When you don't know it's Sunday, its time to think!

 New Lockdown, thrid week, Sunday.

 

 

 

 

In theory this morning, I should have been surrounded solely by my fellow citizens of Castelldefels as I went on my accustomed bike ride.  During the weekends we are legally bound to keep within our municipalities.  Yesterday there was a police control on one of the roads coming off the motorway checking, well, asking people where they were from.  When we were asked and replied, “Castelldefels” w were further asked where in the city we lived.  Having given the answer, we were waved on without further ado or any checking.  To be fair, my car windscreen does have a Castelldefels parking permit, which could have been an indication that we were telling the truth.  Policing of the lockdown restrictions where we live has, you might say, been somewhat unobtrusive.

     Today is a bright, sunny morning – just the sort of day when you might feel like visiting the seashore and walking along our extensive paso.  There were no police in evidence anywhere along my ride at the key points where access roads from ‘outside’ allow entry to the beach area of the town.  And if we are relying on trust for these restrictions to work, then information and graphic videos from around the country and the world show just how ineffective relying on people to do the right thing can be.

     I did note today that although a majority of people passing me were not wearing masks (and I include those with the mask under the nose and one the elbow!) the minority who do wear their masks is slowly getting nearer to parity.  Perhaps by the time the first vaccines hit, we might actually have made 50%!

 

 

 

Cummings fall from grace echoes other ‘over mighty’ counsellors like Cromwell, More and Wolsey, with somewhat less fatal results.  Which some might bewail.  And I think that I will leave the last sentence there with its nice ambiguity!

     Cummings’ influence has been truly poisonous and it is difficult to feel any sympathy from a person who has shown so little in the execution of his duties.  The fiasco of the illegal lockdown trips for ‘child care’ and ‘eyesight testing’ had a direct influence on the way that the restrictions were perceived, and emphasised the ‘one law for them, another for us’ syndrome that is so clearly in evidence here in Spain too with the kid glove treatment of the criminal activities of the so-called king emeritus and his corrupt financial dealings.  At a time where unity of purpose is essential, establishment figures seem to go out of their way to undercut acceptance.

     Cummings should not be the story; Covid and its management in the UK is the essential narrative that we should be concerned with, though Johnson must be terrified that he is going to become the intense focus of attention, and he will have to step up and take some sort of responsibility for the chaos that characterises his method of ‘government’.

     To be fair to Johnson, I do not for a moment believe that he has any ethical rock or ideological motivation.  It is, of course, unreasonable to expect a narcissist to be anything other than self-regarding and as, by definition, he cannot be wrong, he will continue to find others to take the blame for his own deadly incompetence. 

     All Johnson has to do is look over the Atlantic to see a master class in the survival game that he wants to play.  Trump’s reasoning is, “If I am losing an election then it must be rigged.”  Simple, elegant and criminally deranged. 

     This is the game plan that means that the population of the UK has to be blamed for the increase in Covid infection and not the people elected to manage its containment: the greater the numbers the more at fault those being infected are!  There is a sort of evil elegance to such reasoning.  And, of course the PBI not only get to suffer but also get to pay for their suffering! 

     Modern Conservatism to a ‘T’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Daddy, what did you do during lockdown?”

     Yet another re-working of the First World War recruitment poster is an accusation to those of us with time on our hands to think about what we have made of the extra ‘space’ imposed on us.

     I should be writing.  I know that I am merely by keeping this blog up to date, but the writing that I am thinking about is what starts in my notebook and is sometimes worked up into poems.  As I have explained before, my routine has been shot by my not being able to go for a swim and then to have my reward of a cup of tea in the pool café, where I then write in my notebook.

     I know that it should be perfectly easy for me to write in it at any other time – but it just doesn’t work out like that.  So, my writing has been a little desultory.

     I have therefore decided to do something different and (for me) interesting.

     I am going to compile a Catalogue Raisonné of the art works that I own.

 

 

 

 

     Not only is a Catalogue Raisonné something which is necessary for insurance purposes [that sounds a bit forced, but at the same time there is an element of truth to it] but also it will, I am sure, bring to the surface some ‘art works’ that have been unduly neglected over the past few years. 

     What, for example, am I going to class as artworks?  The small penguin figure made by a youthful Pat Giles in Rumney Pottery and bought by me as a present for my grandmother, will certainly count.  But what about the Coty bunny (without the bottle of Coty L’aimant in its little paws) bought as the final present my mother recognized getting from me?  Surely, that counts?  If Duchamp can have ‘readymades’ then I should be entitled to ‘bought objects with emotional charge’ as part of the catalogue!

     From where I am sitting typing this I can see four, framed ‘works’.  The first (and largest) is an ink drawing that I bought when I was a student in Swansea; the second is a page from an artist’s sketchbook; the third an elegant ‘joke’ birthday card where a penguin (a recurrent visual theme in my life) is treated in the style of various modern artists; the fourth is four framed medals of my paternal grandfather from his time in the British Army in The First World War.

     The great thing about a Catalogue Raisonné is that it has nothing to do with monetary worth (the ‘insurance thing’ was just a ploy to get me started and give a facile ‘purpose’ to the enterprise) but the written description that accompanies the objects can hint at the true non-monetary value.

     Then there is the question of my watches – not one of which is truly (or in some cases even remotely) valuable – but they do have a sort of worth and many have excellent design and they are worthy of consideration.

     So, far from being something which is static and visual art fixated, my Catalogue Raisonné will be dynamic, its scope changing with its development and how I look at what I possess.

     I’ve just thought, what about my (pitifully) small number of first edition books?  (Peake, Coward, Huxley) and my older tomes, like Swift – and when I say like Swift, I mean just Swift.  They too have a place.  And it will be fun finding out exactly how the condition of these books is described and replicating the language in my personal catalogue!

     The first thing to do is begin to take photos of what I have and then put them in the inevitable booklet that is my default position when confronted with a visual and writing project.

     I will start at once!

We are all in this together. Really!

 New Lockdown, Day 15?, Friday

 

I thought of entitling this piece ‘Selfish Disaster’ because we have been told in Catalonia that the closure of bars, restaurants, gyms, theatres, opera houses and SWIMMING POOLS etc is to be extended for at least another ten days.  Another ten days without my early morning swim!

     And then I thought that, in the scheme of things, going without a swim for a couple of weeks more is hardly to be compared with the ravages of Covid 19 and the people who are in hospital or are recovering from so-called ‘long Covid’.

     And then I thought again and realized that another ten days could well be the tipping point in the survival of some businesses and, as businesses fail so they set off a sort of chain reaction, dragging in both direct suppliers and those suppliers who are indirectly connected with the enterprises.  In an inter-connected world when one suffers, we all suffer – though I do of course recognize that not taking part in a particular activity (swimming, eating out, watching opera, shopping) is not the same as not keeping your business going.  I don’t swim, I am repaid my monthly membership fee or fraction thereof – the club has something like 2,000 members: it’s a lot of money to pay out and get nothing back, while keeping the buildings and installations in good condition.  The Club is well run and seems to be financially stable, even with the financial blows that Covid gives, but for how long can this continue?  And what is happening to the employees?  And the suppliers?

     Just as Covid respects no boundaries, the financial, social, educational, structural damage being done is not discrete: everything joins to everything else.  My missed swim is inconvenience to me, is a livelihood threatened to others.

     On the other hand, avoiding death is worth a little inconvenience, indeed it is worth a great deal of inconvenience – and one only hopes that we have governments considerate enough to understand that interdependence means generous finance.

 

 

 

My greatest worry (after the destructive effects of Covid) is about the condition of the Heath Service.

     In Catalonia, as I can personally attest from hospitalized personal experience, our Health Service is excellent.  I was lucky enough to have my condition diagnosed and my superb treatment given at a time when the health services were not being overstretched by a pandemic.  I am sure that if I went through what I did a couple of years ago, now – would I be treated in the same way?

     I was taken to hospital in an ambulance that arrived before my consultation with the doctor had actually ended.  I was seen immediately in hospital.  I was treated and given a place on a ward where my treatment continued.  I spent eight days (and longer nights) in hospital.  My aftercare has been exemplary.  Even then I spent some time on a bed in what was a corridor in emergency before I got a bed in a ward.

     Since the Covid pandemic has been in Catalonia, I have had a scheduled appointment for blood extraction and a consultation with the doctor that I have seen throughout my treatment – and my next one is in six months’ time.  I have no complaints.

     But my extraction and consultation were over in minutes, there were no complications, no expensive treatments that needed medical intervention.  What, I ask myself, is happening to those who need more intrusive medical assistance?  For those who need minor operations or who need continuing cancer treatment?

     The answer is perhaps illustrated on television, by the number of adverts that we are now subjected to which urge us to take out private medical insurance.  Even the threat of delay is enough to frighten some into paying now in the hope that they will be able to queue jump some time in the future.

    

In the UK the Conservative ‘government’ has underfunded the NHS and privatized those parts of the organization that it thinks it can get away with.  The Tories disgraceful outsourcing of the Test and Trace shows their dedication to the private sector and their hope that Brexit will merely accelerate the transition from the lie of “The NHS is safe in our hands” to “The NHS is mostly there for those who can’t pay” - and they will get what they do not pay for.  Covid has a fair chance of destroying a meaningful health service free at the point of need with the bunch of self-seeking incompetents that we have in charge.

 

 

What Covid has shown is how weak our public services are after years of Conservative ‘austerity’ and the post-Covid new-normal must be one where those public services are brought up to pre-Covid levels and more autonomy must return to local councils, so people can live.

     There is, of course, an element of hypocrisy in all this: my swimming pool is private, a private club run for profit.  The municipal pool is at the other end of town and up a steep hill which, even with an electric bike, I am not enthusiastic to climb.  I made a choice because I can afford to make that choice and I have gone for the pool nearest my home (leaving aside for the moment the sea which is at the end of the road) and the most convenient.  I have disposable income that I choose to spend on a well-appointed pool and in a cheerful café, I can even say that it is good value: I go there every day to swim and I end up paying about 50p for the privilege.  Money well spent I say!

     The US of A shows us that private medical health care is a nightmare and where a broken leg could be ruinous. 

     I am a fit and well chronically ill person!  I enjoy life but have to take pills every day and periodically go for consultations to check my progress.  It is no hardship; more mild inconvenience, and I know that I am being looked after well and I have no worries about the quality of my care.

     The New Normal is going to be different.  We have a duty to remind the government where its priorities should lie.

A Resolution?

 

NEW LOCKDOWN: Day 9, Saturday.

 

An unsettled sleep, not because of cheese eating too late at night, but rather because we were awakened at 5 am by raised voices and the flashing lights of police cars. 

 

 

 

It turned out that an empty property next door but one had been occupied by a person who was homeless and the alarm system had alerted the police.  Given how loud the altercation was I was amazed by how uninterested our neighbours were, or perhaps by how soundly they were sleeping!

     Eventually three or four police cars were involved and a white van which had the locksmith.  So, after the shouting had settled down and the man was escorted away from the premises, we then had to contend with early morning drilling as the lock was changed and the outside gate was made ‘safe’.

     All the disruption allowed/forced me to look at my mobile and to gnash my teeth with frustrated impotence at the unchanging nature of Biden’s Electoral College vote.  And it was raining.  Which made my eventual earlyish morning bike ride a damper and more bracing event than usual.  Though I think that I have now worked out how to get my new watch to note my exercise and download it to the accompanying app.  Usually.

     The generally sullen climate and cloud covered skies forced me to turn on the newly installed (by me) light on the bike and I therefore blazed my way through the puddles and other stretches of standing water along the paseo.  The heavens only really opened as I got near home, so thought I was wet by the time I locked the bike up, I was not soaked and a few minutes in the tumble dryer was sufficient to get my shorts dry and warm and a quick towel was enough for other extremities.

     Considering how dull and unfriendly the conditions were, there were plenty of runners, joggers, striders and dog walkers.  We bike riders were definitely in the minority, but from our privileged position we are better able to observe the looks of dull, apathetic acceptance that runners and walkers possess when they are going about their voluntary exercise.  You don’t see many smiles from those on foot; you half expect to see electronic tags around their ancles ensuring that they complete their punishment.  There is nothing like freewheeling to show that you are living a life apart from the foot sloggers!

     So, after my ride, damp and self-congratulating, I yet again checked my mobile and then started to work out where the US of A must be in time relationship to us.  When you start that computation by saying to yourself, “Well, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, so when it is lunchtime here, they must be waiting for lunchtime there” you realize that the accuracy is going to be limited.

     And, anyway, the glacial counting of ballots by some of the states is obviously being governed by a completely different time system altogether but, with the wisdom of past assemblies in my mind, “This too will pass” encourages patience and eventually even the Byzantine electoral system of that wondrous collection of states has come up with a result and, to the general delight of all my friends, Biden is going to be the 46^th President of the United States of America.

     And this is a time to rejoice and be exceeding glad, because One-Term Trump is dumped; or at least in our reality that is what has happened.  In a scenario that surely cannot be true, and yet with Trump anything is possible, he is scheduled to make some sort of speech in the Four Seasons Total Landscaping which is situated next to an Adult Bookstore.  You can’t make these things up!  With Biden at 290 Electoral College votes and counting, Delusional One-Term is not only claiming that he has won, but that he has “won by a lot”.  It is more than likely that the frivolous litigation will be blown away like the insubstantial shadows that they are and then we will be in for a most unedifying period from now to the January inauguration of the new President.

     How will Trump ‘play’ the transition?  I cannot imagine his being gracious in facilitating a smooth hand over of power!  And I cannot imagine many of Biden’s appointments to governmental agencies even wanting the half-wits that Trump imposed to pretend that they know anything useful about their positions.  Can you imagine Betsy DeVos having a meaningful conversation with a Democratic replacement about any aspect of education after one has listened to her embarrassingly revealing confirmation hearing?

     It is a long time from November to January, and during that time Trump will be president.  He still has the capacity and the wilfulness to create mischief.  Trump deliberately ignored briefings during his transition period to bring him up to speed with the workings of government: apart from the civil servants in government, who is there in the Trump ‘Administration’ who is capable of giving a meaningful briefing to incoming politicians!

     And can you see Trump sitting quiescent in the audience behind the new President in the company of other past presidents as the inaugural address is being made?  Carter, Clinton and Obama are Democrats, and Bush loathes him.  He is going to feel very isolated, especially if the other presidents are welcoming and civilized in the way they treat him.  Trump could usefully spend the months until January practicing his “naughty boy sulking, hands between his legs, tie dangling” stance that he adopts when with any other leader who momentarily takes attention away from himself.  Will he turn up?  Will he be able to bear it?

     Or will Trump take the opportunity of the next few weeks before the inauguration to stir up his base and encourage them to come to the ceremony with the intention of disrupting it?

     It is perhaps a sign of my desperation that I take encouragement from TikTok and brief videos that show young Trump supporters folding up their Trump banners and posting messages of support for the President Elect.

     Perhaps, after everything, reason will prevail and healing can begin.