain when I was 7, and I was the only kid in my year in primary school who had been abroad.  Our camera was a Kodak box camera, until we had the next model up, eventually – and those two camera kept us going for years and years and years.

Although we were not rich as a family, I did not lack anything important.  I was loved and secure and, most importantly (as I was really too young to truly worry about the Cuban missile crisis) I felt secure.  I felt that I had a future and that I would easily be able to get a job and that I would be able to keep it for the whole of my career.

How many young people today can say as much?  I know younger colleagues in teaching who are dreading the extra years that they will have to work until they are able to retire and I sympathetically share their dread, though I cannot imagine what the awful reality must be like.  In my view you cannot be a classroom teacher beyond the age of 60 in any sort of normal school.  Forcing people to work beyond that is like a sort of death sentence, or at the very least they are not going to be paying many pensionable years for the unfortunates who are able to make it.

This serious thought was brought on my thinking about cartoons.  One channel on the television this year has been given over to a whole series of ‘blockbuster’ animated films and I am constantly amazed at their quality.  There was a scene of one of the monsters from Monsters Inc II where he was sitting by the side of a lake in moonlight which was stunning, a beautifully rendered part of the film.  And in another film I was fascinated by the sheer complexity of the rendering of hair and fur with a naturalness that would have had early animators reaching for their crucifixes!

It used to be that Christmas would see the latest-old Bond film trotted out to general delight, but I am not sure nowadays that there is a single screen franchise that would bring viewers together now in the way that 007 did.  After the gloriously clever first film of the 'Pirates' franchise, for example, the whole series descended into a narrative nightmare which denied coherence to the story, but did give individual moments of success, as for example in the umpteenth film when the company baddy walks, with manic serenity, down a flight of steps as his ship is destroyed about him.  It is a sublime moment and deserves a better film around it!

But the mechanics of showing films have changed.  When I was in school we did have 'Christmas Treat' films.  The two I remember are 'Fanstasia' and Tony Hancock's 'Punch and Judy Man' - the first we loved and the second we hated.  But both these films were shown via a film projector, the cans of film had been rented and were shown projected onto a screen.  In an age when films are available on your phone, the attitude towards a 'grand' production has changed somewhat!

So time, place, technique, everything has changed, and the 'gift' of a major film at Christmas is not longer the 'treat' that it once was.

But for me, at least, the power of a great animated film, something like 'Up' for example has me as glued to the picture as if I were a child watching fireworks - and you only have to see my open mouthed wonder and fixation with exploding rockets to understand how quickly I can regress to childhood!

Perhaps cartoons are the nearest things we get to keep us together, to bring back the sense of wonder that over exposure to CGI in so-called reality films has taken away.