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!

Indifferent day, indifferent thoughts

         

An odd day today, it is not warm, but it certainly isn’t cold.  It is overcast and the Med has a North Sea look with waves that are much larger than usual, though there is no wind and few hits of a storm.  The sea is an almost monochrome grey-blue and when I was riding along the paseo there was a sea mist which blended horizon and water and where the cold white breaking waves looked almost theatrical in their contrast with the surrounding drabness.  It looked bleakly beautiful and there were isolated figures on the beach which gave a cinematographic look to my vistas from the saddle of the bike and it was easy to enjoy the visuals because there was no cold cost of being out in the bleakness, when it wasn’t really bleak!

     As the restaurants and cafes are closed the emptiness of the streets echoes the deserted beach.  On an inclement day one can imagine oneself back to the strict lockdown of March or April.  As I typed that a solitary magpie swooped over the trees that I can see from my desk on the third floor.  Is that an example of the pathetic fallacy: linking a harbinger of bad luck with lockdown?  Or does it always have to be the weather?  If it is the weather, then the slightly other-worldly climate at the moment is doing its bit!

 

Toni and I have been bewailing the lack of restaurants and the fact that we cannot go out for a menu del dia, I bring that up because of the vote by the Conservative Party in refusing to continue the provision of free school meals during the holidays.   

     I made the mistake of reading what some of the Nasty Party’s adherents said in justifying their decision and I was transported back to the unregenerate days of Dickensian blaming the poor for their situation and not wanting to mollycoddle them so that they would be too weak to make the effort to improve their position by their own efforts.

     I have never, ever been a Conservative voter, and the last member of that benighted party for whom I had even a scintilla of respect was Iain Macleod (hated by the even further right wing of the Conservative Party as being “too clever by half”) and he had the good grace to die a month into Heath’s government so that he wasn’t further tainted by the steady descent to contemptibility that had started with Home.  I think that my ‘respect’ for him was coloured by the fact that I was very young and he seemed like an intellectual threat to the comfortable leftish-wing politics that the young teenage me adopted.

    So, in 2020 there is no character in the present government with even a shadow of the moral, intellectual and political nous of the late Iain Macleod and everything that they do and say increases my contempt for them.  Where are the people with the moral standing (!) of a John Profumo (!) in this cabinet of Political Caligaris?  The third-rate chancers that make up the U-turning incompetents that govern the UK make me ashamed to be British. 

     The USA, UK, Brazil, Hungary, Poland, Russia, Turkey, Venezuela, as well as many others around the world are forming a distasteful group of countries that seem more and more distant from any ideals of democracy and decency that I understand to be motivators for decent political government.   

     At least the people of the USA have the opportunity to dump Trump and return to some sort of joined-up thinking, whereas we have YEARS of Johnson and his rabble before he can be cast into the infamy of history.

     How many people SO FAR have been killed by the incompetence of Johnson’s government?  Given the Conservatives’ atrocious handling of the pandemic, what chance is there that the looming disaster of Brexit is going to be overseen with compassion, understanding and efficiency? 

     How many more hungry children will it take for Conservatives to act with simple humanity?

       Look to the history of the Conservative Party for your answer.

Eating together apart

 

 

Last night we were bought a meal by Toni’s sister to celebrate her Name Day: she was in Terrassa, and we in Castelldefels.  So, we ordered a meal from our Saturday regular restaurant and she paid for it via Bizum.

     How shaming is it to admit that before yesterday I had never heard of Bizum as a way of getting payments from one person to another without revealing your bank details?  As far as I am aware Bizum is located in Spain, or at least it is connected with Spanish banks – or is this just a further example of my electronic ignorance and Bizum is worldwide and it has just happened to pass me by?

     Whatever, that was used to pay for our meal, or at least to re-imburse us for our using hard cash to give to the motorcycle driver who delivered (the wrong) meal.

     It does seem strange this far into a lockdown, or restrictions, that a system that is administratively computer driven with clear print outs to attach to each bag of food to be delivered should be so faulty.  Correct labelling should be second nature at this stage of the struggle of a food supplier to stay afloat.  And the restaurant is foremost a delivery service rather than the other way around.  Still, wrong the meal was, but a quick telephone call and within a couple of minutes the bike rider reappeared and, speaking perfect English (years in London) gave us our ordered meal.

     If we are looking towards the summer of next year to get the vaccine down to our level of user, then ordering meals is likely to become something of a rule rather than exception.  I have noticed that restaurants are offering a take-out service now when they have never done it previously.

     My birthday is going to be another opportunity to find out how good our systems are as we were going to go to a restaurant for lunch – but all the restaurants are closed so take-away (or do it yourself) is the only option.  As my birthday is on a Saturday, there is not the chance of a menu del dia – but the restaurant that failed in the order yesterday, does do a reasonably priced (and usually tasty) version.  So, we will have to consider our options.  And wallets!

 

We have another White Goods Crisis.  I turned on the microwave and the lights went out.  Something is wrong.  But, talking of opportunity, it does give me yet another excuse to spend money!

But no.   

False alarm.  The fault was not in the microwave, but in the plug.  So that is one expense that I will not be incurring.

     In the old, unregenerate financial days, I have to admit that my reasoning would have gone along the “that saved expense ‘frees’ money to be spent on something else” – but I’m more grown up now and I merely feel a sense of relief and get on with my life.  Although I did buy (from the on-line shop) the catalogue to a new exhibition in El Prado that I thought was interesting.  Not quite the price of a microwave but still reassuringly expensive – and full colour illustrations too!

Why can't life be as it was?

 

It is amazing how far the quality of an experience can be changed by the omission of a cup of tea.

     I realize that the British obsession with our national hot beverage (not a leaf of which, with the exception of the botanical gardens in Kew, is grown in the country) is somewhat difficult for those not of a British persuasion to understand. 

     It is further complicated by our insistence that the milk be cold not boiling when added to the brew.  “Why,” my foreign friends ask, “would you do that?”  To ask such a question, almost by definition, defies an answer.  Where, one asks oneself, does one start when confronted by such levels of Philistinism?

     Anyway, at the end of my morning swim I am accustomed to make my way to the outside seating of the adjoining café and have a cup of tea and one made to my exacting standards of a mixture of Earl Gray and English Breakfast, and a brew that, when the milk is added the resultant colour is of a depth that my father would have found acceptable – though for him to be enthusiastic about a cup of tea it would have to be one of such strength that, “the tea spoon could stand up in it!”  My normal cup of tea does not aspire to such flavoursome heights, but it does emphatically not look like the usual anaemic liquids served opening masquerading as tea in this country.

     I swim a metric mile, that is sixty lengths of our 25m pool.  I go up and down, and up and down, accompanied only by the sound of my exhaled breath bubbling against my stoppered ears and seeing very little in the myopic blur in which I swim – having recently given up wearing contact lenses because they irritated me.  So, in the monotony of length swimming, the idea of a nice cup of tea waiting as a reward for early morning exertion is something to keep you going.

     But for the next fortnight, the café is closed except for ‘take-away’ and the idea of drinking my tea from a paper cup standing next to my bike is not something that appeals.  So, swim finished, dressed, straight out onto bike for the ride down to Port Ginesta and back. 

     It all seems a little earnest without the frivolity of tea, and it is, furthermore, while sipping my tea that I jot down ideas in my notebook.  I could, of course, jot down notes at any time, but the time just seems to melt away when you are breaking routine to get something done.  Notes are for post-swim tea drinking, not sitting in the comfort of an armchair later in the day.  And, after all, it’s only for a fortnight.

     And therein lies the rub.  I do not think that this closing of bars and restaurants is going to be sufficient to deal with the upsurge in number of infections.  I think that this partial lockdown is more a function of political cowardice and real fear over the financial consequences rather than a science-based solution.  It seems to me that this is just a softening-up of an already tired and fed up electorate before something more drastic will be forced to take its place.

     Although we are informed that there are over 170 trials of possible vaccines in operation and that by the end of the year there should be clear indications of likely candidate vaccines to roll out for the general population by early January, the more convincing voices has warned that the simple logistics of the immunization exercise make it unlikely that the PBI will get protection before the summer of 2012.  Given what we have packed into the past months of 2020, the summer of 2021 seems a hell of a long way away, and our political leadership has been shaky to put it at its mildest!

     Still, life goes on defiantly with people eagerly accepting ever changing versions of what New Normal might mean.

     One example of this might be the new way to celebrate distanced occasions.  Today is the Name Day of Toni’s sister and she has suggested that we have a distanced meal with her paying for a delivery of a menu del dia from one of our chosen restaurants here in Castelldefels because we are unable to go up to Terrassa and, anyway there would be more than six of us celebrating.  I will let you know how this works out, but it is only a development of on-line presents where, with Amazon Prime, it is cheaper to send something via Amazon than buy it yourself and send it yourself.

      Noticed on television last night that there were adverts for one of our largest Department Stores, El Corte Ingles, where they were saying that an on-line purchase could be delivered free of charge (?) within a couple of hours!  This is throwing down the gauntlet to Amazon and it will be interesting to see how it all works out. 

     For shops here in Castelldefels, unless they get themselves organized via the web to do deliveries they are going to go out of business.  The smaller shops will need help, perhaps via a sort of city version of a localized Amazon system, but unless something dramatic is done the whole commercial basis of city shopping is going to implode.

 

One of the lead items on the Catalan News was the fact that Wales has decided to impose a new/old stringent lockdown.  It may be the first in Western Europe to do so, but I do fear that it will not be the last.

     The tiered approach in England looks and sounds like an unsatisfactory compromise and the dump of documentation from SAGE telling the politicos that a short sharp shock was needed makes the shambolic behaviour of this totally discredited Conservative ‘government’ look even more mendacious that we already knew it to be.

     Johnson is quite prepared to sacrifice lives rather than face up to his political responsibilities.  He, and his cabinet of all the talentless, are despicable.  And once again I make the plea for someone, anyone, to bring a charge of Corporate Manslaughter against him and his Brexiteer accomplices as they continue their ‘systematic’ attacks on the people and institutions of the United Kingdom.

    

Life must go on!

 

My second day of unaccustomed lie-ins, and frankly, I’ve had enough.  The idea of getting up early is so engrained in me that any lingering in bed is effort not easement.  So, I will be up and about by 6.15 am tomorrow and be getting ready for my swim.

     Assuming that it is not raining, I will be using my bike to get to the pool.  Apart from immediately after the spill, the only bike ride I have had was this morning when I went out in bright sunshine to have an exploratory jaunt – not geographically (my route is set) but to see how my legs held out.

     I have already sort-of forgotten the pain of the original accident and I am more concentrated on the sharp reminders that come every time I get up and start walking, when the scab-mending skin on my knees stretches.

     It is easy to imagine while cycling that the tugging irritation of the scabs is going to result in cracks and on your return, you will have to mop up the rivulets of blood from opened wounds.  There was nothing like that, and so I am going to assume that the repairs to my epidermis are progressing well, and certainly well enough to take a little light swimming tomorrow morning.

     We shall see.

     Our Sunday lunch usually comes from the local pollo a last and today was no exception.  The only difference was that I went to get the food at midday because we reasoned, with the lack of food outlets open thanks to the new lockdown regulations, other people would be thinking of the quality take-away that is normally popular in less trying times.

     In the PC (Pre-Covid) days, you had to take a printed number and wait your turn.  That process has been dispensed with and now we have to queue, in masks with social distancing.  When I got there, very early for lunch, there were only three people ahead of me.  By the time I left the queue was considerably longer.  I had arrived at the tipping point of the queue and just made it before the masses descended!

     Given the fact that we have been in some sort of lockdown for eight or nine months we have to think about what used to be ‘normal’ when we go about our daily lives.  We do not expect to go out as much, to meet as many people to do the ordinary things that used to be part of a way of life.

     It is easy to live near the sea in what is a seaside town and see people doing what they have always done.  People walk and cycle and take the dog out.  Over the weekends, in spite of forceful recommendations, we know that we have many more than the locals walking along the paseo by the side of the beach and the sea.  We have the runners and the walkers and the families.  Many of them are local, I recognize them daily as I go on my bike ride along the paseo the length of Castelldefels, but many are strangers who have come (as they have always come) to one of the visitor friendly beach resorts near Barcelona.

     I am still shocked at the number of people who, walking along the paseo, don’t wear masks or wear them under their noses.  Some wear them on their elbows on hold them in a hand and some show no evidence of any mask at all.  It is at this point that I wonder about what these people think is happening around them, what do they think the word ‘pandemic’ means?  What do they think that their individual place in society demands?  As it is all I do is mutter “Covidiota!” under my breath and cycle on.

     Tomorrow, Monday, is the first day that the new restrictions will hit home, with parts of Castelldefels being fairly desolate places without the people and movement that come with thriving (even at 30% - 50% occupancy) of bars and restaurants.

     Tomorrow is the Name Day of Toni’s sister.  We would normally make the trip up to Terrassa for an evening meal and the distribution of presents.  Now everything has to be put on hold as I have no intention of moving outside my little Castelldefels bubble, and that disinclination has state approval.

     It does make me wonder about the sense of going to the opera.  On the one hand I do want to support the arts and t has been a long time since I was last in the Opera House in Barcelona – the last season was delayed and then cancelled.  My birthday is the date of the first opera of the new season.  But how can such a gathering be justified when bars and restaurants are closed?  How can the Liceu do better than small, more easily managed venues?  I have to admit that I am still in two minds about the safety of the forthcoming experience.

     We have been told that tickets for the performance will be sent to us via email; it is now six days away and I have had nothing.  I assume that Monday will be the day that we get final information about where we are sitting and our allotted seats have been changed in the interests of safety.  This is one experience that I am still debating taking.

 

Although my birthday celebrations have shrunk somewhat, I am already looking forward to greeting guests to the celebrations for the Completion of My Seventieth Year in October 2021.  DV.

Blood should be on the inside!

 

When the event in your life that you are looking forward to is the inauguration of a new container for your daily pills, then I might suggest that your standard for a new experience is Lockdown Limited. 

     We have become used to accepting the more quotidian in place of the exceptional, because what we used to take for granted: visiting new places, meeting friends and family, eating out – all have become more problematical with the see-sawing restrictions that we have had to live with for the last eight months or so.

     But my day was about to become more eventful, though not intentionally so. 

I had to get a new supply of my pills from our local pharmacist and I incorporated that chore as the finale in my morning exercise.

     Having completed my morning swim, I emerged into the morning sunshine to find that the outside seating area of the café part of the pool had been converted into one large ‘crime scene’, with the striped plastic tape making sure that all the tables and chairs were out of commission. 

     The café is now a take-away establishment only and, as one regular said, “What am I supposed to do?  Buy a take-away coffee and walk around the block drinking it, before I get back into my car?”

     So, bereft of my bocadillo and cup of tea (a mixture of Earl Grey and English Breakfast, they know how I like it) I set out on my bike ride down to Port Ginesta intending to call in to the pharmacy near our house on my return.

     It was cold.  Although I am still wearing T-shirt and shorts with the essential sandals, I am getting to the stage where long sleeved shirts and gloves are going to be a necessity.

     I arrived at a fairly deserted pharmacy that is part of a commercial development that includes garage, shops and restaurants – that, given the new lockdown regulations, were not generally open.

     I attempted to dismount from my bike, but after a 15km ride (well, it’s a lot for me!) and what with the cold, I was a little stiff and I unbalanced and brought the bike down on myself.

     As I have previously had occasion to explain my bike is fat wheeled and heavy, so trapped by gravity and a solid metal frame I hurtled to the ground!

     I was more shocked than in pain – though there was pain as well – and, as there were no people around I sprawled on the ground, trapped by the bike and weighed down by my backpack and felt truly helpless!

     I eventually disengaged myself and dragged by bloody way into the pharmacy, bleeding from both knees, my left elbow and, oddly, right foot.  The pharmacist noticed nothing and so, somewhat shocked with bloody track lines streaking down my legs, I collected my pills.  And cycled home – easier than wheeling the bike.

     My arrival back in the house was dramatic as the amount of blood on legs and feet made the wounds look much more dramatic than they were.  Dabbing away the excess revealed the cuts’ actual extent and emergency treatment with TCP commenced at once.

     The impressive bruise on the side of my knee has now deflated and I am left with seeping and pain.  In my usual way of dealing with infirmity of any sort, I took to my bed for a few hours to allow my body to do whatever it is that it does in times of stress.  And now it is time for another cup of tea and some light reading.

     I have decided to give the pool a miss for the weekend to allow the scabs to form and, anyway, I think my fellow swimmers might be a little disconcerted in the time of a pandemic to see me wandering around with open wounds!  Well, open-ish, and more like cuts to be absolutely truthful, but I am prepared to milk whatever sympathy I can get.

      Meanwhile I fully intend to be ‘palely loitering’ for the duration of the weekend and emerge revivified on Monday!

    

Plans? What plans?

 

It did not occur to me yesterday when I was thinking about the lockdown restrictions that are going to be imposed at midnight tonight for the next fifteen days that they comprised yet another knock to my birthday celebrations.

     With the ‘rule of six’ and the suggestions that different households not mix the situation for anyone actually making it to the restaurant to participate in my birthday meal was problematic. 

     As many of the people who coming from Britain, the fact that flights had been cancelled was something of a disincentive to start the journey, let alone the fact that Spain and Catalonia are not on the corridor of acceptable countries and that there would have been a period of compulsory quarantine on their return!

     So, the Plan D for my birthday had shrunk down to Toni and I having tapas at lunchtime in one of our trusted restaurants.  Which are now closed.  So, not only no friends and relatives but now, no venue! 

     At the moment the Opera is still on, but that is in nine days time and these days that is the rough equivalent of the temporal distance of the end of the last Ice Age and twentieth U-turn of the Blond Buffoon passing himself off as the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom!

     All in all, these next few weeks are shaping up to be eventful.

 

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.

Something needs to be done! Now!

 

In my consumer relations with various retail outlets there comes a time in our negotiations to try and right the wrongs that I feel have been done to me, when I feel the need to silently hand over a small printed card with the following message on it: “I am middle class, literate and tenacious.  Give up now while you still have some self respect, because you WILL NOT WIN.”

      I hasten to assure you that I haven’t actually handed over such a card, let alone printed one out, but it would have saved my shop-related opponents a great deal of time and effort.

     I remember watching one film about an evil insurance company (are there any other types?) where the default position to ANY claim made was, in the first instance, to refuse it.  As insurance companies have impressive financial resources and equally striking headed notepaper for their official missives to the grasping customers who have the unheard of audacity to expect the companies to do what they were paid to do, i.e. pay up when loss is experienced, there is an element of intimidation used against the clients.

     My father had dealings with one buildings’ insurance company when he claimed for storm damage to a chimney and part of the roof.  The work to repair the faulty structure had to be carried out on an emergency basis and my father was claiming after the fact.  He eventually received a letter informing him that his claim had been processed; a cheque was enclosed, and would be please sign and return the enclosed form.

     Needless to say the cheque came nowhere near the amount claimed and my father rejected the proffered cheque with contempt and started a length letter battle with the company that eventually resulted in a meeting in which my father suggested an independent assessment and arbitration.  He had no idea whether that sort of thing was covered under his policy but it seemed like a good idea and it was the sort of thing that he was teaching in his Liberal Studies lectures and classes (ah, there is a subject title from the brave new world of 60s education!) and it ought to exist.  The difference in the meeting was immediate and it was admitted that he did indeed have recourse to such an approach, but “we needn’t let it get to that sort of level” moderated the previously intransigent attitude of the blood sucking vampiric officials and a mutually satisfactory solution to the problem was soon arrived at.

     What lesson my father drew from his experience was not the quality of his letter writing, though he did regale Mum and me with some of the more lurid passages, but rather the underhand tactics of an unprincipled company.  As he reasoned it, how many people would turn down an actual signed cheque?  They would assume from the ‘official’ documentation accompanying it that the cheque was the end of the matter.  Dad used to talk about the situation of some OAP living alone with little or no support system in place feeling obliged to accept the cheque and being grateful for it!

     Having spurned the cheque it prompted my father into further and higher forms of letter writing, which, as I mentioned was, eventually successful in this particular circumstance and was generally successful whenever he put pen to paper in the interests of personal commercial justice!

     I channel my father when I have contretemps with suppliers who don’t live up to their PAID promises and I OPEN A FILE – dread words indeed!

     The foregoing is not a self-indulgent meandering, it has been prompted by my latest satisfactory outcome.

     I dropped my mobile phone and the glass back of the thing shattered – so much for toughened glass etc.  It shattered.  It still worked and I continued to use it, but this was not a situation that seemed to me to have long-term viability, so I tried to get it repaired.  This is a long story, a very long story, but I intend to cut to the chase.

     The point is not that the shop failed to get the phone repaired, but that they also managed to ‘brick’ it, and told me (eventually) that the phone was beyond economic repair and they would, very kindly, refund the money that I had paid them to replace the back of the phone!

     To be fair to the shop, the repairs were not carried out on the premises, but each shop in the chain sent them to a central technical station in a large Barcelona store.  I was given contradictory, confusing information about what actually had been or had not been done to my phone and the weeks dragged on.  From what they had said to me it seemed reasonable to assume that their attempts to repair had destroyed the phone.  I wanted another.

     The key questions remained (as the shop had my phone and it was not two minutes away from my house) did the thing charge and work.  Yes, I knew the back was smashed, but did it actually work as it did when I handed it in to be repaired?

   This (eventually) resulted in a brief email, which made me wonder if they were actually talking about my phone at all.  They told me it was working, that they had replaced the screen as I had asked (I hadn’t and they hadn’t) but they would give me a new phone.  Not, I might add, a replacement of my expensive phone, but a signally cheaper one, but by the same maker!  And they would pay back any money I had given for work that they had not done.

     I know that I could have held out for a duplicate, but I decided to cut my losses and retire with honour: full refund and spare phone.  Result.

     Because I have bought another phone.  The attempts to repair this phone started months ago, I knew it was going to be a long slog and so I listened to advice from One Who Knows and paid less than a quarter of what I paid for the phone with the smashed back and it does as much and more than the other one did.

     I also have the old phone.  I am not convinced that it is ‘beyond economic repair’ – I think that the shop simply gave up and bought me off.  As I have me new cheap phone and a newer cheaper one (courtesy of the store) I am sufficiently phoned-up to start a length campaign to get me old phone up and running.  At the moment it is charging (just checked 99% charged) and when it is ready I will see what it is still able to do.  If it appears to be serviceable then further steps will be taken to bring it back into full use.

     This particular file is not yet closed!  Not yet a while.

 

Fiesta?

 

 

Today is a National Holiday in Spain (including Catalonia) to celebrate ‘Spanishness’.  As you can easily imagine, this goes down like a cup of cold sick in Catalonia where any celebrations are, to put it mildly, muted.  We do, however, accept the holiday.

I thought that I was being on the ball by assuming early this morning that my swim would be delayed by an hour as, during fiestas the opening time of the centre is delayed.  I checked my ‘reservations’ on the app (all swims now have to be booked in advance thanks to the virus) and saw that the normal opening times were operational.

Not.

I arrived on my bike to a closed centre and a marked lack of eager car driver gym users queueing for the barrier to be raised.  I returned home and set about making use of the ‘gained’ time by settling down with a good cup of tea and completing the Guardian Quick Crossword.  First things first!  I did also unload the washing machine and sort the clothes; set Moppy off to do the mopping as she had virtually completed the hoovering by the time I returned from my abortive swim.  I’ve also unloaded the dishwasher and consequently feel smug that I have been a dutiful householder and done more than the majority of my sleeping fellow citizens around me.  I have also set my ‘morose’ setting to ‘full’ as I have read the headlines and leading articles in The Guardian and feel the full weight of 2020’s depression that has been the default state of the year!

If this year had been ‘normal’ by this stage I would now have been looking forward to the celebrations for United Nations Day on the 24^th of October when, coincidentally, I have a ‘significant’ birthday.  My grandiose plans for the day have all been scuttled of course, and the gathering of friends and relatives has now been consigned to the ‘completion’ of my significant year on United Nations Day 2021.  I can wait.

 

My menial task list now includes light hoovering on the third floor with the newly repaired and ‘relegated to the upper regions’ actual battery-operated Hoover (capital aitch) which should give some sense of cleanly order to the cluttered squalor in which I ‘work’. 

The Third Floor is really the equivalent of an attic and so it has a fair number of pieces of furniture and other impedimenta that simply don’t fit anywhere else and the jumble looks somewhat incongruous and hinders my access to the inevitable bookshelves with which I surround myself!

The saving grace of the third floor (apart from its existence) is the terrace which is spacious and south facing.  Toni’s ruthless cleaning of the kitchen has allowed a rather neat Perspex tray to resurface and I used that to make a pot of tea and take it upstairs for refreshment and to accompany tentative sunbathing.  The sun is out and, as long as there is no breeze at all, it is perfectly possible to ignore the month in the calendar and luxuriate in warm beams.

This is fine and dandy as far as it goes, but I have set myself a few more culturally improving tasks to complete today which require a little more than the ability to fill and empty a machine or push another one around a bit!

And lunch.  Lunch is going to be a culinary creation using whatever looks interesting in the freezer.  Some sort of fish casserole looks a possibility, so I’m off to create.