Costly domestic fountains

 

A curtain of falling water is a most attractive feature to grace a garden – but when that feature is obviously leaking from the first-floor kitchen then its beauty is rather limited.

     Entry into said kitchen was also entry to a sizeable paddling pool, surrounded by electro domestic items that do not do well in standing water.  Displaying remarkable technical knowledge, I turned the water off at the mains and then, with even more technical ingenuity used the dust pan to scoop up the flood and deposit it in the sink.

     The problem was our water heater and, as this is gas fired, I always have an added element of fear when things go wrong with machines of this sort, so we turned it off.   

     Unfortunately, with the heater turned off and the water stopped so that it did not continue to pour out onto the work surface, we were then without any water at all, except that we had in bottles.  As it was the weekend (of course) the idea of getting anybody out without paying a king’s ransom to get them to the house, was unthinkable.

     A weekend without water, except for that in bottles.  We did discover that the outside garden tap was still operational and so Toni traipsed up and down stairs to bring water in buckets to use for essentials.  Cleaning one’s teeth and washing one’s face with water from a bottle of mineral water might have an air of the exclusive and indulgent about it, but it is practically, um, difficult.  And I prefer not to talk about the practicalities of the toilet!

     Monday was a day for phoning around and finding someone, anyone, to come to the house and work the technical magic to get the bloody thing operational again.  Hopes were raised, only to be dashed, but eventually we found someone who promised to come out the next morning.

     He came, he did his stuff and asked for 400 euros!  It is at this point that I should mention that our house is rented.  You would therefore be justified in asking why we were doing anything about something that was clearly the responsibility of the owners, and not, emphatically not, the concern of the tenants.  To ask such questions, merely shows hat you do not rent accommodation in this part of the world!

     God knows, Estate Agents do not have a good press, in these parts they are held in even less esteem than The Press and Politicians!  If you can imagine such a thing.  

   To say that our estate agents have been less than helpful is a woeful understatement – they are militantly unhelpful.  Anything that you might think would be the responsibility of the owners, here isn’t.  All they do is take the monthly rent and do virtually nothing to justify the rake off that they get.   

   In a twist to the usual tale, our estate agent is actually the owner of the house that we rent, but it is done via a Company that we are supposed to assume is an entirely different entity, but the owner of the estate agency is also the director of the company.  We find ourselves in an almost Dickensian situation where the poor estate agents tell us that they are hamstrung by the demands of the evil company – which they also own! 

     Even though we know about their machinations there is little that we can do about it.  The contract we signed indicated that we had responsibilities (a bloody sight more than the bloody estate agents) towards things like sinks, toilets, taps and the heater that one would usually assume is the responsibility of the owner.  Assumptions do not pay bills, and the 400 euros is gnawing away at my very being – that is 25% of the cost of buying a new heater!

     But, enough of moaning about legal thievery.  Let one story stand for the whole despicable lot of them.  When we first arrived in the house, we obviously checked things to make sure that we were getting what we were paying for.  In the kitchen we noticed that there were fitted kitchen cabinets, but, when you opened them the lack of shelves limited their usefulness.  When we told the agents that there were no shelves in the units, they simply shrugged their shoulders and did nothing!  Unbelievable, but an unbelievability that applies to many other stories about the callous disregard of estate agents in this part of the world.  400 euros!  The more I try not to think about it, the more I do.

We have just had a phone call from the company that sent the guy to fix our heater.  It appears that the guy got his figures wrong when he made out the bill for the VISA machine and transposed two figures, so that we have underpaid.  They want their extra money.  I wonder if they would have been so eager if the sums had worked out in their favour?  Doesn’t the parallel meaning of “Let the buyer beware” referring to the seller, obtain in this case?  I am sure that it does, but I don’t think that I am going to be the beneficiary of the mistake.  It somehow makes the paying of the money even more difficult to take!

At least the sun is shining and I have done a little light sunbathing.  We are both taking ‘Sol’ capsules, bought from one of the supermarkets, that are supposed to aid tanning.  The capsules contain carotin and copper and various vitamins and are quite cheap so we have decided to give a month’s worth a go.  They are not artificial tanners, but are supposed to ‘aid’ the process.  I have taken a picture of my skin against a sheet of white A4 typing paper and I will take another photo at the end of the test period.  I will have been out in the sun during this time, but the depth of tan will be the key to success.

     While I am regarding this as little more than a half-joke, Toni – with his proverbially white skin – has rather more invested in this experiment than I.  Perhaps all that the capsules do is focus the mind, and that directed thought will ensure exposure and therefore a tanned skin.  We will see- but as the price of the individual capsules is about 13 cents, not much is invested in the success!

 

Next week, Opera, La Boheme – something to hum and cry along with.  Our production in the Liceu (if it is the same as the one I saw last) is rather showy, but good fun.  I have two criteria for success for a production of this opera: firstly, I want to see people actually eating real food in the Café Momus scene; and, secondly, I have to cry at the end.  Usually this is a cast-iron delight, whatever the production (as long as the voices are half-way decent) and there has only been one true disaster of a performance in my experience where “Your tiny hand is frozen” aria was greeted with stony silence at the end!  I left before the first act had ended.  I expect much better on the 14^th of the month when I go to my isolated seat in the stalls.

     Last month the scheduled performance of Tannhauser had to be Covid-cancelled, so I have been having opera-deprivation symptoms and, let’s face it, La Boheme is something you can wallow in.

 

 

LOCKDOWN CASTELLDEFELS - DAY 24 – Wednesday in Holy Week, 8th APRIL

 

I realise that, with all my bluff optimism, I have been affected by the lockdown!  In the poem that I wrote yesterday (smrnewpoems.blogspot.com) I actually questioned, even if rhetorically, the value of sunbathing!

     It is shocking to have to confront a possible breakdown in your worldview that can contemplate something as self-loathing as a negative approach to the appreciation of the nearest star!  It is certainly a wake up call to reassess my attitude and determine to be more positive in the future.  The idea of getting to June and July and behaving like a troglodyte is entirely unacceptable.

     If something as fundamental to my view of life is capable of mutability, then it makes me wonder what other, more subtle changes there have been in this period of self-isolation.  It would argue a self-deluding insensitivity to say that one can remain entirely stable when the world appears to be changing around you.

     The irony, of course, is that the micro world of self-isolation is unchanging and stable.  The continuing horrific catalogue of death and infection is all around us, but not part of the life that we are leading.  It is as if we are living in some sort of medieval fort with a water filled trench around us: part of our surroundings, but separated from them.

     Unlike some others, I have been entirely unable to wean myself from the news.  My addiction to the Internet radio, and more specifically Radio 4 is total.  It is at times like this that the Conservatives detestation of the BBC becomes not only partisan, but also self-defeating.  At times of National Crisis we united around the BBC as a voice of and to the Nation.  I certainly do not look towards the Conservatives and their slavish news lap dogs to give me a sense of what the Nation is thinking or feeling.

     And The Guardian.  As a life-long Guardian reader (with a brief fall from grace and adherence to The Independent) I now read it on my mobile phone with an intensity that goes beyond belief.  And may I make a specific call out for the writing of John Crace, a columnist of rare wit and perception.  His political sketches have been part of the reason that I have been able to maintain my sweetness and equilibrium during the past few years where Brexit and the bloody Conservatives have convinced me that I am living in a society where the dominant ideology is the death-wish!

My early morning routine is now becoming more and more established: set Moppy (don’t blame me, the app demands that you call your robot cleaner something) off on her hoovering circuit; make my cup of tea (English breakfast and Earl Grey) and have the World’s Most Expensive Augmented Muesli (at least I have stopped adding Smarties to it) with fat-free milk; do the Guardian Quick Crossword (with light cheating); change Moppy to her mopping sequence; go for my pool circuits.  And a chunk of the day is gone!  Which is a clear exemplification of the work expanding to match the time available!

     I do miss my daily early morning swim and I can’t wait to get back to that part of my routine, because that morning start include my first writing of the day when I sit in the café or outside having my post-swim cup of tea.  Ah!  How life used to be!

Just back from the open kitchen window where at 8.00 pm our time, we applaud the front-line workers who are keeping our society going.

     Talking of health workers and their battle against the virus: the British Prime Minister now in Intensive Care.  As I said yesterday, I wish him better health and strength to his family – and he should resign.  Now.  At once.

     The Prime Minister’s bravado a while ago where he was joking about his meeting Covid-19 positive people and shaking hands with them; his visible inability to maintain social distancing when his government was promoting it as essential, now appear to be a foolhardy, self-indulgent imposition on health services that are overstretched.   

     I might also add, that the Prime Minister’s inability to give clear indications of who actually has ultimate power in government is a dereliction of duty.   

     chocolate, retribution, judgement, ineptitude, Throughout his career he has been first and foremost a second-rate, shoddy, narcissistic, journalistic liar and, while I have sympathy for his present state of health, I have none for his political.  We deserve better than him.  Though with the cabinet of freaks that he has accumulated, god alone knows who (or in the case of Gove, what) might take his place.

     So far the Conservatives’ management of the Covid-19 crisis has been fatally inept.  How many unnecessary deaths is it going to take before the people of Britain demand the reckoning that should come sooner rather than later?

Determined not to end this post on a sour note, I can report that we were able to buy chocolate in the last shop and you can be assured that my writing has been sweetened by the confectionary. 

     So just imagine what it would have been like without!

LOCKDOWN CASTELLDEFELS - DAY 19 – 3rd APRIL

I brush my teeth carefully and thoroughly each day and night.  With a damn sight more care than I have normally done, I might say.  I have a morbid (the right word I think) fear of getting toothache during lockdown.  Toothache is like headache – one of the debilitating, almost unbearable pains that can’t be ignored.  But, in these strange times, where would I go to have my teeth seen to? 

     When you hear of cancer treatment being delayed because of the medical demands of the virus, a mere toothache would appear to be of less than secondary importance.  Flossing has become a protection against the fear of future oral pain ignored!

     On one web site I saw warnings about those people in confinement being careful about how they approach any do-it-yourself projects suddenly started because of time on ones hands.  Home improvements always come at a cost and the number of accidents from the handling of unfamiliar tools, especially power tools, has ever been a significant way to injure yourself.  Now, the consequences of these accidents have very real costs in terms of the extra pressure on the health services and whether you would actually qualify for attention.

     I have no personal experience of what the medical services in Castelldefels are like at the moment and how those with chronic illnesses are being dealt with.  For example, my next scheduled appointment is in July in a local hospital and is part of the on-going treatment for my thrombosis and embolisms after a blood test in my local medical centre the week before.   

     I have been given no information about delay or cancellation, but I think it highly unlikely that the schedules that we sets six months ago are still going to be kept to.  Everything has changed, and my light touch supervision is more of a confirmation of progress rather than a necessary medical intervention – so my appointment is one that can easily be delayed.  It will be interesting to see exactly how our medical system copes, and I can take a reasonably disinterested view as my hospital visit is now more concerned with checking progress rather than active treatment.

     But one thing is certain; I have no wish to find out just how prepared our emergency services are to cope with any household domestic injuries or how medical centres and dentists are coping.  I want to live an uneventfully contained life in my home with occasional forays to the collective bins my only contact with the outside ‘outside’ world.

Last night I (and a quarter of a million others) watched a matinee performance of  ‘One man, two guvnors’ a reworking of the Goldoni original on the National Theatre Live Facebook site.  I thoroughly enjoyed it, but virtually every moment made me want to be in the audience seeing the performance live rather than looking at it on a computer screen!

     Filming ‘live’ plays produces an odd media type as its end result.  The actors have to play to a full theatre, so many of the exchanges between characters seem over emphatic; the actors are playing a ‘live’ real audience and we watchers are not part of that organic entity; this production had interaction between actors and audience which distanced we watchers even more; some of the stage business was complicated and could easily have gone wrong – all the things that make a live performance ‘dangerous’ were limited by our knowledge that this was a recorded performance.  The artificiality that we saw is something that I would have enthusiastically embraced if I had part of the actual audience.  But, I am grateful that I had an opportunity to see a performance that passed me by and I look forward to the other ‘performances’ over the next few Thursday evenings.

     Although I am grateful for the opportunity to see a much-appreciated performance, the lack of immediacy in a videoed version is more telling with theatre than it is for me with ballet or opera. 

     But, every little helps!

At least the sun came out today and I was able to ‘take’ it on the third floor terrace.   As the terrace is fairly sheltered, it lessened the effect of the breeze that would have made the sunbathing more gesture than pleasure – but for an hour or so I was able to laze around and think that summer was getting closer.

     Please!

LOCKDOWN CASTELLDEFELS - DAY 6

There is something almost poignant in cancelling an mobile phone alarm that had previously got me up at 6.10 am each day to get read for my early morning swim at 7.00 am in the local pool.  With the closure of the pool due to the virus the need to rise early was gone, but the continued sound of the 6.15 alarm was a reminder of my normality.  The cancelling was a delayed gesture and an acceptance of the situation as it is now, rather than the situation as it was then.  The new reality finally finding a sonic place in my daily routine!

     Today was the first silent awakening and I duly had a ‘real’ lie-in and didn’t get up until 9.45 am!  Three and a half hours later than usual!  I must admit that I felt thoroughly guilty by the time I staggered into the bathroom and started to get ready for the day.

     As I showered and shaved I wondered why I was bothering – not about the showering, personal hygiene is something that becomes even more important during a pandemic than in ordinary times, but rather in shaving and going through the rituals that structure a ‘normal’ day.

     There is a Somerset Maugham short story set in the Far East which centres on two colonial Englishmen, one a stickler for what he see as civilized English standards of correct behaviour and the other who considers such an attitude absurd when placed in the strange and foreign surroundings of a country totally unlike England.  One aspect of the Stickler’s behaviour I always remember: even though his copies of The Times were delivered in a batch to his remote location, he would only read them one a day in sequence in arrears, even if he was desperate to find out what had happened.  He would wait and steel himself to be patient!  The other man was not so patient and when the bundle arrived, he ripped it open and read the most recent first.  The story does not end well.

     Ritual can be comforting and give a pleasant sense of structure, but it can also be negative as those who have lived by ritual and structure find when these elements of scaffolding are taken away. 

     OK, I know that I started talking about cancelling an early alarm, and it’s only been a week since we have been in lockdown, but this lockdown is likely to last for a damn sight longer than the end of this month and small things in enclosed environments are likely to become more significant.  So, small changes can have disproportionate effects.  Perhaps writing about such things is a way of noting the variables and coping with them!

     And, I might add, I do not intend to stay in bed until quarter to ten each day during this crisis!  One has one’s standards!

I am getting progressively more worried about the attitude of people in the UK about how to react in this crisis.  People say that they know that it is serious, but then they say things that show that they are not fully conversant with the fatal seriousness of what might happen if their precautions are inadequate.

     As far as I can see, the attitude of the Generalitat in Catalonia is the right one: a lockdown, which really means lockdown.  We have increasing reports of the police stopping people who are two to a car and asking them why they are flouting the instruction that says that only one person is allowed outside the house at a time.  We have been told of people being warned about taking their dogs (a vaild reason for leaving the home) too far from the home itself.  They are supposed to be no more than a couple of hundred yards away.  People next door to us are making daily visits to continue the reformation, something which is simply stupid and dangerous.  People are still going for walks and runs and one friend has told me that something like 30,000 fines have been issued to people breaking the rules.

     As we saw from the guy who went to Italy then France and ended up in Britain, all it takes is one person to spread the virus with disastrous consequences.  And what Britain is allowing with this selective lockdown does not prevent the virus spreading.  The lackadaisical approach shown by the so-called government and the bumbling blond buffoon must translate itself into a similar attitude from the general population – and that mean more death.

     I simply do not believe that my fellow countrymen are hand-washing with the sort of manic intensity that we are in Catalonia.  I am not convinced that people are properly afraid, and are taking the seemingly neurotic precautions that are necessary to stem the advance of the virus.  And if they don’t then they are making a fatal mistake.  And they do not realize just how big and bad this pandemic can still get.  Easily.

I have been making some use of the third floor terrace.  There have been one or two days when you could kid yourself that it was sun-bathing weather.  And it doesn’t take a great deal to convince me of that.  We are lucky that we have a terrace that is big enough for a couple of loungers and a table and chairs, we have small gardens front and rear, and a communal pool. 

     What about those people who live in a small flat in the centre of Barcelona or another city?  Most Catalans live in compact flats, and if you have a couple of kids, then you soon begin to see why a great deal of normal life is conducted outside the home!

A friend has sent me a list of MOOC (Massive Open Online Courses) about Art History and I am strangely drawn to trying one of them; especially as they are all free as well!

Always something to do!

And, if you want something else to read, might I suggest my new poetry blog at smrnewpoems.blogspot.com

 

Sunshine!

Cut from the roof/attic space, the third floor terrace is an ideal spot for a little unseasonal sunbathing.

There is a breeze, and if that touches your skin you are aware that it is latish October, but in the tranquil sunshine (and wearing a T-shirt and shorts of course) you can almost believe that summer is still with you.  And I really do want to believe that. 

I hang on to the idea of summer well beyond what is considered reasonable to the good folk of Castelldefels, and the late date wearing of shorts is little short of scandalous to my fellow citizens who wear clothes strictly according to the seasons and the months.  No matter if it is sunny: if it is November it is wintry and clothing should (nay, must) reflect the established winter dress code, even if the thermometer tells a different story.

In Castelldefels, you can tell that the summer has officially ended, because they have locked up the street, car parking ticketing machines.  And, believe you me; in a seaside town as commercially minded as Castelldefels, the only reason to stop reaping the financial benefits from those rapacious machines is money.  Out of season, people need every inducement to visit our beaches and our town and free parking is essential to get the footfall to keep us going.  But over the last few days, yes, we have had torrential rain, but we have also had temperatures in the mid twenties - and those are warm enough (even with the ‘touch of seasonal reality’ breezes) to make a walk along our extensive beaches a true pleasure.  Or, in my case, cycle.  Electrically.

We had lunch outside too, today.  A new restaurant with a reasonably priced, at least for the weekend, menu del dia (14.90 Euros) including as they always do, a three-course meal (for me: Lacón - this is dried pork shoulder, cut into slices and served hot with sliced potatoes garnished with pimentón picante; salmon with battered vegetables; fruit) with bread and a drink.  We also had some mini empanadas as an aperitif. 

Because of the positioning of the spaces and the buildings around the restaurant, there was a fairly continuous breeze that was just this side of acceptable to me, and coat-wearingly acceptable for Toni.  All in all a decent meal, with the only exception being the fruit.  Given the medical strictures that surround our eating habits now, fruit is the only reasonable choice.  Toni chose the last mandarins and I had to make do with an orange.  When these arrived they looked wizened and old, and tasted like they looked.  There is no excuse for serving a poor orange in Spain, none at all - but, as Toni pointed out, finding decent tasty fruit is becoming more and more difficult.

And that, always brings me back to the dearth of Cox’s Orange Pippins.  I cannot remember the last date on which I had one of those apples, but I certainly do remember the taste: sweetness in depth with a complexity of flavour that matched a decent glass of wine.  Why are they not widely available?  And why do we, today, have to make do with a variety like Pink Lady?  The relationship between a Pink Lady and a Cox’s Orange Pippin is like that between fat-free milk and Devon clotted cream: they are both from the same family, but galaxies apart!

It does sometimes seem churlish to moan about some things, when I am typing this with the door to the terrace open, the sun is shining and a garish kite-surfing canopy is floating, spectrally, above the trees that block my view of the sea.  There!  A perfect example of unjustified dissatisfaction!  I am so near the sea that I can hear the waves and the clink of the tackle against the masts of the boats dragged up on to the beach, but I cannot see the sea.  At least not from my seat.  Even when I leave my seat it takes a little bit of contortion to get a glimpse of the big blue!  But it is within a couple of minutes walk.  And, quite frankly, that should be enough.  Though it never is.  Satisfaction is stultification.  To progress is to be greedy.  And other ‘thoughts for the day’ that go the way of all flesh!

Talking of progress, I have to create a WhatsApp group for the students in our Catalan class, as I am now one of the two student representatives of our class.  And, no, I did not volunteer, but I will approach the first meeting of the representatives with the clear thought in my head that it cannot possibly be worse than any of the staff meetings in The School on the Hill. 

And, fortified by that consoling thought, I will set about making the new WhatsApp group a reality. 

Never let it be said that my weekends were anything other than creative!

Mind or Matter?

 

More books.

No matter how many books I acquire, I always have space left in my ‘enthusiasm quota’ to delight in a few extra to add to my library.  I would like to say that I am a discriminating purchaser, but I realize that what I actually am is an omnivorous bibliophile.  I find no problem in finding a reason to purchase a book and am an extremely good fabricator of justifications.

My self-imposed task of writing a short monograph on the famously un-famous German painter Adam Elsheimer has given me the ideal opportunity to spend more and have volumes winging their way to me.

The most substantial book is the truly excellent catalogue that accompanied the 2006 exhibition of Elsheimer’s work shown in Edinburgh, Dulwich and Frankfurt – a scholarly and exhaustive work extending the pioneering efforts of Keith Andrews.  This is going to be a key book in my research.

The second of my new volumes is a very much smaller books called “Lives of Adam Elsheimer” that is a compilation of early biographers of the artist translated by Keith Andrews with an introduction by Claire Pace.  It’s under a hundred pages long, but is an invaluable source of documentation of contemporary information.

The last if a book from the past, one of a series of large format magazines that comprised the series of “The Masters” published in Britain in 1966.  This one is number 53 “Elsheimer”, 14 colour prints with an introduction by Malcolm Waddingham.  Originally each of the issues cost the princely sum of 6/- (six shillings or 30p) though I paid considerably more than that and for a second-hand copy too!  Though I do have some of the other issues that I bought at the time.

I now have three books that deal principally with the artist and a series of other publications that mention him.  My reading so far has given me a clearer idea of the artist himself and also is beginning to suggest a way of approaching the writing I intend to do.

Or I could just sunbathe!

The flesh is willing, but in my view, it is still far too pale to be acceptable and autumn is almost upon us and lazing time has its expiration date.

One has to make a judgement between the intellectual and the sensual and, as the most interesting thing that I have experienced today is evaluating the new non-alcoholic G&T (not convincing) it perhaps gives you some idea of where my priorities lie!