Here comes the rain!

 

 

There are few things as comforting as being inside, safe and dry, while rain hammers down outside.

     The first few drops of what has become a fully-fledged (with mobile phone alerts!) storm, complete with long rumbles of thunder and distant flashes of lightning has now arrived in full force.

     In the extended prelude to this storm, I sat outside the café of our local pool sipping my English Breakfast & Earl Gray Melange in a camply OTT faux (moulded) cut glass outsized cup when the first erratic drops fell.   

     But you could tell that rain was immanent because of the swarms of flies and mosquitos that flocked to my unprotected skin – in spite of the fact that I am Group A+ - and not their favourite tipple of Group O.  And these flies did not take an angry sweep for an answer, relying on their insect speed to avoid any exasperated hand movements, and resettle on the tastier parts of my epidermis with smug pity for my leaden reactions!

     It was when the spots of rain developed a more insistent rhythm that I decided to call it a day and pay up and go.  It turned out that I was ahead of the storm and reached the house before the weather truly broke.

     As is usual here in Castelldefels, even in the middle of a downpour, you can still see patches of blue in the sky as a visible sign of the unspoken promise of the weather in this area that, “this too will pass,” but with the added adjective proviso of, “soon”.  That, anyway, is what I believe.  It may sometimes be delusion, but like all firm delusions, it keeps me happy and hopeful!

 

I have spent some time re-editing a poem I wrote recently called, “On Looking Into the Eyes of a Hoverfly” the newest version of which can be found at

https://smrnewpoems.blogspot.com/

 

I have almost reached the stage where I could compile a slim volume of poetry based solely on the number of poems I have written on insect life and my interactions with it.  Though I won’t.   

Though I will try and add new work to that blog on a more regular basis than I have in the immediate past. 

     I do urge readers to click the “follow” button in my blogs so that you can get the most recent additions.

 

PS We have just had another mobile phone alert telling us that "the rain is going to stop soon" and with that message the rain instantly increased in intensity with a gratuitous roll of thunder complete with lightning!  Nature will not be digitally contained! 

 

Palau de la Música - Bacewicz, Schumann, Brahms, Liszt

 

After three days without a car, I was informed by the garage that they had, after extensive testing, hit a maker specific point of repair, which needed the car to go back to the dealer for the air con to be fixed.  It was impossible for them to complete the repair without the authorization of the dealer.

     This is woefully bad news as any recourse to the Dealership means big bucks at the end of the repair, and a long wait for an opportunity to spend your money as appointments are as difficult to get as if the dealership was a British doctor’s surgery!  But there appears to be little choice, and I know that the mechanic that I gave my car to will have used everything he knows to get the job done, so if he confesses to failure, then you really do have to bite the bullet and traipse all the way to the next town to get the job done.

     Meanwhile I comfort myself with the idea of a concert in the Palau tomorrow . . . which was now yesterday, if you see what I mean, a day having elapsed when blog intent did not make it to blog actual.

 

Given the tea in the café next to the parking garage that I use (if possible) which is the nearest to the Palau, is of truly awful vapidity, I resolved to take a couple of tea bags with me to augment and turn the thin earl grey into something drinkable.  I, of course, forgot the tea bags and debated whether to go to the mini market on the Via Laietana, buy some tea bags, go back to the car to store the excess, take two to the café and have a decent cuppa.  In the event I had forgotten about the mini market next to the parking so a box of PG Tips later I was able to have my tea and a more than decent brie, salmon and egg wrap, before the concert.

     A little housekeeping was necessary to change my ticket for United Nations Day into credit in the Palau as I will not be going to the opera that evening as I have other entertainment in mind!   

     That was no problem and I now have an inducement to look further afield in the range of concerts than the ones that I have purchased for some of my Saturdays with my season ticket.  Unfortunately, all the concerts in which I am interested work out to be much more expensive than the sum I have available but, that’s life – at least they gave me credit!

 

The concert opened with Bacewicz’s 1943, Overture – a short piece with some very expressive brass passages and some oddly lyrical softer passages.  I suppose it is somewhat crass to expect all music written at a time of crisis to reflect that tension in sonic terms, but even with some disconcertingly percussive moments there are also passages which are Gothically playful, but underlying all is an uneasy and sometimes frantic beat that leaves the listener edgily engaged.

     The opening of this piece sounded somewhat unsteady with the major culprits being the horn section.  The sound felt a little muffled, I am sure that the acoustic of the Palau does not favour this type of music.

     A composer worth pursuing.

 

The concerto was the 1850 Cello Concerto by Schumann adapted for viola and played by Sara Ferrández.   This was an odd experience in that the concerto is not overly assertive on the part of the solo instrument – even though it needs real virtuosity (which Ferrández certianly had) to make it work.

At the back of my mind was the fact that this was originally written for the cello, and at times it seemed to me that the viola was aping that instrument in its lower register.

     The soloist's line grew from the orchestra, and then blended with it.  Yes, there were moments when the viola soared over the orchestra, but this was a concerto where the solo instrument felt fully engaged in the totality of the music, and the depth of that engagement felt more profound than the showiness of its smaller cousin!

 

The concert really came alive in the second half.

     The first notes of the first Hungarian Dance by Brahms (orginally published over the years 1869 to 1880 and originally for piano four hands) graphically illustrated an orchestra comfortable with the lushness of sound and an ensemble playing that radiated enjoyment.

     God knows when I last listened to this music, but it all came flooding back (with the exception of Dance number 10 which was new to me) and I was able to join with the audience in giving the conclusion of the dances a tumultuous reception!

 

Symphonic Poem Number 3 from Les Préludes by Liszt (1854) was the concluding piece in the programme, a musical journey through life, death and transfiguration.

     The muted opening of the piece does not give you adequate preparation for the triumphant entry of the brass – and my recognition of the music!

     This was orchestral playing at its superlative best, and the final moments reduced me to tears.  What more can you ask from a musical experience!

 

Throughout the concert I ostentatiously consulted my Personal Listener’s Programme, produced under my direction by Chat.  I have decided to prepare for all the rest of my Operas and Orchestral Concerts by having Chat produce similar programmes which give introductions and crucially, ways of listening and further listening. 

     They also give me some space to jot down thoughts that I may have about the opening of the concert during the interval when I must move about a bit to make sure that my knees don’t set in place.

 

The next concert is a celebration of the music of John Williams, and that I expect to be a somewhat different experience.  Though I am interested to see what Chat can come up with to aid my listening pleasure!

 

 

Liquid musing

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pool water has returned to its crystalline clarity in our local pool, but one does wonder just what “product” we have been swimming in that has been used to banish yesterday’s murkiness.  But that way madness lies, and life is too short etc etc to worry (overmuch) about such things.

     In a sign of technological spitefulness because of my forced missed swim yesterday, my smartwatch refused to record accurately my latest swim, only giving about half the meters of each length, but my internal length counter guided me to a satisfactory completion where, in spite of the evidence of the resentful watch, I think that I more than exceeded my usual lengths.

     The local pool is one of the only places in Castelldefels that can supply me with a decent cup of tea (a mixture of Earl Grey and English Breakfast) which is my reward for completing my swim.  Today, they had run out! 

     I had been prepared for this awful eventuality and took an orange juice as an alternative, but an orange juice topped up with ice cold Cava.  I have now entered that select grouping of ageing men who have alcohol first thing in the morning!  Well, not really, the orange juice was the major partner in the drink and freshly pressed too, so the Cava was more of jeu d’esprit than anything else.  Though one I could easily get used to!

    

 

I am beginning to understand that the cost of living I going to be a major problem.  Even casual shops are now costing over 100 euros.  I can still recall my parents have a serious discussion about finance after the weekly shop had exceeded five quid for the first time!  That truly was another age.

     It is difficult to think about winter when all available fans are on full strength to make the heat bearable, but with the rising cost of electricity and gas, coupled with the rise in general prices means that our minds are going to be concentrated.  Given the situations in our respective countries, I feel more secure in my adopted home of Catalonia than I would in the Conservative ridden dystopia that Britain has become.  Let us see how the future works out!

Gusty times ahead!

 

 

High winds meant that I declined to use my bike and took the car instead – and everyone else appeared to have made the same decision and so the car park was relatively full within a couple of minutes of the opening of the centre.

     As the pool is enclosed with a retractable roof (I am not insane!) we are fairly well protected from the surrounding weather, but I noted as I gained the end of my first length that a door to the outside world had been opened and one could experience the cool gusts of a thoroughly unpleasant wind.

     It was only at the end of the swim when you have to go from the pool area via a short flight of steps and a linking corridor to the changing rooms that you see the weather clearly.  Not pleasant, and I was grateful to have a hot cup of tea and sturdy plate glass to give me an acceptable climate.

     But, by the time I came to leave, the wind had dropped and the sky was showing a little more blue.  In the afternoon we had sunshine, but not enough sunshine to tempt me to go on the bike ride that is the usual end of my morning of exercise.

     As ever, another cup of tea and my mobile phone with The Guardian were enough to keep me stationary in my armchair until it was time for lunch.

     From my reading of the actions of what one might laughingly refer to as ‘my government’ in the UK, it really does look as though, after four years of the bloody Conservatives saying that a deal was easy and oven-ready and all the other lying descriptions given, we are headed for a no-deal Brexit.

 

      

 

     The latest piece of ill-judged, crass, idiocy by Johnson is to flaunt four Royal Navy gunboats to patrol our fishing waters in the event of a no-deal Brexit and foreigners attempting to do what they have been doing for the past umpteen years.  Four ships for the entire coastal waters of Britain, that’s about 11,000 miles, divided by four, that means that each of the Royal Navy ships will have to patrol about 2,700 miles of coast each.  And what is the speed of these ships?

     So, the threat of these ships is purely, but not entirely, cosmetic, harking back to Britannia Rules the Waves and all that.  In other words, an empty gesture, that the EU must have been expecting from the empty vessel that they have had to deal with.  For years.  And years.

     I am still hoping that Johnson is going to have some appreciation of what he is about to do and realize that he will have to take a hit (however he spins it) in the interest of the nation.  As the seconds tick away, my hope is getting more and more hysterical, especially when I remember that no matter how cataclysmically stupid a decision appears to be, people still make it.  Brexit did win the referendum and the USA elected Trump.  However stupid and unthinkable, it could happen.

     But I will relax into the remaining hours of the weekend, yea! even unto the last minute to midnight on Sunday in the weary hope of sanity (at least partial) governing our 'government'.

 

Meanwhile to get my mind away from events that I cannot influence, we had a decent menu del dia in our usual Saturday restaurant and even felt buoyed up enough to do a little light domestic shopping.

     On the cultural front, I have re-discovered my tidied-up notebook and am working on the structure and content.  I am reasonably confident that the concept is workable, but the rest of this weekend should give me a clearer idea of the direction and, more importantly, whether that direction is worth taking!

What a legacy!

 

What people say can live after them.  From the self-consciously orotund phrases (with a cynical ear to history) of the odious Churchill to the simple quotidian statement of General Patton, there are words that sum up a personality and proclaim that character to the ages.

     I hadn’t realised that my own deathless claim to verbal immortality had already been established.  This was made clear to me by the giving of two cellophane wrapped assemblages given to me yesterday as part of my birthday presents from The Family.

     The first illustrated my response to being asked what I would like to drink when we go out for a meal, “Una cerveza sin alcohol, gaseosa, y un vaso grande para mezclar, por favor.”  (“A non-alcoholic beer with Gaseosa and a large glass to mix them in, please.”)  Gaseosa is a sugar-free, sweetish, fizzy drink used by itself and as a mixer.  So, the first assemblage had a chunky ‘real’ looking beer glass, a can of 0% beer and a plastic bottle of Gaseosa.

     The second assemblage illustrated my end of meal instructions: “Un té negro, con dos bolsitas, 

y un poco de leche fría aparte, por favor.  (“A black tea, with two teabags and a little cold milk apart, 

please.”)  Beneath the cellophane I could see an impressive mug (with lid) at the side of which two 

teabag ends could be seen and a small jar of milk (with instruction not to drink it because it had 

not been in the fridge for some time!).

     So, that is me, summed up in two phrases.  I should have expected something like this because 

Toni’s two nephews look forward to my opening my mouth and then chorus my requests with me.

     And so, my birthday (a ‘significant’ one, if you care about such things) with only a visit to the 

Opera in the Liceu in Barcelona to see a lack-lustre production of Don Giovanni with Christopher 

Maltman in the evening to make the day even remotely significant.

     The experience was out of the ordinary of course, because of all the precautions that the theatre 

had taken to make our visit ‘safe’.  The number of audience members was restricted to 50% of the 

possible seats available and we were seated in a little island of isolation with adjacent seats vacant.  

 We had to wear masks for the duration of the performance; there were no refreshments, no 

paper programmes – and scene changes were done with the safety curtain not brought down, 

partly to encourage us not to leave our seats during the interval!

     I wish that I could say that the music transcended all the safety distractions – but it didn’t.  

 The production failed to engage with me, it seemed static and under sung.  I really wanted to enjoy 

it because it is all too likely that the increasing stringency of the measures to limit the spread of 

Covid will impact on the rest of the season – a season I might add with a late start.

     We are now under curfew (10pm to 6am) and there is talk of limiting people to their 

municipalities.  Although I live in the province of Barcelona, I do not live in the city and so 

restrictions will make it impossible to travel to the Opera House.  Still, it hasn’t happened yet 

and given the contradictory confusion of the stream of instructions that we have had so far, it 

might well be that oddities like opera-going will survive and I will have a ‘safe corridor’ to culture.

Spain has now had its ‘Callous Cummings’ moment where a dinner party for 150 people was held 

in Madrid hosted by the rich for the politicians and the corruptible.  Given that we mere mortals 

cannot go to closed restaurants and bars; cannot gather in groups of more than 6; have to be home 

by 10pm, you can take your choice of hypocrisies that the Great and The Good have illustrated by 

their ostentatious cavalier behaviour which, of course, spits in our collective faces.

     The reactions have been predictable: the government supporting press (right and left) failed to 

carry any information about this disgraceful event.  It was left to social media to spread the news 

and force the criminals to respond.  Will we get any more than platitudes?  Doubtful.  Justice in 

Spain is politicised and mere innocence will fail to get you freedom if you are perceived by the 

governing elite to be threatening their positions; glaring guilt will fail to get you convicted if you 

are part of that elite.

     To my knowledge none of the trough-swillers at that event has attempted a variation on the “I 

was testing my eyesight” by trying to read the menu card in the artificial light of the crystal 

chandeliers!  But give them time and they will come up with something equally blatant and insulting.

      Meanwhile, of course, our errant ex-king is still skulking in the shadows hoping that paternity 

and corruption cases will fade into the background – much like his son-in-law who is allegedly in 

a women’s prison (sic.) for his thieving.  Every other high and mighty fallen on hard times dweller 

in pokey also has to deal with photographic evidence of the degradation showing them in prison 

fatigues playing cards or something equally banal, but not with this particular prisoner.   

Not even a hint of evidence that he actually is in prison.  Makes you think.

The latest piece of idiocy in Catalonia concerns the Guardia Civil (the police guys with funny hats and guns) where there have been 20 arrests connected with the demonstrations and the financial organization thereof in support of our president Puigdemont who is at present in exile in Belgium.  This is a serious matter, but the general appearance of this operation (given the name “Volhov” by the Guardia Civil, referring to a battle during the Second World War by the División Azul which comprised Spanish soldiers fighting for the Nazis!  Such sensitivity!) has descended into farce by the claims of involvement of Putin and the threat of Russian soldiers being made available to Puigdemont and so on, into the realms of fantasy, QAnon and the delusions of dedicated conspiracy theorists.  Twitter and the social media are awash with spoofs and derisive comments on the latest putsch against Catalonia.

     Spain is not averse to looking ridiculous in the international court of public opinion, as witness their hapless defence of police brutality over the referendum of the 1^st October 2017 and the imprisonment of the organizers, some of whom are STILL IN PRISON.  For organizing a referendum.  In which millions of Catalans participated.

 

Such is the fluidity of the situation at the moment that the restrictions that I alluded to above are no longer a full description of what we are expected to observe.  It seems as if the government is trying to get as near as possible to a full lockdown without actually having one. 

     This is the sort of thing that the mendacious Conservative government tried with the situation in Northern Ireland and the attempts to convince us that there was a way to have some sort of Brexit and not to have a land border or a border somewhere: trying to convince people about something that was an impossibility, but faffing around to try and find the right linguistic display to make a contradiction appear smooth and joined-up.

     It is yet another variation of the “Delete all and insert” approach to debate that I remember from my days in General Body Student Meetings in University.  Even when agreement on some weasel formulation was found, it invariably came to pieces when confronted with practical reality.  It was a valuable Life Lesson to see specious agreement in action and to watch it later fail.  In ordinary life, instead of saying “Delete all and insert” the ‘compromise’ is usually preceded by, “What about if we” – but the end results (agreement/failure) are the same.

     We are still not sure about the exact details but, we are now expected to say within our municipalities during the weekends, so if the coastal resort of Castelldefels is packed on Saturday and Sunday with people from god knows where – what precisely are we supposed to do?  Our 10pm to 6am curfew continues.  Large stores are to be closed, and so on tinkering around the edges of what is actually necessary.

     While encourage not to make ‘unnecessary’ journeys, we are not banned from going where we like, within our province and within our municipality.  Mostly.  My swimming pool appears to be open for the foreseeable future (about three days in Covid terms!) and I can continue to take my bike rides, though the end part of my usual route, which is technically in Sitges, may be out of bounds during the weekends.

     As usual we are presented with yet more new rules about which we have a sketchy understanding at best – at a time when mistakes can and will be deadly!

 

Still, I have a new art book, and I have an active imagination, so no lockdown is going to contain me!

LOCKDOWN CASTELLDEFELS - Day 101 . Wednesday 24th June

I continue to be frustrated by the Catalan approach to time.

     I have given up trying to work out exactly the logic behind the opening and closing of shops and the continuation of some restaurants in staying open in spite of their cavalier attitude towards economics is mystifying to say the least, but I did think that I had the opening times of my swimming pool securely in my mind.

     Obviously during the more severe stages of the lockdown the pool was not open, and in the transition period from when it was open to the relative freedom of Phase Whatever The Hell We Are In Now there was a certain ad hoc nature of the time when we were let in for our regulated swims.  But the time did settle down to 8 am – the time, in the Old Days BC (before Covid) for the weekend opening times, the normal weekday opening time being 7 am.

     When we reached the present phase the opening time reverted to 7 pm, the showers were available for use and things appeared to be shaping up to be an acceptable New Normal.  Until San Juan.  As a recognized festival, this meant that opening time would be later, delayed until the weekend opening i.e. 8 am.

     Today, therefore, I had the luxury of a lie-in, or at least I would have if my built-in clock had not demanded that I wake up at my accustomed time, and I organized myself by setting off the robots to do the cleaning, making my cup of tea and doing a few of the clues in the Guardian Quick Crossword.  I made good time on my bike and I was at the gate to the pool by just before 8 am.  Unlike everyone else.  I was alone.

    OK, I thought, I will give them a few minutes to open up on the hour by going off on a little bike ride, making sure this time that I remembered to tell my watch that I was doing part of my exercise.  Too often I set off without pressing the right buttons to inform my watch to check my progress.  A little jaunt down the road and back again.  And nobody.

     I therefore made the executive decision that the time-honoured time for festive opening had somehow been delayed by an hour and so I would do my post swim bike ride, pre.  Which I did and made good time to get back to the pool just before 9 am.

     And there was nobody there.

     But at least this time, the gate was open and there were a couple of people sitting around the outside tables of the café.  But there were no people in reception and the café was closed.

     Eventually the shutters of the café opened, and Mario emerged to inform us that the opening time was 10 am for the pool.

     As I had my phone and my notebook (and asked Mario to bring me a cup of tea) a wait of an hour was as nothing and I finished the crossword and wrote a number of pages of quotidian rubbish in my notebook.

     My swim over, I had a second cup of tea and wrote further pages in my notebook and felt well satisfied and smug.  I declined to go on a further bike ride as the battery level on my bike had progressed to the single digit red number and I had no intention of being caught far from home with only pedal power to get me back!

It has been a beautiful day with only the screaming children lessening its beauty.  I truly think that kids have become even more feral with their extended absence from the calming discipline of school to contain their vocal exuberance.  If it were possible for kids to converse in anything less than a scream and shout I think I could become inured to their existence, but as it is, their obstreperous assertion of simply being makes them something Not Wanted on the Voyage of Life.  I’m afraid.

Our communal pool has become its usual magnet for those freeloaders who are not actually people who live in the houses for whom the pool is intended.  Just as the swallows come back to Britain in the summer, so various foreign fixtures take up their positions around the pool.  Shameless!

Tomorrow Toni returns, and I wait to see if he has been able to find any mature Cheddar.  He might have forgotten that he mentioned that he might look out for some, but I most certainly have not!

There are still a few laggard explosions, but as a slept through the ‘Main Battle’ last night, a few bangs are not going to keep me awake.  So to speak.

A pair of rather fearsome black reusable masks have arrived that I ordered via the Internet oodles of time ago.  They are not entirely comfortable to wear, but they do look the business and they have a satisfying seriousness to them.  They look the sort of thing to wear during shopping jaunts.

     The everyday masks are those that are shoved into pockets, and brought out and used because they are obligatory in Reception and the Café.  I am not sure what power they still retain as they have been overused, but I maintain the force of the family wisdom of, “Anything is better than Nothing.” And so they act as a barrier, no matter how flimsy.

     Mask wearing is the only visible element in most people’s approach to the virus.  Yes, we do obey (usually) the strips placed on the floor and there is some attempt at physical distancing with people that you do not know, but the fear of the virus is very much “over there” where “there” is very definitely not anywhere near our here.

     The virus news form around the world is uniformly depressing and there are spikes of infection in all countries.  I agree with Faucci (?) who said we should not look for second spikes of infection because we are still very much in the grip of the first spike.  I also agree with the director of the WHO who said that we are not safe until everyone is safe – and that means that we should all be very worried because there are too many leaders who are acting from economic and political standpoints and not human health standpoints.

I have written to my MP in Britain and urged him to consider aiding a movement to get Johnson and his cabinet charged with Corporate Manslaughter.

     I watched part of PMQs and was, yet again, ashamed by the way that Johnson failed to answer questions and became agitated when his failings were highlighted.  If he had a shred of common decency and humility and admitted the disastrous failures that his government has clearly owned, then I think he would have a certain amount of sympathy from the British people, and they would encourage the government to look at what has gone wrong and prepare for the worst in a more professional way than they have so far.  The government’s concern should be the welfare of the people and not how they look.  Each failure to acknowledge mistakes leads to further deaths.

LOCKDOWN CASTELLDEFELS - DAY 52 – Wednesday, 6th May

I am not, it must be said, a fan of the Blond Buffoon, so I probably did not come to the viewing of PMQs with an open heart and a forgiving attitude.  Be that as it may, I have to say that I have rarely seen a more cringe worthy performance than that of our Prime Minister (sic.) answering questions from the Leader of the Opposition.

     Johnson’s bumbling waffle was an embarrassment, and it was all the more telling because he was bereft of the usual Tory baying to cover up his lazy emptiness.  He is an indolent man, and his shallowness was on pitiful display in this exhibition of his fatuousness.  Starmer destroyed him with the sort of questions to which there is no answer, unless the proven liar changes the habits of a wasted lifetime and actually finds a modicum of veracity and admits guilt for the catastrophe of the management of the Covid crisis.

     It seems almost redundant to say that the number of deaths in the UK is now over 30,000.  30,000 lost lives.  30,000 people dead.  And we are told that we should not jump to international comparisons, even though the government itself produces those comparisons.  We  now have more deaths from Covid-19 than Italy.  We are paramount in Europe with the number of deaths.  Are we supposed to forget that we were told that “deaths under 20k would be a good result”, so we must assume that 30k deaths is a disgusting catastrophe.

     One can go on listing the disasters that this government has ‘managed’: the non-provision of PPE; the whole question of Care Homes; the provision, number, and quality of tests; the lies we have been told; the lack of transparency; the lack of an exit strategy; the slowness of the initial response; the criminal irresponsibility of Johnson in failing to take distancing seriously; the provision of masks for the general population and on, and on.

     It is obvious that we need an independent inquiry now so that this disaster is not repeated.  The process needs to be started immediately and the evidence needs to be gathered as a matter of urgency.  Thirty thousand people have died and it is inevitable that even more will follow them if we do not learn the lessons that can prevent the growth of fatalities.

     The UK is being reported in foreign newspapers with a mixture of astonishment and sorrow and Johnson is regarded as the wrong leader in the wrong place at the wrong time – a watered down version of Trump – and with a cabinet of inadequates: a perfect storm of negatives at the time when the crisis demands the very best.

I continue to go for my bike rides and am joined each time by a whole variety of people who have broken out bikes to take part in our daily Paseo.  There is a certain determination in the exercise that we are taking and few people look as though they are enjoying the experience!

     I miss my daily swim – it gives a shape to my day and it starts it ‘properly’ as I swim at 7 am, then my cup of tea and making notes.  It’s a good start.  I could start my bike ride at 6 am, as our time slot is from 6 to 10, but I am disinclined to do that.  There are limits to my desire to exercise!

Our Catalan lessons have developed, in so far as there is another lesson this Friday in the morning and via Google Meet.  I have not found this system to be one that I get on with, but I am going to try a change of computer and hope for the best for the next attempt!

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!