Ease of expression

New Lockdown, third week, Monday

 These are the first words that I have typed with my new keyboard.  After many years of good-natured abuse of my previous keyboard, it has finally, if not quite given up the ghost, then it has decided to be whimsical with it allowing certain key keys to work.  It is difficult and frustrating to have to check every word that contains an ‘e’ or an ‘i’ to find out whether the damn thing has worked.

     Rather than allow my default position to come into play (i.e. buying new immediately) I allowed myself to be influenced by Toni who suggested (not unreasonably) that, armed with cotton buds and wet wipes, I attempt first to clean the thing.

     A determined cleaning of a keyboard is immensely shaming because of the sheer amount of filth that you are able to dislodge from between the keys (in spite of the fact that you had, you really had gone over the keyboard regularly with moist tissues to clean it) and the shocking amount of detritus that falls out when you turn the keyboard upside down and gently knock it about a bit.

     And, I managed to convince myself, it all really made a difference.  Except it didn’t, and wishful thinking does not supply missing letters, but Amazon does.

     So, within hours of placing the order, I am now the proud and much poorer possessor of a new Magic Keyboard. 

     The new version of the keyboard is smaller and thinner that what I suppose I ought to refer to as my old ‘vintage’ keyboard.  The function keys are the same size as the letter keys and the rechargeable battery is built in and charged via a lightening thingy.  There is less key travel than in my old one, and the old separate tack pad looks as though it comes from a separate universe and is nothing like the same size and colour as the new keyboard.  But it works and I am damned if I am going to pay Apple prices for purely aesthetic cosmetic reasons – which possibly shows that I am not a ‘true’ Apple owner!

      So far, so good.  The keyboard appears to be working well and it is a relief not to have to look at each word with suspicion to see if the most common vowel has made an appearance!

 

 

 

There is something deliciously ironic about Johnson having to self-isolate while averring that No 10 is a Covid-secure environment, in spite of publicity photographs released showing Johnson without a mask and inside the appropriate physical distance from the MP who later proved to be Covid positive.  Johnson doesn’t really seem to learn from past infections.  But then ¡he doesn’t really seem to learn essential lessons from anything, so perhaps no surprise there.  Again.

     And to think this was the week that Johnson was going to re-set his chaotic ‘government’ after breaking friends with his bestie and finally going to get the easiest trade agreement in history.  Withering contempt does not even come close to what I feel for that vicious charlatan.  Well, he won’t have Cummings to blame for things going less than well (!) when the end of the year finds the UK totally unprepared for anything that is likely to happen.

 

I spent my time on the bike this morning wondering if I would get back home before the rains.  It was one of those day when what you thought the day was going to be like depended on which direction you looked in: to the south east the sky was bright and there was some glimpses of sun; to the north west the low cloud cover was dark and, as I cycled nearer to Port Ginesta I actually put my lights on!

     In the UK, I would have said that rain was inevitable, but by the time I had turned around at Port Ginesta and started to make my way back, the sun came out and, although not entirely convincing, it hung around for a while to make the journey more positive.

     Now, we are in the customary ‘brightly dull’ weather at which Castelldefels excels. And which gives hope for future sunshine.  I hope that is frequently realized, even when things look hopelessly dank!

 

The first steps have been taken towards making a Catalogue Raisonné of my ‘artistic’ holdings a reality.  I don’t think that there is any point in producing a purely academic version, so I think that I will make it a chatty one and use the art described as a way of encouraging more discursive writing.  The technical bits I can attempt to make as academic as is required, but the descriptions can be a little looser and, as ever, a trifle more self-indulgent.

     I can tell that I am going to have problems with dates and names.  Most of the art works are not dated and the names are either indecipherable or not there.  And for the single piece of Ewenny Pottery that survived my childhood fingers – how to describe it and date it?  And if pottery is included, why not glass, even though most of my glass is commercially produced and at the moment it is in storage because neither of us is drinking very much wine at the moment? 

     And china, even my everyday plates and bowls are now no longer produced, perhaps they merit inclusion! 

     And what about my discarded ‘vintage’ keyboard, that surely has a right to be catalogued, though as I no longer have the box I cannot get full dollar for its resale value!  And the keyboard suggests that old computers and aged but not discarded mobile phones should be candidates for inclusion.  But, perhaps I am getting beyond myself and I should stick, at first, with the more conventional elements of art.

     The research for this is going to be fun!  And I hope informative, though the accusation of cui bono could always be levelled against such an enterprise.  As if mere logic and utility have ever been compelling guiding principles for me!

 

It’s the thinness of a piece of pork lion that makes the difference.  At least this is what I have been told by Toni, who has rejected the present pieces of meat that we have and demanded daintier.

     And that gave me an opportunity.  There was no way that I was going to throw out a whole tranche of loins (or lions as I first wrote) because they were a few millimetres too big.  So, I decided to make a stew.  It’s a long time since I’ve made a decent stew and I am looking forward to dinner this evening when Day 1 of the stew will be sampled.

     The real joy of stew is not the Day 1, run-of-the-mill offering that you get (satisfying though it often is) but rather the Day 3 or Day 4 version with the delicious accretions that make each Day of Stew wonderfully different.

     It will, alas, be a singular pleasure as Toni deigns to eat such things – and it is also the reason that the stew might last until Day 4!

     At some point I always weaken and add curry powder and perhaps a few pieces of pasta to the softened potatoes already there and, together with a few nuts and some dried fruit always give it a bit of a zing!

     Just in case all of the preceding sounds a little too professional, I have just realized (having taken the finished stew off the hob) that I have added no onions, garlic or leeks – which were specifically bought in our last jaunt to the shops (to get out of the house) to add the flavour that all expect.  I am now debating whether to go back downstairs and add the ingredients that nobody (nobody) forgets or wait until tomorrow to give an entirely different taste to the experience.

     The hell with it!  What’s an extra hour with a slow cooked stew?  I’ll add them before I settle down to a little artistic research!

     Essential ingredients duly added – roll on dinner!

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.

Here we go again!

From tomorrow evening all bars and restaurants in Catalonia will be closed until the end of the month.  The restaurants will be able to operate on a take-out basis but it is going to look awfully like the lockdown of the hard days of early spring.

     Gyms (and presumably swimming pools) will be open but capacity is cut to 30% - whatever that means.  At the moment swimming in our pool is restricted to pre-booking and ten swimmers per hour, so I am assuming that will stay the same.

     Although we have some information of the wider details of the restrictions, we are still not clear about what rules apply to transport, meeting people, shopping etc etc etc.

     At the height of the lockdown here in Catalonia we were not allowed out of our houses except for essential journeys to get food and medicines.  Exercise outside your home was only for those with dogs who were allowed to take them outside by no further than 100 metres or so.  I don’t want to go over any more of the restrictions because, with their severity, we thought we had done all that was necessary to get the virus under control.  Wishful thinking!

     From what we understand so far, in that foggy confusion that has become a staple of governmental information during this pandemic, we are going to have to go through a sort of lockdown-lite with only memories of our previous experiences to keep us happy that the restrictions are not that bad!

     The one great difference this time round is the date.  We were in lockdown in the spring and now it is autumn.  Last night it rained and this morning was dark and damp.  Admittedly, it did get somewhat better during the day and we had some sunshine but the immediate forecast is not encouraging and there is something dire about being restricted in drizzle!

     As far as I can tell I will be able to continue my bike rides each morning and, as my route takes me along the side of the beach I am able to see the horizon – and that is good for the soul. 

     And I think over the next few months we are going to have a pressing need to find things that feed our souls and keep us safe.

Autumn exercise

 

 

Not only was I able to have a pot of tea on the terrace of the third floor, but I was also able to have it stripped to the half, luxuriating in the sunshine and even feeling that slight skin-prickle that suggests that you might be overdoing the exposure!  And that after a night of quite unnecessarily demonstrative rain.

Our rain water drainage in Castelldefels is woefully inadequate and so we have to navigate (a quite apt word) sudden finger lakes stretching the length of gutters.  Other low-lying areas have more considerable expanses of water, but a regular cyclist with well worn routes, I know the danger areas and I am more than prepared and now that I have (at long, long last) my throttle attachment for my bike I am able to whisk my way to relative dryness while avoiding on-coming cars.

The only real problem is the section of the cycle lane along the front that is technically in Sitges.  Given the rather odd geography of the Sitges region it does mean that the ostensible ‘end’ of Castelldefels to the south is not actually in Castelldefels, but administratively it is in Sitges which is, in reality about twenty-minute drive away through tunnels.  Anyway, for cyclists who want a level surface and a view of the sea Castelldefels allows us to cycle along the Paseo next to the beach, until at the end of one section of the resort, the Paseo moves out to run parallel with the Maritime road.  On this particular section of the Paseo we cyclists have a dedicated cycle lane.

Having a dedicated cycle lane does not mean that all cyclists use it and keep the paseo free for pedestrians.  I must admit that when I am cycling (in the dedicated cycling lane) I share the irritation of pedestrians who have to put up with sometimes recklessly rapid cyclists weaving their way through people rather than using a relatively empty cycle lane.  This particular section of the cycle lane is in Castelldefels and is smooth and well maintained.

When you get to ‘Sitges’ the story is rather different.  During the full lockdown of the earlier part of the year the number of cyclists expanded exponentially.  Cars were infrequent and cyclists came into their own.  The dedicated cycle lane ran out at the end section of Castelldefels/Sitges and so you were forced on to the Paseo until you got to Port Ginester and the end of the bay.

The municipal solution was to create a cycle lane by using the car parking strip on the left side of the road next to the paseo as a sudden bike lane.  This was done by putting a line of rubber bumps on the outside of the lane, painting a middle line for two-way traffic and cementing the gutter area to make it sort-of level.  This means that the part of the lane next to the Paseo is ‘a bit bumpy’ to put it mildly and, although a few drains have been left in situ they are woefully inadequate and they form disconcerting obstacles.  This means, of course, that after rain there are thin gutter lakes to negotiate.  What this means in practice is that everyone uses the outside lane next to the traffic and only veers into the gutter lane if they absolutely have to.

Sometimes it takes very steady nerves and a firm belief in your right, to maintain your position when one of those so-called professional bike riders comes hurtling towards you in ‘your’ lane.  You are relying on their ability to swerve into rectitude and regain their proper lane before they hit you.

I am not a confident bike rider.  I am, I think quite reasonably, apprehensive when on the road.  I am acutely aware that all it takes is the slightest touch from a larger vehicle to unsettle me and then you discover just how unprotected the normal bike rider is.  Obviously, I wear a helmet and I am punctilious about using lights when necessary, but riding is precarious and I have a lively understanding of what might happen if another road user is unwary.  I also, as a car user, know just how loathed we bike riders are.

The first question asked in the old Highway Code was, “For whom is the Highway Code written?” to which the answer was, “For all road users, motorists, cyclists, pedestrians etc.”  The worst road users are, without doubt, pedestrians.  They are reckless, inconsiderate, suicidal, idiotic and most of the time they don’t actually realize that they are road users at all.  Then in descending order of awfulness come electric scooters, motor scooters, motorbikes and bicycles.  Everyone hates skateboards.  And rightly so.

There are, of course, different types of cyclists.  I am one of the sit-up-and-beg cyclists, back straight looking like a superannuated clergy man from the 1950s.  I wear a T-shirt when the weather is hot and a wind cheater with hood when it isn’t.  My bike is a MATE X 250, and is coloured what they describe as ‘burn orange’ and I describe as red.  It is electric and has ‘fat’ wheels, eight gears and hydraulic brakes.  It looks impressive and, in spite of MATE’s god-awful customer service, I like it.  I travel at a sedate power-assisted rate and thoroughly enjoy my daily 11 kilometers or so along pleasantly level and fairly safe routes.  I am not a ‘real’ cyclist.

‘Real’ cyclists are inconsiderate bastards.  They wear wildly inappropriate, unflattering clothing as if none of them have significant others to tell them that Lycra does nothing for them.  They also look diseased as they affect those skin-tight shirts with various hidden pockets where they can secrete the impedimenta necessary for their progress on their thin, thin wheels.  They also wear ‘serious’ helmets which make them look as though they have inexplicably attached a row of sausages to their heads in the name of safety.

And talking of safety, these ‘professional’ riders scorn the word.  They weave in and out at high speed insinuating their way into spaces that don’t exist to the ‘unprofessional’ eye.  They ignore traffic lights, ‘no entry’ signs and ‘one way’ prohibitions, they over-take or under-take with no warning and with no indication that they might be followed by hundreds of other bikes.  They pass too close and far too quickly, their lane discipline is non-existent and they assume that no other traffic exists.

I know that the preceding is grotesque generalization and the majority of riders are considerate and fair.  But that is not how it seems when you are actually cycling.  It is only in the calm after the ride that reason takes over again!

So, back to the gutter-lakes.

The ‘Sitges’ section of the bike lane is long and straight, you can see a long way ahead and plan accordingly.  When I am making my way back home from Port Ginester (in the wrong part of the lane because of the bumpy concrete apology of a surface) I can see any cyclists making towards me, I can check the proximity of gutter-lakes and plan my speed to avoid splashing my way through.  Normally, this works out fairly well a gentle increase or decrease in speed means that the passing is without incident.  Not everyone has my consideration and I have experienced those who think that the onus in on me to get out of the way in my lane to give more space to the cyclists who think that they have a god given right to pull out, when what they should actually do is stop.

As motorists, you will also have experienced this: motorists pulling out behind stopped buses and gong into the other lane in spite of the fact that they can see you approaching in the other direction.  They should just bloody well wait!  What are they doing that is so important that it requires them to risk injury to gain a few seconds that they will lose at the next set of traffic lights?  But then logic has never been the driving feature of, well, driving!

Part of my problem, of course, is that the sedate speed that I adopt allows me time to observe my surroundings and my fellow road users and, let’s face it, observation is often condemnation.  At least for me it is!

 

I finished off the Suzanne Collins prequel to The Hunger Games and I think that it will make an excellent film - surely it was written with that in mind?  The ending was clever and allowed the reader of The Hunger Games to tick a few more boxes of the pre-knowledge details that makes any prequel engaging.  I would recommend The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.  I think that the actual ending of the novel might divide opinion, but I thought it was an interesting and appropriate culmination of what is a very long novel.  And don’t we always, sometimes secretly, like the baddies in literature rather than the heroes and heroines?  And Snow has legs, and Collins make the most of them!