Jabs and jinks

 NEW LOCKDOWN Day 13? 14? Thursday

 

 

 

 

I am now fully flu-jabbed.

     After a little confusion about where to get into the place, I was ushered to one of two nurses who in a matter of seconds ticked off my name and gave me my injection.  By the time I got home, I was still within a minute of my original appointment time, having been seen to as soon as I arrived.

     Although this date is a little later than usual for my jab, I am glad that it is now out of the way and presumably my body will be in the right state to accept the Covid vaccine when it is available.  And I would like to make one thing abundantly clear, whenever it is available I am ready and willing to have it pumped into my arm.  All those conspiracy theorist idiots merely make it earlier in its availability for me!

     Though, I am acutely aware that the idea of raising up some sort of metaphorical inoculation drawbridge is false because, we are all in this together and until we are all inoculated none of us is safe.  Still, I will feel much more secure when I have some antibodies coursing around my veins!

 

As my appointment was for 6.16pm (yes, I too wondered if we were all separated by minute intervals to be done) and as parking in the centre of town is problematic at the best of times, I decided to go on my bike.

      I set off fairly early because I needed to call in to the pharmacist to get restocked with the pills that I take each day.  I was also acutely aware that the last time that I went to the pharmacist I overbalanced dismounting from my bike and I still have the pale new skin on my left knee, together with what I can only describe as a stubborn scab on the fleshy front part of the knee, so I was a damn sight more circumspect getting off the bike this time around.  And no accidents.

     At around 5.15pm when I set off we were just about in the period of our quick twilight.  The lingering gradations of encroaching darkness, much beloved of poets, in Britain is much more transient in Catalonia.  And as bikes seem to be generally invisible to pedestrians and to motorists it is always advisable to use lights whenever you suspect that they might be necessary.

     Now that I (finally) have my replacement front light for the bike it is easy to get a bright forward-facing light to warn people of my immanent arrival.  I also get to the centre of town using the safest, bike-friendly route via the paseo, then a cycle lane, through the university (which is generally sparsely populated), via another cycle lane and finally a main road.  As I was cycling during the rush hour as well, it added a sense of impending threat as the darkness grew.

     I know, as a motorist, I hate cyclists.  Generally speaking, they are inconsiderate, don’t indicate, ignore traffic flow and signs, and court death.  They do not attempt to endear themselves to other road users, and other road users know it.

     I am different.  I indicate – I even have a little light attached to the rear basket holder which acts as a flashing indicator.  The back light lights up when I apply the brakes.  I use hand signals; I respect other traffic users.  But motorists rarely make exceptions for riders who do not fulfil their lowest expectations, and merely assume that we are using some sort of low cunning to frustrate them.

     The one (low) life form that unites drivers and cyclists in a sacred bond of hatred is, of course, the scooter driver – both in the electric scooter type vehicle and the Vesponic versions.  These drivers are the true homicidal-suicidal-expletives based on body parts maniacs, who weave, jink, brake, speed and do just what the hell they like, and are the true spawn of Satan.

     However, even though there were one- or two-characters tempting fate on crowded, traffic light stopped road, they were not the objects of my loathing during my journey back.

     The worst (by a long chalk) road users are, and always have been, pedestrians: walking, jogging, running or simply standing, they are the ones who always leave me breathless – usually literally as I have had to execute some desperate manoeuvre to extricate myself from incipient pedestrionic disaster.

     I cycle, as far as I am able, in cycle lanes.  Cycle lanes are for cycles, there are even painted stencils of bicycles on the cycle lanes for those who find the concept difficult to understand.

     On the paseo I never ‘beep’ walkers out of my way.  We are equal users and I try and keep to the right (it’s foreign remember) and if there are groups of people I slowly make my way through, often helped by people who recognize a bike and make way when they see one.  If not, not.  I am not in a rush; I have better things to get upset about.

     Like pedestrians who walk or run in a bike lane.  Evil personified!  My horn is a piercing electronic sort of thing and has a peremptory sort of sound and usually does the trick.  Cycle lanes are for my kind, not the two footed.

     There is a supremely irritating sort of pedestrian who walks the border line, literally, between bike lane and pedestrian space: I make no effort to move away and usually am able to intimidate such impertinent walkers back to their domain.

     At night it is worse.

     I truly and sincerely fail to understand why cycle riders do not have lights on their bikes at night.  Let us be fair, some do, but the majority seem to think that lights are unnecessary.  This evening, for example, I passed one cyclist who was in darkness and he had a light on his handlebar.  He simply did not turn it on. 

     I suppose that we have now become inured to the appropriation of aspects of male life from the lifesaving to the superficially political.  One thinks (though one would like not to) of Trump and his absurd macho dismissal of mask wearing as not being his thing.  In the same way the majority of bike riders seem to think that having a light is some form of absurd frippery.

     On my way back from my flu jab (perhaps having that jab just shows how effeminate I am, rather than bullishly scorning flu as something that will 'just go away') I had to contend, in my bike lane, with dog walkers who allowed their animals to wander onto the lane on those absurdly long leads on plastic ratchets; runners appropriating the on-coming lane; pedestrians wandering about; cyclists without lights on the wrong side of the lanes; people not getting out of the way and ignoring repeated beeps, and so on.

     I had a strong front light and people still appeared to be surprised that a bike was using a lane specifically constructed for bikes.  Eventually I put on a second light (my trust in the quality of equipment sold by MATE is not so high that I do not have a backup) and still a runner almost ran into me!  Two lights!  At least the brightness allowed me to savour the look of panic on his face as a collision was narrowly averted!

     As the first MATE light on my bike lasted just over a week before it gave up the ghost, I was waiting for a reasonable period to elapse before I took off the extra light from my overcrowded handlebars.  I now have no intention whatsoever of relying on one light to keep me safe.

     The one good thing about the eventful ride home is that the excitement and raised adrenaline levels and heart beats, the quick intakes of breath and the exasperated exhalations will have caused the antibodies in the vaccine to go around my blood stream all the more quickly.

     There is always something positive, if you look hard enough!

A future tinge of normality

 

I have been able to book a place for a swim on Saturday! 

     We have not been informed that the pool is actually reopening then after our latest bout of lockdown, but I am taking it as gospel and will be there, bright eyed and bushy tailed.  Well, as b.e.a.b.t. as one can be at 7.15 am after a couple of weeks of indolent snoozing in the morning courtesy of Covid - restrictions rather than the disease I hasten to add.

     I have to admit that it will be a relief to get back to my early morning routine, as the swim gives a sort of impetus and structure to my day – as well as exercise of course!  I am not sure that restaurants and cafes will be open again, so my cup of tea might have to wait, as will my writing in my notebook, as that seems heavily dependent on my being in the café as well.

 

 

 

 

I have made an executive decision to stop counting those people not wearing masks as I take my daily bike ride along the paseo.  My insufferable superiority in always wearing a mask when I should, as opposed to the lesser breeds without the law who do not, is already at such astronomical levels that it is impossible to boost further.  All I do, therefore, by my continued counting is to make myself angry as I give hard looks to all those unmasked selfish viral assassins who feel themselves allowed to parade (literally) their homicidal proclivities as I cycle by.  This is not productive.  I must open my sense of forgiveness and pretend to be blissfully unaware of their murderous irresponsibility. 

     I have to admit that it makes the bike ride more enjoyable as well as I can concentrate on the more scenic elements in my journey rather than noting in every face I meet marks of weakness marks of woe.  And I just know that bonkers old Blake would be much more forgiving than I.  So, I really should make the effort.

 

Although my new watch does not have the battery life of my old Pebble (Ah! The watches of yesteryear!) and not even the battery life of my old-new Amazfit, I have decided that the life that I am getting from the new-new watch is, one might say, acceptable.

     As is always the case with watch/app co-existence there are always problems with synchronizing, but I have come to understand that as par for the course and I take such irritations in my stride.  Though I have to admit that the last instance of my app not recognizing the watch in spite of Bluetooth being on and the bloody watch being next to the mobile phone was difficult to work out.  And, although I tried a number of things to make it work (and yes, I did try switching in off and then on, more than once) when it did, finally, decide to do what it had done perfectly normally up to yesterday, I am not sure what it is that I did that worked.  But, extensive experience with things electrical means that I accept success and a glowing screen with a look of quiet competence rather than total surprise.

 

 

Tomorrow is my flu jab.  This is not going to be administered in our medical centre, but in a civic building in the centre of town.  I understand that the flu injections are being administered on an industrial scale and medical centres are pooling their resources and making the process fully central.  Presumably this is something like a dry run for the truly frightening logistics that will have to be run when the Covid vaccine (DV) is finally available for use.

     As far as I can work out, my age group is likely to be in the third tranche of the general population, at least going on the UK’s way of measuring these things I would be.  It will be interesting to see how the state (any state) copes with what is going to be a mammoth undertaking.

     I am not sure how far ‘normal’ doctoring will be affected by the vaccination of the entire population, though we have already seen a change in the way that our medical centre is working and that change can only be more radical when the roll-out of the vaccine is in full flow.

     This part of the world rejoices in bureaucracy which can always be a pain, but at the same time we all have readily available numbers and cards so we can be fairly easily be ticked off on some great flow chart in the sky.  It remains to be seen how fluidly this flows!

 

Meanwhile, two bike rides today – and neither noted by my fitness app because of the recalcitrance of my watch.   

     But tomorrow, things will be different!   

     And roll on Saturday and my first real swim for weeks!

Other things in Life

NEW LOCKDOWN, Day 11, Monday.

Lockdown has put me in mind of Wendell Urth – a fictional ‘extra-terrologist’ created by Isaac Asimov in a few of his detective sci-fi stories.  Urth is regarded as the world’s foremost expert on distant worlds, but he has a morbid fear of leaving his own rooms, so while his mind is universe wide, his living space is enclosed.

     It doesn’t take a very dramatic shift to think about our own limiting conditions under lockdown with its radical lessening of our personal spaces, while at the same time encouraging our compulsive fascination with an election half a world away! 

    

Perhaps the American Election is the modern day equivalent of ‘Bread and Circuses’ for the Enclosed Folk of Lockdown: it keeps us off the streets; gives us something to concentrate our minds; allows us to be safely (domestically) judgemental about all those Republican idiots without masks; deflects attention from the situation at home; is a soap opera that never seems to end; it has a moral (of sorts); it has clearly defined Goodies and Baddies, and so on.

     I am almost tempted to say that if there had not been something like the American Election to fill our newspapers and TV screens then something would have had to have been invented.  And I don’t mean a new series of Celebrity Big Brother.  Which I wouldn’t have watched.

     What Biden needs to do is make American politics competent and boring.  A time when each day does not need to start with a convulsive clutching of the mobile phone to find out what new horror The Orange Outcast has leashed upon the world.  Biden is decent, politically savvy, a born compromiser – if he is allowed to do his job then things will settle down and be predictively tedious.  Please.

     This morning I clicked on a link which took me to Biden’s Transition Blog or webpage or whatever and there was a section to be filled out which invited the reader to join and be the recipient of regular updates.  I filled it out, but the thing needed a further registration or forgotten password, or something.  And I just let it go.  And that is surely right.  We have now come to a stage where we need to be weaned away from an easy reliance of the Orange Antics of Small Handed Narcissists and we should not seek to place the onus of entertainment on plodding dependable Biden.

     Let’s face it, although the thrill got less with each unparalleled outburst, Trump was entertaining.  As long as you forgot that he was the most powerful man in the world and leader of the Free World etc.  He was pure, totally sullied, entertainment.  He just wasn’t a politician.  Or decent human.  But, like the witches in Salem, he provided not only spectacle, but also a Manichean boost for leftie liberals, where Trump’s mere existence showed that they had to be right because they were opposite.  I’m not sure that the comparison works, as I seem to be equating witch-burning bigots with the left, which is not my intention at all.  A more responsible writer would cut the whole of this paragraph and either re-work the idea or scrap it; but that ain’t me! 

     Liber scriptus es, as they say, though thinking about it again, that quote can get me into more trouble and be even more confusing and confused. 

     Well, on to the next topic.

 

 

Which is, the algorithm that Netflix uses to keep its patrons (!) secure is getting more blatant in its ensnaring of me.  Today, as I popped in for a little light comedic fare from my usual pushers at The Big Bang Theory, I was presented with a childish, garish advertisement for what was obviously a juvenile animation called Wonder Park, the figures were cartoonish rather than draftsman drawn and the appearance was rigidly commercial.  Something to pass by, to ignore, to find something a little more amusing and a little more intellectually stimulating.

     It reduced me to tears.  OK, I fully admit that, rather like my mother, some Andrex adverts have been enough to make me emotionally wobbly, but they used unfair tactics like Yellow Labrador puppies, and who can then resist?

  I double-clicked and I was hooked.  And once involved in something like fantasy/Sci-Fi/animation, I can always find an intellectual, literary, cultural reference to justify my continued attention.

     In most of the big company animations today where money has been spent on a decent script and the process, there is usually a sequence or some witty (adult referenced, to keep them interested) dialogue to make a moment and to give pleasure.  And there were more than a few such moments in this feel-good movie.  Yes, you could tell and list the animation films that they were shamelessly ripping off, but they did it with some style and so I am prepare to allow them to count as ‘influences’ or homage!

     I’m not entirely sure that I would recommend it as something for everyone, but a competent piece of animation, it is a delight.

 

And now, to complete the evening, some reading.  Or rather, some reading which is not about the American election in the Guardian.  A real book, well, a freebie downloaded to my Kindle, but it all counts!

 

 

 

Troubles in store

 NEW LOCKDOWN: Day 10, Sunday

 

 

 

The counting goes on.  And on.  And on.  But Biden has won and so we can put that worry to rest.

     And speculate about what old One-Term is going to do in the almost two months of lingering shame that he is going to have to suffer as, every single day, he is reminded that he has been voted out of office and from the 2^nd of January he will no longer be the President.

     We do have some evidence with which to speculate.  As Trump has shown himself to be ruthlessly concerned with money and his own status before everything else, we can expect him to continue placing his wealth and his public face in the forefront of his concerns.

     Prison is not a good look for anyone other than a Nelson Mandela and, with the best will in the world, even his most dedicated Swamp Base would not equate The Orange Monster with a South African Freedom Fighter.  If Trump is prosecuted for a fraction of the crimes that he is alleged to have committed during his time in the White House then he will be put away for a long, long time.  Misuse of public funds, nepotism, cronyism, bribery, simple corruption, tax avoidance, tax evasion, lying about virtually everything, justice – where to start with his trashing of the justice system? -  and so on ad infinitum. To say nothing of various dodgy financial pigeons coming home to roost to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars.

     So, one of Trump’s first concerns is going to be how to stay out of prison.  Because as soon as he is no longer the president and protected by the office various court cases are going to be reactivated.  

      The great question is, “Can Trump pardon himself”?  As far as I know, no president (even Tricky Dickie) didn’t stoop to self-pardon.  But just because something hasn’t been done before, it doesn’t mean that No Shame Trump won’t try it.   

     A more likely scenario is one that I have mapped out before which is, Trump resigns, Pence becomes president, pardons Trump, Trump becomes president again and hands over his trashed office a free man.   

     Though, to have a pardon is actually to admit that there is a wrong, so by pardoning himself, Trump will be admitting that he is a criminal.  But that won’t worry him, not with what is already on his grubby, grubby little hands!

     What scope does Trump have to Sharpie-sign yet more Executive Orders, because whatever mischief he can get up to like the spoilt child that he is, he will.  Bolstered by 70 million of his fellow citizens who voted for him, he will feel that he has a popular authority to do as he likes to make Biden’s accession as difficult and as messy as possible.

     Can anyone seriously imagine Trump graciously hosting Biden in the White House?   

     It is equally difficult to imagine Trump attending the inauguration, and one commentator has suggested that it is more likely that Trump holds a rally at the same time, so there will be a split screen of Biden and Trump and their various crowds.  Though that might mean that Trump will not do it because he will be terrified that his crowd could be smaller than Biden’s.  Though, even if it was, that would merely be an “alternative fact” which could be brushed away by the Mendacious Monster.

     This is surely one time when the “oxygen of publicity” should be denied to Trump (and yes, I am well aware of the source of that phrase and the poisoned outcome of its practical use) but if Trump continues to peddle lies he should not be given a worldwide media platform to repeat them.  But I also recognize the freedom of speech and freedom of information elements that have to be considered.   But  . . .

     I am sure that we are going to have a damn sight more than two months of pathetic interference in the political situation by Trump and his minions, but with any luck they can be swept into the dustbin of history.  Fond hope!

 

I am missing my swims.  I check the booking app that we were encouraged to download to book ourselves in for our activities to see if they are accepting reservations and the first day that there appears to be bookings waiting is for the end of this week – but they are not yet open to be made real, so I will wait a while to see if reality matches appearance.

     To compensate for my missed swim I am extending my daily (electric)bike ride and so now I cycle the entire length of Castelldefels and Gava Mar and while it is an impressively  long distance for me, my fitness app tells me that my journey is almost entirely on the level which, as it is beside the sea is logical.

 

We have started talking about Christmas and I am determined to put up my Belen (Christmas stable scene, with added people) this year as well as having a small Christmas tree.  The tree will be decorated with baubles made by SQB – just as soon as the parcel containing them gets here!

     The Christmas meal is altogether more problematical.  Toni will be devastated if he can’t see his family over the festive period and I think that we will have to make a trip up to Terrassa even if it is only a fleeting visit to bump elbows and then back again.  But time will tell just what we allowed to do.

     Amazon is going to make a fortune, sorry, an even bigger fortune this Christmas as everybody in the world decides (especially if they have Amazon Prime) that it is worth getting the presents from Amazon if only for the fact that postage will be free!  But we will worry about that much, much later.

     In a bout of what might be described as Gourmet Porn, I slathered my way through pictures of M&S hampers and noted with something approaching wistful regret that many of the high price items in some of the more expensive hampers are alcohol related.  As I now do not drink alcohol (I say for medical reasons, but what my doctor actually said was, “You can allow yourself one small glass of red wine a day” – as if that was possible! Better to recognize weakness in self-control and give it up entirely!) bottles of Champagne and Vintage Port do not attract.  Well, they do, but as I am not going to drink them, it would be fairly pointless to buy them and just look at them, or even worse, sniff them and retexture what they taste could be like from past experience of drinking.  And if that sounds like something I have indeed done, then you would be right in so thinking.

 

My new watch continues to please, though I have adjusted the always-on element of the watch face to turn off for the hours of deepest darkness.  My watch also startled me, by suddenly playing music, not a ring tone, real music.  It took me a while to work out where the sound was coming from.  If you had been watching me then you would have seen me taking out my mobile and being confused by the fact the more I tried to hear the music from it the more it wasn’t coming from it, and yet the music was tantalizingly near.  I am sure that my confusion only lasted a couple of seconds but it was deeply disturbing.  And frankly even more so when I found it emanated from my watch as I had done absolutely nothing to encourage it.  Honestly.

     It turns out I have one tune on my phone and I have little idea about how to put more there.  I will leave downloading the full manual for a sunnier day when I am feeling gadget strong.

 

I have downloaded an app or something called The Fussy Librarian which is supposed to provide a series of free or bargain downloads of books that you can read on Kindle.  My first choice of a Sci-Fi novel turned out to be short story length and to be part 1 of 7, and I can’t find the other six.  I fear that yet again, what appears too good to be true, is too good to be true.  Though I will continue to investigate and report back later.

 

Meanwhile the writing, apart from this blog, is not going well.  And the fact that some of the letters on the keyboard are misbehaving is irritating.  And the fact that one of the worst behaving letters is the ‘e’ is even more unbearable.

     Cotton buds and wet wipes must be called into play, because the cost of a replacement Apple keyboard is not to be thought about this close to Christmas.