Never satisfied!

I can fully understand why previous generations, before the advent of real science (as opposed to the mumbo jumbo that POTUS 45 believes in), thought that it was the rotting meat that gave birth to the carrion flies feeding on it.  It made sense: there were no flies; meat rots; covered in flies – QED.

This thought came to me as I was driving Toni to his hospital appointment for another test.  In Barcelona.  During the rush hour.

It is easy to forget just how awful driving in a large city is when you are surrounded by sullen drivers, hating your very existence and hoping that the earth would open and devour you whole.  At least that is what I was thinking.

The traffic jams I can take.  I have learned to count the minutes that each stoppage lasts and I have also learned that, in spite of the fury that I feel when I am delayed, the actual, real time that I am hindered is actually quite derisory.   It is a truth universally acknowledged etc etc that time is relative, and time is never so relative as when you are spending it looking at the backside of the car in front and wishing death on the driver in front and the driver in front of that driver and so on until the way is clear for you to progress.

Though the this-too-will-pass philosophy lets me cope with car-forced delays, it does not seem to have such a mitigating effect on my attitude towards motor cycle or motor scooter drivers.

I scowl (inwardly at least, and usually outwardly as well) at all youngsters (i.e. anyone under the age of 35) on two wheels.  If those wheels are motorized then the inward smile often becomes articulate as they seemingly swarm from nowhere (hence the image of the carrion flies and the rotting meat) and encircle your motorcar.  They come at you from all directions because, as far a motorcyclist is concerned, any three-lane motorway into a major city actually has at least seven (7) lanes for motorcycles.  They regard the three lanes for cars as merely the starting point for their depredations, as they see cycle lanes on each side of the conventional car lanes.

All that would not, in itself, necessarily be a bad thing, but the real problem comes when you consider the physiological make up of the drivers themselves.  Like flies they consider themselves faster with their reflexes than mere car chained humans and so they flit from ‘lane’ to ‘lane’ through a real lane (without the quotation marks) space as if these lanes were entirely empty rather than filled with large, four wheeled, heavy, dangerous vehicles.  No, these buzzing insects swerve, cut, under-take, over-take and ignore all the rules of the road right up until the realities of the legitimate road come into play and smash them from their fragile, relatively unstable two-wheeled mortality machines.

They (that amorphous crux of undifferentiated otherness) sometimes say that your ethical standard may be judged by how well your treat those who you think are beneath your regard e.g. Conservatives.

Well, though Conservatives are “lower than vermin” (Nye Bevan) they are not as challenging to me as motor scooter riders.  As someone who has actively, persistently and vocally bewailed the lack of a directional flame thrower operated from the driver’s steering wheel column to deal with the infestation of these two wheeled insects and who has (shame be told) urged that any scooter driver involved in a RTA be swept to the side of the road and left, I feel that my left wing, humanitarian and human decency level are clearly pretty low.

In my defence, in the comfort of my home and well away from a rush hour road, I look askance at the outrageous things mentioned in the paragraph above (apart, of course, from the comment about the Conservatives) and tell myself that my hot thoughts fail to take in social, historical, political, economic and indeed every other -ical and –ic that comes to mind and that I should be ashamed of myself!  And of course I am.  I do not, in my saner moments, wish harm on anyone – misery though recognition of their own evil, yes, but not physical harm.  What I do wish for is simple consideration.

The equality of suffering is something that unites us all which is why we all hate those people who push in or take a space or display their selfishness for all to see – like motor scooter drivers who use bus lanes and cycle lanes and pavements to STOP!  You are not in a traffic jam in the centre of a large city; you have a cup of tea at your side and a good book to read.  Relax.  Let it go!

If I am like this after one short exposure to rush hour traffic, imagine what I would be like if I was still working in Barcelona!  Thank god for retirement!

I have a further admission to make: this is not being typed on my new Lenovo Yoga 910, top of the range, 2-in-1, touch screen and back lit, no, I have reverted to my MacBook Air.  Part of the reason for my backsliding is that the Air is smaller and more portable, but the major reason is the keyboard layout.  My Lenovo has an odd, and entirely unsatisfactory arrangement of the shift and return keys on the right hand side of the keyboard and I simply cannot get used to them.  What the arrangement means in reality is that my wayward little finger finds a page up key and before I know where I am I am typing in the middle of another paragraph rather than simply capitalizing a proper noun!

Since I am a touch typist, anything which actually makes me think about the mechanics of what I am typing simply gets in the way of the thought processes and makes writing a chore rather than a joy.

The whole point about buying the Lenovo was to get me free of the stranglehold of Apple products that has defined much of my computer buying over the years.  As an earlyish adopter of an Apple computer I found myself with a computer system that was user friendly, but as a teacher I also discovered that most of the computer programs used in schools were designed for PC and not Mac and I ploughed a lonely furrow in the educational world!

It was the pricing of the iPhone before last that was the tipping point for me as I felt that Apple was simply taking financial advantage of a loyal customer base and doing so with total cynicism.  Enough of my money for them I thought.  Enough was enough!

I mean, I am not a fanatic, I’ve thrown nothing away and my major computer is still a Mac, but I am on a path to find another way.  And if that means buying new gadgets up to and including a new laptop, then so be it!

I will have to draw up a list of my requirements and then, with Toni’s help, start the hunt. 

Though the more I use my MacBook Air the more I remember how much I enjoy using it, so it may be that I am actually looking for the MacBook Air that I already possess!  

Beggar him!

Close

Miss Havisham going up in flames in grainy blank and white in a BBC adaptation of Great Expectations was something I had to wait for as the novel unfolded week by week in its allotted TV spot in the schedules.  There were no short cuts, you had to wait.

     How different the present!  Having recently discovered that I had access to series and films via one of my subscriptions I have binge watched the first series of The Man in the High Castle – the story of what might have happened if German and Japan had been the victors in World War Two. 

In this version of reality, America has been divided between the Germans on the East Coast and the Japanese on the West, with a lawless Neutral Zone in between.

     The production values of the series are high and the detailing of each scene is replete with intelligent and satisfyingly visual suggestions as to how the reality might have worked out.

     The mixture of plots and sub plots using politics, espionage, deception and brutality to further the story line; the Resistance and its struggle against totalitarian governments; a love story; the clash of cultures – all of these elements can be found in any number of dramas, the ESP of this series is the injection of a disturbing element of Science Fiction.

     A key plot device in the action of the series is played by a series of films.  These films seem to show a different reality, one in which the Axis powers did not win the war and our version of the Allied Powers being triumphant is the subject of the films.  These films are being collected by the eponymous Man in the High Castle who may, or may not be an ageing Hitler.

     There are hints in the episodes that suggest that there might be parallel universes and that somehow or other elements from these parallel universes are leaking into the reality of the series: either that, or the whole 10 episodes of Series 1 was an elaborate dream in the Japanese Trade Minister’s mind!  As there is a Series 2 and 3(?) I don’t think that device can be used to justify another 20 episodes!

     As the series is set in the 1960s there are technological elements that jar, including the appearance of a German supersonic ‘rocket’ plane which has the delta wing formation of the late lamented Concorde.  The aircraft set looks very impressive on the ground, but I found it singularly unconvincing in flight, an odd glitch in otherwise excellent CGI.  There are also trains that use a magnetic drive – these things are anachronistic for the 1960s and might therefore strengthen the supposition that someone is able to travel between the parallel universes and take technology from a ‘future’ world or a parallel but more advance one and use knowledge to boost technology in the reality of the series.

     I have just discovered that I have access to the ten episodes of Series 2 – so that’s another day of my life given over to being hooked to the screen of my computer!

     The acting in the series is, for the most part, convincing and enjoyable to watch.  The basic premise of the plot it interesting and the production professional.  The script is sometimes indulgent and philosophical profundity can be signalled a little too obviously, but the action is engaging and such attention is given to the appearance of things that I am convinced and satisfied.

     Obviously, there are a number of questions that have been posed in this first series that might be addressed in the second.  I can’t wait to find out.  And I don’t have to, all the episodes are waiting for me just to click the mouse and enjoy!

In the same way that my typing for this blog is often displacement activity from doing my Spanish homework, so too is my choice of topic.  Much though I enjoyed watching the series above, there are more pressing things to talk about than an old TV series.  Like, for example, the present political situation in Castelldefels and Catalonia.

     The election in Catalonia is less than a month away and the political parties are gearing up for the fray.  One television station has taken to referring to the ‘Constitutional’ parties i.e. PP (Hard, corrupt right); C’s so-called ‘centre right’ but in reality, hard right as well, subsidised by business and sluttish in their approach to power; PSC (the Catalan version of PSOE, the so-called ‘socialist’ (sic.) party that has aligned itself with the right and is opposed to Catalan independence.)  Then all the other parties are lumped together under the Independent label as if it is opposed to the concept of constitutional, rather than the reading of constitutional that has been made by the other parties.

     According to the latest poll, the veracity of which I cannot vouch for, the figures show that the two ‘sides’ are fairly equally matched with neither side able to gain an overall majority.  The balance of power, according to this poll, will be held by the Catalan version of the left wing Podemos, which has declared itself opposed to independence, but in favour of a binding referendum about independence.

     The ruling (corrupt and corrupting) party of PP stands little chance of gaining more than 8 or 9 seats in Catalonia as they are cordially despised as crypto-fascist and anti-Catalan.  PP put their hopes in the sluttish C’s party which is headed by a photogenic power-hungry Catalan (allegedly) whose party was formed specifically to stop Catalan separation and was funded by big business and who once posed nude for an election poster to show that he had nothing to hide!  This apology for a party stands to gain the most in the elections.  I hope that this is not true, and Toni assures me that it won’t happen, though I am not as sanguine as he.  The traditional party of left wing opposition is PSC, the Catalan part of PSOE, unfortunately their position has been totally compromised by their national dalliance with PP to get a taste of power.  The fact that the word ‘Socialist’ forms part of their party’s title should be a standing condemnation of their actions: PSC is a party without a soul and without an ethic.  They have shared a platform with PP and C’s: they have marched with PP and C’s; they have voted with PP and C’s.  In some ways it would be fairer to call PSOE/PSC power sluts rather than the traditional political sex workers of C’s.  Whatever, they have forfeited their right to my vote.

     Which leaves my choice on the, presumably, ‘unconstitutional’ side of the political debate!  But my thoughts about the parties which comprise this element of Catalan politics can wait for next week.

    

Lunch was from our usual takeaway restaurant in Castelldefels and was well up to standard, though the owner of the restaurant urged me to look at the rotisserie where an entire suckling pig was being roasted.  It looked delicious and only cost 100 euros!  How do they do it for the money?  I think that the test of something cooked like this is that you should be able to cut the meat up with the side of a plate!  As this beast was supposed to feed eight it means that the individual portion would only cost 12 euros per person – which, thinking about it seems like good value, or at least worth it!

     The chicken that we actually had, while perfectly acceptable, was not really as spectacular as that which I left turning in the heat. 

      At least I can live with expectation!

Polite's the point!

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I weaponize politeness.

I’ve always been, so I’ve been told, ‘charmingly polite’.  But that simple statement begs lots of questions.  Is ‘charm’ something that is part of authentic ‘niceness’ or is it something which is much more self-aware and knowing?  Is ‘charm’ a spontaneous emanation of the warm parts of one’s soul or the calculating approach to get what you want?  Or, indeed, neither of these things.  I do remember from my teaching days that I always used to promote politeness as a sure-fire way of getting what you want with the least amount of effort.  And I was able to adduce example after example of what came my way through the soft power of simply being nice.

And what, after all, is politeness?  The following an age-old code of proper behaviour facilitating human interaction, or a hypocritical façade allowing cynical manipulation?

To which the proper answer is, I think, “Yes!”

The way that I was brought up followed a fairly conventional lower middle class professional path.  As teachers, my parents had a highly developed sense of responsibility and inculcated in me a series of ethical standards that were firmly rooted in Judeo-Christian-British-Welsh-Tidy-Proper approach to human living.  This in spite of the fact that at least 50% of my parental influence (i.e. my dad) was more geared towards the robustly atheistic and cynically socialist way of life.  The actual basis of my mother’s Anglican (Church in Wales) faith, I never really discovered, and when I was old enough to engage in theological discussion with her I never really came out victoriously.  Well, she was, after all, my mother and did not hesitate to use the most underhand maternal pressures that mere biblical and theological argument merely brushed against!

 

But some ethical principles were set in stone:

1              A lady never picks up her own dropped glove, it is the duty of the man (or boy) to return it to her.

2              A man (or boy) walks on the outside of the pavement, next to the road when with a lady.

3              A gentleman tips his soup bowl away from himself and eats (not ‘drinks’) his soup from the side of the spoon.

4              Civilized people push uneaten food to the right side of the plate and place the knife and fork, parallel to each other and at 90 degrees to the person, on the right side of the plate too.

5              CPs do not scrape the knife and fork on the surface of the plate.

6              CPs should obey the more reasonable of the 10 Commandments as far as possible.

7              When taking Communion, you should take the cup from the hands of the vicar and drink from it yourself.

8              When reciting the Creed you should remain standing when the rest of the congregation (though excess of Popery) kneels during certain phrases.

9              The yellow Labrador bitch is the best dog that there is and, while other dogs (NOT CATS) might be cute, they are not YLBs and should be treated as lower life forms.

10          “Fair play is bonny play.”

11          “Never refuse a good offer.”

12          China, cutlery and glass are important: always buy quality.

13          Always clean your shoes.

14          Don’t bite your nails.

15          Pronounce ‘trait’ in the correct, French way and not by sounding the ‘t’.

16          “Anything is better than nothing.”

17          Keep coloured clothes from white clothes in the wash.

18          Close the door.

19          Always say “please” and “thank you” and “excuse me”.

20          Have a cup of tea and offer a cup of tea on all possible occasions.

I have just read through those 20 rules or suggestions or thoughts and have realised that a great deal of my life is encapsulated therein!

Anyway, to get back (almost) to the point.  I have been brought up to be polite and reasonable and charming, and it either fits the character that I have, or that character has been formed by the way in which I have been raised.  Whatever, the truth (if such a thing exists) I am (as Popeye said) what I am - and that’s the way I roll.

So why does all this come to mind on this Saturday afternoon? 

Well, we have just had lunch in our usual watering hole and I had the worst meal that I have ever had in the restaurant.  My spaghetti first course was over salted, the spaghetti was nastily al dente and the sauce was bland.  My second course was of over-cooked tasteless cod with a clam sauce in which most of the clams were shut-shell dead.  The orange I had for dessert was sort-of OK.  I had rebelled against the god-awful house wine and bought a more expensive (for Spain) bottle that was the best part of the meal!  And did I say a word about this?  No I did not - except of course to Toni who had had a menu plate of pork loin and half-and-half salad and chips that he enjoyed.

I mean, let’s face it: the meal was not free, I paid for it.  It was, you might say, a service.  And it wasn’t good.  And I said nothing.  I even had to pay for the upgrade on the wine!  So why didn’t I optimize my opening sentence and say something in the nicest way possible to show that I was not happy?

It probably comes down to cowardice and an attitude that could probably be properly added as number 21 to the list above: “Put it down to experience and get on with it.”

Because, one of my Great Life Lessons was discovering that people actually listen to what you say in a sequential way.  So, if you say one thing and then say another, people tend to put the two statements next to each other rather than regarding them as separate utterances.  So, no matter how polite you are about voicing an opinion about the saltiness of food in a dish in your regular restaurant, it will not be regarded as a one-off, only of relevance to the dish in question (no matter how reasonable such an assumption might be) but rather as a negative which calls into question any previous positive there might have been.

There are exceptions.  One time in Le Monde in Cardiff, I ordered a vegetable soup.  It came and one sip told me it was impossibly salty.  I took another sip to confirm my taste and, behold, it was so!  Unfortunately we were sitting next to the open kitchen and the chef who prepared my soup was within ladle smashing distance.  But I simply couldn’t drink the soup.  So, talking my courage in both hands I timidly called the waiter and intimated that there was a trifle more salt in the soup than I could handle.  The dish was taken away and returned to the chef who immediately took a spoon and tasted the soup for himself.

One taste later, the chef asked me if it was my dish, agreed that it was undrinkable and asked me to choose what I wanted from the menu - he suggested the much more expensive king prawns which I thought was a jolly good idea.  They were delicious, I was delighted and I have not stopped going to Le Monde and would recommend the place to anyone looking for decent food in St Mary Street in Cardiff without hesitation.

But with our Saturday restaurant, we are a bit too chummy with the owner and staff, but not chummy enough to have a sub standard dish dismissed as just another irritation instantly remedied.  A tricky situation.

So, in some situations, my much vaunted charm and politeness are just veneers, have no depth and do nothing except give a gloss to the problem.

I’ll carry on smiling because that’s the easiest way!