And the next thing?

 

 

 

  

It says something for my state of underwhelmed-ness about the new Amazon Prime Series The Rings of Power, that I have not bothered to watch the latest episode, which was released last Friday.  The idea of my ignoring something that plays to all my sci-fi fantasy weaknesses, does not say a lot for its impact!

     I am more even more disappointed because I read previews by trusted critics like Bradshaw in The Guardian which were so enthusiastic that I watched the pedestrian opening episode with an avidity that was soon rapidly dwindling to disinterest, bordering on boredom.  I’ve now reached episode three and I am still not engaged, in the way that the books or films of The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit captured my reading and watching dedication.

     The Silmarillion on which the new series is loosely based, I found unreadable in its book form, and regarded it as a piece of donnish self-indulgence – as indeed is the series, if you think about it in terms of the commercial hopes of Amazon who made it!

     Yes, of course the look of the series is spectacular, the landscapes are staggeringly beautiful, and the set piece grandeur of fantastic civilizations amazing, but then it should look good given how much cash has been expended on it.

     I find little ‘new’ in the series, and the clunking reveal of ‘random human who turns out to be an unrecognized king” etc tedious, and a weak re-run (pre-run?) of Aragorn/Strider.  I do recognize that the series is a prequel and that there is a sort of satisfaction in seeing the ancient pre-history of the more interestingly critical moments in Tolkien’s created world that far better known, but it does take the sting out of what might happen as we do know how things eventually turn out, and this series does not have the ‘wow’ factor that the films had.  We have assimilated director Peter Jackson’s epic visual conception of Tolkien’s world and we now take for granted visual effects that would once have blown us away.

     I will, of course, watch the whole of the series.  And I will maintain my hope that there will be moments that justify the time I spend watching and the money burnt to make it!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have completed my open-air-early-morning-swims.  The fortnight of local pool closure for maintenance is over today, and I have already checked that the pool will open at the normal times for normal use from Monday.  I have been relatively lucky with the weather so that I have not had to swim in challenging circumstances – or cold water, but I still do feel a sense of Mission Accomplished that I have swum all fourteen days in our community pool.

     One of my lecturers used to swim, every day of the year, in Swansea Bay.  I am not made of such stern stuff, though I can say that I swam on Christmas Eve off a beach in Sitges.  When I say swam, that is something of an exaggeration: I immersed myself in the water and immediately exited the sea.  The sunshine that was streaming down, did not, as I vividly recall seem to have any part in heating the icy wavelets.  There is a fine line between resolution and stupidity and staying in the water for any longer than I did would clearly have been an illustration of the latter!

     The pool-absence period has jinxed my writing by changing my routine, and I have only scribbled ‘thoughts’ in my notebook on a couple of occasions, whereas I always write in it when I am taking my cup of tea and baguette in the pool café.  Have jotted down a few phrases and ideas, but it remains to be seen if they are actually worth working up into something real.  There again, even ‘failures’ are interesting, and it is rare that I can’t salvage something from the wreckage of a poem ‘gone wrong’!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Opera Season is almost upon us, and I still haven’t decided if I should take out a ‘Saturday Afternoon Subscription’ to a series of orchestral concerts in Barcelona.  This is an odd hesitation on my part because I am essentially an orchestral music sort of person, with my going to Opera being something of an indulgence for me.

     As is usual with any subscription series, there are some concerts that don’t really appeal, though from past experience, the concerts with low expectations very often surprise with unexpected delights.  At least that is what I keep telling myself.  And afternoon concerts mean a Barcelona exit at a reasonable time!  Worth considering.  And going.  Perhaps I will buy a subscription.  There you are a decision made in under one hundred keystrokes!  If only the other things in life were so easy!

Is there any normality left around?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gradually, but only gradually News is creeping up the screen on my Guardian mobile app, so that my initial shudder as I am forced to consider (and relish) the length of the queue to see the coffin of the late Queen is gradually being superseded by things of somewhat more immediate import, like how we are going to survive the winter without shedloads of debt.

     I realise that Monday will however be a day swamped by full and exhausting coverage of the Funeral, and I am sure that I will not be exempt from a full-scale broadcast here in Catalonia.  When I fled the UK in the summer of 1981 to escape the supine coverage of The (first) Marriage of the present King Charles III, I made the mistake of going to the US of A where, believe it or not, there was greater coverage of The Marriage in NY than there was in London!  I spent my time telling those gushing Americans who congratulated (!) me on being British and therefore having a special relationship with that doomed marital relationship that I was a Republican – thought not, I hastened to add, a Republican in the American sense!

     I sincerely hope that after Monday, things will get back to some sort of normality where the destructive and vicious policies (if they are worthy of that epithet) of the Conservative government can be considered and shown to be the worthless pieces of selfishness that they so clearly are, to anyone outside the Cult of Neoliberalism!

     If the astonishing dedication of certain parts of the British population in standing in line for umpteen hours can be defined as in any way positive, then I suppose I would have to hope that something of the same dedication is given to the more pressing problems facing the population than the death of the unelected head of state.

     Talking of American Republicans, one commentator pointed out that the fixation with trying to ban abortion shown by many on the right demonstrates a concern for the unborn baby right up until it is actually born, then the anti-abortionists demonstrate not a jot of concern for the health of mother or baby.  Pro-life seems to be concerned with the unborn, as soon as there is a live and kicking human being in the world, the concern of those fanatics seems to fade away.

     I only hope that the dedication and respect that people have clearly shown to a corpse, can be extended to the living after the Queen has been laid to rest in Windsor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     The number of food banks that a wealthy and developed country like Great Britain has is a disgrace.  Charities that run these food banks have pointed out that with rising prices they are not going to be able to cope with rising demand.  The Tory government has systematically de-funded social services, so that the winter of 2022-2023 is going to be one of deprivation and distress.  I hope that the spirit that drove so many people to give up their time to wait in a queue will recognize that there is another pressing reason for them to devote themselves to a higher and living cause.

 

     Support your local food bank or volunteer if you can! 

     If everyone gave the time that they spent queueing or gave the equivalent amount that their time was worth in a donation to the food banks, then I would commend their concern.

What really makes sense nowadays?

 

 

 

 

Twelve days early morning swimming in the outdoor community pool!  Only two days to go before my local indoor pool reopens after the yearly fortnight maintenance closure.  Considering I was contemplating paying to use the Gavá pool, I’m quids in!  But it will be a relief to get back to my normal routine on Monday of next week

     In spite of the fact that I have given myself an extra hour or so in bed, to allow the sun to rise before I immerse myself in the chilly waters, I can’t say that I have benefited from the lie-in.  My body clock will not be denied, and I continue to wake up as if my swim was at 7 am, and any bedtime after my inexorable early rising time, is forced rather than easy and so, in the scheme of things, doesn’t really count.

     Apart from two startled Dutch strangers, I have swum alone since a week last Monday, and those interlopers were obviously just proving they had access to everything, as you do when you have just arrived for your holiday and feel that you must use all the facilities at once to get value for money!

     I would like to report that my lonely circling of the pool allowed my mind to drift into poetic reveries and that I, immediately on exiting the pool, rushed to my notebook, and wrote out my exquisite thoughts before they evaporated like the water on my skin.  Alas!  Not so! 

     The only time an image suggested itself was when, this morning, I (grudgingly) swum in the aftermath of a short, quasi, sun-shower, and the drips from the overarching pine trees produced little, short-lived bubbles on the surface of the pool.  Even then, when I did get out, writing in my notebook was not the first thing I did, and you might say that noting that omission is my way of encouraging myself to get on with it and at least jot down the phrases that (while swimming at least) seemed to have some poetic legs!

     I have also written nothing ‘poetic’ about the “collective hysteria” (one cousin) that has prompted actions like the laying of flowers (another cousin) to mark the death of QEII.

 

 

 

 

 

 

     The royal circus has now reached Wales, and there is a service in Llandaff Cathedral in Cardiff and then a meeting in the Senedd.  Welsh First Minister Drakeford has made it clear that protest by anti-royalists is something that must be allowed and has suggested that the South Wales Police will be appreciative of that right.  We’ll see how that goes.

     Memories of my first and only trip to Mexico came back to mind when hearing about The Queue – it surely deserves the capital letter as it has become a defining aspect of The British Character. 

     Our arrival in Mexico for holiday after a very long and excruciatingly uncomfortable sardine-flight was just the prelude to a series of what I can only describe as humiliations.  We had to queue to get inside the airport, then queue to join a queue for customs, and then further queue to get through the various obstacles that Mexican bureaucracy provided before we were finally allowed to enter the country. 

     Now, from the comfort of my own armchair in Catalonia, I can watch a similar queueing quandary as the Main Queue for the lying-in-state has been (allegedly) closed because the maximum length has been reached, but people undeterred by the eleven-hour wait, have taken it upon themselves to unofficially queue in a park to wait to join the official queue! This is tantamount to insanity.

 

 

 

 

 

     I am reminded also of a story I heard about The Festival of Britain in 1951.  Although the war ended in 1945, rationing would not end until 1954, so the futuristic architecture, plate glass and colour of The Festival of Britain was something extraordinary.  It was a very popular exhibition, a statement of determination and optimism in the somewhat dreary post-war years and intended to be a “Tonic to the Nation!”  In total over eight million people visited the main exhibition site on the South Bank of the Thames, and I have been told that people were employed to go around the site and break up queues that had formed spontaneously. 

     Giving rationing and the scarcity of so much just after the war, people were used to queueing, and once a queue formed, it developed its own integrity with the people at the head of the queue thinking that there must be something worth waiting for because there were people behind them, and the people behind them assuming the same things given the people in front!

     I would, of course, maintain that both the queue for the late Queen and also the phantom queues of The Festival of Britain are alike in having no ‘real’ end destination.  I know that there is the viewing of a coffin on a catafalque in an ancient hammer-beam roofed hall, and there is always an off-chance of seeing a prince or two or the changing of the guard to justify the wait, but essentially the whole thing is a nothing.  It is a celebration of absence, of a distant unknowable entity now gone.  It is a fantasy of historicism and of significance, it is an illusion tyring to pretend to be something real.  But it’s not, no matter how many people emote when they see the symbols and think that they are participating. They are as deluded as those people queuing for nothing on The South Bank in 1951, and ironically in 2022 they are back queueing on The South Bank again.

     Where are the people to break up this queue and say, “Move on, there’s nothing to see here!”

I don't want to play that game!

 

 

 

 

 

 

What would I wait in a three-mile queue for?

     This is one of the emptiest parlour games ever invented, because the answer is ‘absolutely nothing’!  OK, you can re-work things and say that if it was a matter of life and death, or that there were untold riches at the end of the wait for the taking, but for anything else?  No, I can think of nothing.  At least nothing real and achievable!

     And yet, thousands, tens – no, hundreds of thousands of my fellow countrymen, with a sprinkling of foreigners, are joining the queue to file past the coffin of a ninety-six-year-old woman.  A woman with no real accomplishments to her name, apart from her longevity and an ability for small talk honed to perfection over decades of vacuous ‘service’.

      

 

 

 

On the other hand, I do understand that some people feel a real sense of personal loss and that by queueing and paying their respects they are honouring a debt owed to a lady who devoted herself to her people,  I also understand that people feel that this moment is an historic one and that they are able to link themselves to a unique, unrepeatable moment in our national experience by actually being there.  A feeling of linking oneself to something almost immeasurably greater.

     You can tell that I am going through the motions and trying to think myself into the position of someone who makes the decision to queue for perhaps thirty hours for a distanced moment with the coffined corpse of a dead Queen.  And I’m failing miserably.

      In the same way I fail to understand the people who voted for Trump or continue to ‘believe’ the lie of the lost election; or the people who voted for Johnson and continued to vote for him long after it was obvious that he was singularly unsuited for any sort of public service.

     I can understand people voting for self-aggrandisement and voting for the party that seems to offer the best protection for their interests, no matter how unfair it might be.  I remember I once had a lapel badge that had “VOTE TORY” in the centre, and it drew quizzical glances because I was not known for my Conservative sympathies!  It was only when those surprised people drew a little closer and saw the writing around the central ‘message’ that things became clearer: “Young and stupid?  Old and selfish?”  A gross simplification I know, but it does point to lack of education and selfishness at least playing some part in the way that the great questions of our time have been ‘resolved’!

 

 

 

      

 

 

    Brexit is the perfect example of how the same badge could be used and the word “Brexit” substituted for “Tory”!

     But that is not the whole explanation.  Decent people voted for Brexit and are still (in spite of the evidence to the contrary) backing it.  I have heard defenders of “the greatest act of self-harm in our history” passionately asserting that it has worked and that things are better.  And this is not simply the idiocy of, for example, the Brexit Blinded MP for Dover blaming the French for taking us at our word and treating us like a ‘third’ country after we withdrew to become a ‘third’ country – it is more a sort of wilful determination to make the best of what is having a ‘few teething problems’ but, as usual, we will pull through: cue, Churchill speeches, rousing music and many references to the Second World War and the Blitz!

     I suppose, when you come down to it, all forms of policy and government are precarious balancing acts, which only work because of the faith and belief of the people who are watching and want the act to work.

     Johnson has been the single most destructive person in recent times to threaten the whole edifice of the Way Things Are Done by ignoring the “Good Chaps” system of administration, where leeway is given on the assumption that people will do the right thing, rather than having to act on a strict system of rules, laws, and regulations to limit behaviour.  The problem is, when you have a buffoon and narcissist as leader then all those “unwritten” (but powerful) rules do not exist if they get in his way, and then the whole flummery edifice comes tumbling down.  And even with him gone the so-called Tory Party de nos jours seems to have deserted any ethical basis for their action and is blithely following the wrecking strategy of the former (disgraced) prime minister and using their elected majority to rewrite or ignore any troubling laws that might get in their way – and they are supported by?  Well, hardly a majority of the country because they were not elected by a majority after the farce of the First Past The Post system, we have to regulated democracy into a basic two-party state – but I am wandering and digressing and allowing my despair about the present situation in my country to pull my writing into too many directions!

     What I do feel is that this (new prime minister, new monarch) could be a tipping point, where the tinsel of ceremony which covers the way that we are governed, begins to be seen as the superficial window dressing that it is and, as hunger and deprivation begin to hurt swathes of the population this winter, the people or The People begin to demand that the government governs for them and not just for the elites.

 

       What a fond socialist (see?  I don’t even have the optimism to start it with a capital letter) dream that is!