Good riddance!

 

2020.

Where do I start with a review of this Godawful year?  

I had high hopes at its start, plans to write, finish at least one book and publish the one that's been on the back burner for the past couple of years.  Write at least one post a week on here. I had a reading list.  My weight was going in the right direction (down) and I was feeling, in the words of one who clearly isn't, fit as butcher's dog. There was a new grandson due in May to look forward to, so trips back to England beckoned.  We were planning a summer holiday back at Mrzezyno, where we went last year.  My Beloved was happy in her job and the kids happy(ish) at school, as teenagers tend to be.  Money was a bit tight, but we were managing.  Everything in my garden was lovely.

Then out of nowhere (well, Wuhan in China in point of fact) came news that thousands of people were critically ill or dead from this new virus that no-one had heard of before, and the entire city - and shortly province - was under a strict lockdown with troops there just to make sure no-one broke the curfew.  In a couple of weeks more cases were reported across the country, then from Japan and Hong Kong and Singapore and South Korea......  But all this was happening on the other side of the world and seemed remote, just a silly season story in the press and of no real concern.

Then at the end of February, that all changed, as the virus (by now dubbed Coronavirus - COVID19 for short) hit nearer home.  Italy was the worst hit in Europe, then Spain, Britain, Turkey, Germany - all across the EU and its neighbours in fact.  Further afield New Zealand had a handful of cases and closed its borders, as did neighbouring Australia. Africa and the Middle East had many casualties, particularly Iran where the situation was made worse by sanctions imposed by the US and the EU had crippled its health service.  Canada was hit and took drastic action.  The US was hit much harder, but with a grossly incompetent President focused only on winning again in this Election Year, his response was at first pitiful and confused, soon giving way to anger at China and people bringing the Wuhan Flu (his term along with The China Virus) into the country, then bogged down by conspiracy theories (a deliberate act by China to harm the US economy, bleach kills it in 15 minutes so let's inject it [honestly!], and dozens of others), until by the end of the year and his overwhelming defeat in the Election he simply ignored it. As he continues to do. 

Yep: a full blown pandemic.  TV stations fell over themsleves to broadcast a fairly recent movie, Contagion, that uncannily mirrored what was happening in the real world (even down the correct city as the epicentre of the virus) even though it was nearly 10 years old.  Countries basically shut down everything.  Airlines stopped flying. The cruise industry ran aground after a couple of ships became floating petrie dishes for the virus. Shops and pubs, cinemas and theatres and nightclubs, were closed, some never to re-open. Schools and universities closed as students got used to home schooling and all sport ground to halt. 

Wearing face masks became second nature, as did frequent hand washing and working from home and social distancing. The world changed overnight. 

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There is much more I could write about COVID - and indeed have in other blogposts - but I will resist the temptation.  After 9 months of it, it's depressing and I have had enough, frankly.  Suffice to say I am still here, and still (reasonably) healthy despite a possible brush with it myself (read the post called COVID is not a joke. I know because I had it on here for more on that). I'm still battling something that may or may not be Long Covid after 8 up-and-down weeks, but I'm getting there.  I think.

For someone who has spent 18 out of the last 20 years (up to retirement) travelling the world for work and play - I probably averaged a little over 2 flights a week in that time, and many more trains and cabs and hotels across Europe, the Middle East, the Americas, Africa and India - suddenly being confined to a small apartment on the outskirts of Warsaw, where my global horizon had shrunk to a patch perhaps half a kilometre square for walking the dog, it's been difficult.  No: BLOODY difficult.  All my good intentions went out of the window. For a start, with no real private space to concentrate the mind, I lost focus and My Muse deserted me (she's been back a few times but it's been very difficult to get any kind of momentum on my scribbling).  Once my wife went back to work, when the restrictions were relaxed, all the stuff that she did brilliantly for years fell on my shoulders so there wasn't time to write much anyway.

Of course our travel plans went out the window.  I still haven't met my new grandson - but from the pictures and movies I've been sent he's brilliant, as are my two growing granddaughters and the other grandson. In fact, for the first year in my life I haven't set foot in England, nor have I seen my sisters and my sons and other family.  I worry about them, and feel incredibly frustrated - but thankful for modern technology like Skype and WhatsApp that allows me to see them in video calls.  But you can't really hug a mobile phone.....

The seaside trip never happened.  Indeed I've only left the immediate vicinity of my neighbourhood perhaps half a dozen times all year.  One hot sunny Saturday in the summer we drove maybe 40km out of town to a place called Warka for a day's canoeing - great fun.  A couple of times we went to another part of Warsaw to a lido for a swim and a sunbathe.  Another time I hopped the Metro to meet up with a couple of friends for a coffee. And then there was the Saturday we made a near 500km round trip to a village in northern Poland to buy Lulu, our bulldog.  Finally there were a few drives out of town to place candles on graves on certain anniversaries and, of course, All Souls Day. 

Not a lot of travellin' for Travellin' Bob then.

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But despite all the COVID shit, and all the rest of the doom and gloom going on (the tortuous Bexit negotiations, wars in Yemen and Syria that have caused humanitarian crises that the West manages to both fuel via arms sales and ignore, the continued and in fact worsening climate crisis, and much much more, there have been some bright spots.

For a start Donald Trump, the racist, mysoginist, bullying, lying conspiracy theorist and failed businessman who somehow managed to become the 45th President of the USA will soon, thankfully, leave office.  He leaves behind a health crisis thanks to a COVID pandemic that has killed over 300,000 Americans and infected over 2 million more, a society riven by racial tensions largely thanks to his inaction over the deaths of a number of unarmed black men and women at the hands of white police officers (his refusal to accept the existance of racism playing a major partin the unrest), and a Congress and House that has lost all sense of honour and decency, especially on the Republican side of the aisle that has sold its collective soul to a discredited Trumpism.  His Democrat successor, Joe Biden, has much to do to tackle these and many other problems and heal the country.  I wish him well.

A Brexit trade deal was finally reached on Christmas Eve, exactly a week before the transition period ends.  Clearly, Boris Johnson's "oven ready deal", as he trumpteted it this time last year, was nothing of the sort and could yet end up to be little more than a plate of soggy cold turkey when it takes effect tomorrow.  It's full of broken promises but is at least something to build upon and hence better than no deal - at least marginally so.  So a typical Johnson stunt then.  But at least it's done and the country can move on, for better of worse. I wish it nothing but success.

I've read some very good books this year, notably Anne Applebaum's superb Twilight of Democracy, Bill Bryson's funny and informative At Home: A Short History of Family Life, probably a fifteenth re-read of The Lord of the Rings, and Fortress Malta: An Island Under Seige 1941 - 1943 by James Holland.  Oh, and another re-read of the entire John Wyndham catalogue of classic 1950s sci-fi - love it.  Enjoyed them all immensely.  Current reading is A Promised Land, Barack Obama's first volume of his Presidency memoir, and a fifth or sixth re-read of Frank Herbert's Dune Trilogy.  Between them, that should keep me going through January.

Spending so much time at home with my family, cabin feverish though it has often been, has also been a pleasure after so many years away from them.  I would be totally lost without them.......

Lulu the dog has also been a highlight, even though within a couple of weeks of moving in she sent me to hospital nursing a broken toe and torn thigh muscle that led to two months of inactivity and several more weeks of re-hab (indeed, the toe is still not fully healed: I'm minus a nail on it).  I wrote about that on a post back in August, title is Trip of the Year.  She's nearly 9 months old now, and brilliant - getting more bulldoggy by the day (which is to say strong, muscled and stubborn) and great fun.  Love her to bits.

Lewis Hamilton proved himself to be probably the best F1 driver in history. Most wins, most poles and equalled Schumacher's title wins (seven).  As he's still driving he'll probably move in further ahead of them all next season.  Won his second BBC Sports Personality of the Year as well, so there was inevitable talk of a knighthood.  I'm not a big fan of the honours system, but if anyone deserved one Lewis probably did - and duly received it in the New Year's Honours announced today.  

Football has been a bit of a trial, with last season messed about decause of the pandemic, but finally Liverpool won a first Championship for 30 odd years - and deservedly so: they were a country mile ahead of everyone else.  My club, Ebbsfleet started the season badly, changed manager and half the playing squad and were just beginning to show some form and consistency when the season was ended prematurely in March.  Three months of argument and procrastination by the League ended with us being demoted (I won't call iit relegated) by 0.0002 of a point on a weird points per game calculation.  No other club in the world has ever suffered in this way, ever.  Cue a new manager and new playing squad and a so far patchy new season.  Never a dull moment supporting the Fleet!

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So all in all, I'm glad to see the back of this COVID year, and I hope and pray 2021 will be much much better (I can't see it being any worse....).  So we're busy planning for next year in between eating too much, drinking enough, walking the dog and watching awful tv with the odd high spot movie and Love Actually.  So far plans for the year are very similar to those we made for this one - what could possibly go wrong? 

So stay safe, and a Happy New Year to you all!

Odds and Sods Volume 1: Four Heroes

 

Farewell, Diego

Diego Armando Maradona was not only a footballer, he was a genius.  A midget.  Latterly, a junkie.  A national hero.  Front page news as well as back page.  Loved and despised - but loved more than despised (at least outside of England).  As unpredictable off the pitch as on it.

The only other footballer I've seen with his level of ball control and sheer on-pitch genius was George Best - and the two were strikingly similar in the way they played their football and lived their lives.  Both had problems adjusting to normality once their playing days were over, and both went to an early grave (Best at 59, and now Diego at 60).  Both played in an era where most defenders could be brutal in their treatment of gifted attackers like them, and could not rely on protection from match officials.  Injuries, serious ones, were not uncommon and both suffered their share.  Pitches were often poor, mudheaps in winter and bumpy and hard as concrete by seasons' end.  Balls were heavier.  

And yet these two men could run at pace, weaving around defenders left sprawled in a heap, the ball seeming tied to their boots, skipping over challenges that would have caught lesser players.  They scored sublime goals and tap ins and often carried teams on their own such was their ability.  I wonder what they would have achieved in today's environment, with lighter balls, boots like carpet slippers to play on a pitch like the carpet in my front room, and next to no physical contact allowed?  It's frightening - but I suspect either of them would have far eclipsed today's "best players" Messi and Neymar (although I suspect Christiano Ronaldo would up his game to compete - the man's a machine).

Argentina is now in 3 days' national mourning, his body laid in state at the Presidential Palace in Buenos Aires until his private funeral next to his parents today - I can't remember any sportsman having that kind of honour at his passing, and it underscores what high regard he earned.  At his peak in the years immediately after Argentina had been roundly beaten by British forces in the Falklands Conflict, he gave the nation back its pride, and carried its team to the highest honour by winning the World Cup in 1986.  Forget the Hand of God abberation in the Quarter Final against England, his second goal four minutes later was more typical, a mazy run from deep in his own half, leaving half the England team sprawled in his wake before sliding home - genius, and the sort of goal he scored time after time throughout his career.  There is an iconic photo of him surrounded by six Belgian players - a second later and he was gone, wriggling a way through them.

So farewell, Diego,  And thanks for the memories.

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Slowhand

I watched a showing on Canal+ the other day of Eric Clapton's 70th birthday gig at the Royal Albert Hall five years ago.  He had a fine band of musicians almost as old as him (apart from the obligatory black girl back up singers) and it was great.  The man remains one of my all-time favourite musicians.

His nickname is Slowhand, and it has nothing to do with his guitar playing - there is nothing slow about that.  As a blues guitarist, whether electric or acoustic, he is without peer.  The nickname was given to him by John Mayall when Clapton was a young up-and-coming guitarist in Mayall's Bluesbreakers band, and came because he was surpisingly slow at changing a broken string mid-concert.  Whether he ever got better at that I have no idea but the nickname stuck throughout a career that spans nearly sixty years.  

The first album I ever bought, back in 1969 was Cream's "Goodbye", the last release by the original and best power trio.  Side one and the first track on side 2 were recorded live and showcased their brilliance: Jack Bruce re-defined the bass guitar and Ginger Baker was simply awesome and an inspiration to us would be drummers - after hearing that album I gave it up as a bad job.  The remaining tracks were studio cuts, including the brilliant "Badge" with Beatle George Harrison (Clapton's next door neighbour) guesting a L'Angelo Mysterioso.  But on every track, Clapton's guitar playing was the highlight.

I was lucky enough to see him live once, in I think 2006 or so.  He played a free concert on the beach in Gdynia, and my brothers-in-law and I drove the 300 odd kilometres there to see it.  Stuck in traffic, we arrived late and missed the first 15 minutes or so and had to stand way back from the stage, but it was still a terrific show.

The film on tv showed that Slowhand is now, unfortunately, slowing up.  While he is as accomplished and imaginative as ever soloing, many of the songs were taken at a slower tempo - not necessarily a bad thing, the blues doesn't have to be taken at breakneck speed.  The band was excellent, long time Clapton associates like Andy Fairweather-Low (the fresh faced lead singer in 1960s pop band Amen Corner who has matured into a good blues guitarist in his own right), Chris Stainton on piano (he was also in Gdynia and provided a beautiful piano solo at the end of "Layla"), Paul Carrack (keyboards and singer in Mike and the Mechanics and a great performer in his own right, going all the way back to Ace in the early 1970s) and Steve Gadd, one of the best jazz drummers in the world.  All in their mid 70s and still consummate performers, they came across as a pick up band of mates just having a bit of fun at the local pub.  Which is no bad thing.

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Sir Lewis?

Lewis Hamilton, like him or loathe him, is now statistically the most successful Formula 1 driver of all time.  Most race wins, most pole positions, equal most championships (ties on 7 with Michael Schumacher and likely to exceed that next year), and closing on other records like most successive championships (again probably next year), most wins from pole and most triples (pole, win and fastest lap in the same race).  There is no-one better than him in wet conditions, and not many come close in the dry.  His ability to wring the best from the car and come up with that little extra when needed to snatch a pole or race win is acknowledged by his peers and team principals alike.  He is simply an extraordinary driver and consummate racer.

And yet he is not universally liked.  It goes with the territory I guess - Schumacher was  criticised too (often with good reason: he was good at bending the rules to succeed).  His critics say he's got the best car so he should win.  Correct: but then the best drivers always end up with the best car - Schumacher at Ferrarri, Vettel at Red Bull, Senna and Prost at McLaren.  And in each case, they were all able to get more from it than their team mates.  In his rookie year, Hamilton came close to demolishing Fernando Alonso, a two time champion and one of the best drivers of his generation.  It's been the same with every team mate - except once when Nico Rosberg beat him as Mercedes team mate a few years back, won the title and promptly retired.

Off track, too, he has his critics.  He has always enjoyed the trappings of fame and fortune - the fast cars and private jets (more criticism and allegations of hypocrisy from the environmentalists who point out that his wealth comes from possibly the most polluting sport on Earth), the tattoos, the interests in music and fashion with regular appearances at high profile events.  Not to everyone's taste, including mine, but as his team boss Toto Wolff says if it doesn't interfere with his fitness, race preparation and driving (which it clearly doesn't) then where is the problem?  

This year his off-track activities have taken on a new prominance with his support for the Black Lives Matter campaign and his own work for inclusion in the workplace.  As the sport's only black driver and coming from a council house background, this was always likely to come to the fore, and in my view he is doing absolutely nothing wrong.  Without question, there is an awful lot of unfairness in the workplace, not only in F1, with women and minorities like BAME and LGBT suffering disproportinately.  In this day and age, if Lewis and his campaigning can make a difference and bring more diversity then great.  He should not be condemned for using his profile to try to make a difference.  The fact that he was able to persuade Mercedes, known throughout their time in racing as the Silver Arrows, to adopt a black livery (which in my view looks better than their traditional colours) this seaon, and for the F1 circus to adopt measures to show its support too - BLM patches on overalls and cars, pre-race solidarity demonstrations and other events) and the drivers to join him in taking a knee brfore race starts - shows the kind of clout he now carries.  It will be interesting to see how this goes in the future.

And now there are calls for a knighthood to go with his MBE.  Strictly on performance, he deserves one - if Andy Murray received one for three tennis Grand Slams (and supports the award for Lewis) then surely 7 World Championships should mean one for the driver?  Add toi that the work he is doing for charities and to promore diversity, it should be a nailed on certainty.

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My name is Bond.......

Finally, Sir Sean Connery died recently, at the ripe old age of 90.  I will miss him.

He was by far and away The Best James Bond in the movie franchise (although Daniel Craig and Pierce Brosnan in my view run him close), with an interpretation much closer to the character as written in Ian Fleming's series of books.  He looked like Bond as described in the novels, and his behaviour, often brutal and unacceptable in this day and age, was of its time and worked perfectly in that context.  The cod humour that personified in particular the Roger Moore era was very low-key and didn't always work, and the stunts and car chases rare rather dominant (but all the better for that).

But there was always more to Connery than 007.  His film catalogue included The Hill, a gripping 1950s war story; The Man Who Would Be King, an Empire romp co-starring Michael Caine and based on a Rudyard Kipling story - great fun; and A Bridge Too Far - the story of the Arnhem lnadings of 1944.  Then there was a cameo as Richard the Lionheart in Kevin Costner's reading of the legend in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (he came close to stealing the movie, except that Alan Rickman's Sherriff if Nottingham had already done so) and as Harrison Ford's dad in Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade.  He won an Oscar for his Irish cop portayal in another Costner movie The Untouchables, was convincing as a Russian submarine commander in The Hunt for Red October and channelled Bond in the action thriller The Rock with Nicolas Cage.  Among my favourite films, and it's as fine a back catalogue as any.

But the great thing about Connery was that whatever role he played, his voice and strong Scottish accent remained unchanged. 

One of my favourite actors.  He will be greatly missed.

COVID is not a joke. I know because I had it.

 

Or, at least, I'm increasingly sure I did.  Or have it.....

It's not a 100% certainty because I haven't been tested.  This is because Poland is not big on testing, and is charging quite a chunk of money for it - no free tests here! - and also because in a health system that is creakier than the NHS, there are people who need it far more than I do.  I can get by, thank God.

But since probably the end of March things have not been right.

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I've not had all the symptoms, and those that I have had could easily be confused for those of a bad cold or flu.  Stuffy nose, sneezing - check.  Sore throat and a dry cough - check.  High temperature and fever - check.  Flu, cold, COVID - who knows!

Then there are the other symptoms.  Bodily aches and pains?  Yep, very much so, but nothing new - I've had joint pains for years in both hips and both knees, and have been medicating for a good 10 years.  The odd back spasm and achy arm joints - well, that could just be a touch of rheumatism in an aging body.  Not that I consider 67 to be particularly old, but still.......  Or they could be COVID related.

Increased fatigue?  Oh, yeah - big time.  But again, insomnia is a condition I've suffered from for donkey's years.  I don't think I've had many really good nights' rest since my eldest boy was born in 1980.  But my body has adjusted to being a light sleeper and it hasn't affected my life badly at all.  But I have to say this year it's got worse, quite ridiculous in fact.  Being tired for lack of sleep is one thing, falling asleep in an armchair in front of the tv, or sitting on a sun-lounger at my dzialka, or lying on a towel at the swimming pool - all this year, all in mid afternoon - is something completely different!  It's a rare evening indeed when I don't start dozing at 7 or 8 o'clock, and feel ready for bed at 10.  I could understand it if I was working hard on a building site, or gardening, or whatever physical work you care to name, but I'm not.  I'm a retiree, and lead a more sedentary life.  This year, with lockdowns and stuff, I haven't exercised nearly as much as previously either, no 20km walks or bike rides every day, so there is no good reason I can see for this fatigue.  It could, again, be old age creeping on, but also it could be this illness.

Chest pains and breathing problems?  Well - chest pains now and again, not bad ones, and I've put them down to stress or blood pressure issues, because I've noticed them typically when I've lost my temper with the kids over some bad school grades or whatever, and they have seemed to me identical to the ones I had three years or so ago when I had a lot of problems at work.  I saw a cardiologist then and medicated for a year or so, and brought it all under control, and there was no sign of any heart disease or anything.  The conclusion was it was stress related, so as soon as I could I retired to get out of that kind of situation.  I've been fine since then, and know how to manage it with the aid of a fitness app on my phone, so despite many arguments over schooling and stuff, there has been not a twinge. Until this spring.  Breathing problems?  No.  None at all.

Loss of taste and smell?  Definitely not.  I can still smell when I've burnt the dinner (again), and our flatulent bulldog, and the smog in the air that cleared up in the spring when the traffic decreased for lockdown but is now back with a vengeance. And I can still taste and enjoy a good beer and my wife's cooking and my daughter's cakes.  So that at least is all good and has not changed at all.

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The thing is, when you have a cold or flu, you take the tablets you can buy in the chemists, swig the cough medicine, stay indoors for a day or two, and it all clears up and you're fine again.  But with this lot, I've done that and it's not made much difference, except to eventually mess with the digestion so I've given it a break and in a day or two we're back to square one.  I've varied the remedies (there are literally hundreds over here, the majority of tv advertising seems to be for cold remedies and dietary supplements, some of which seem to work better than others but all of which aren't cheap) and tried to go without anything all, but none of it has made a lot of difference.  The symptoms are still there and don't show a lot of signs of easing.

Some days I'm fine, everything normal, beyond the usual evening fatigue, and I can go off and do stuff.  I can focus on the book I'm reading (difficulty concentrating and focusing is another odd COVID symptom), do a bit of writing on the blog or whatever, go for a walk without getting tired out, shopping and so on.  Then bang - on another day I wake up and struggle to get out of bed.  There are days I feel perfectly ok when I get up and hit a brick wall mid afternoon - and vice versa.  My stress levels, that I monitor more than at any time since I retired, are up and down like a whore's drawers.  My temperature is all over the place: a normal 36.6C or thereabouts one minute, then over 37 an hour or so later, back down again, then up higher still.  Sometimes I can correlate that to some activity - taking the dog for a walk or cooking lunch will push it up, sitting quietly for a while will generally (but not always) bring it down. But often the fluctuations are just random.

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So I'm not really sure.  On balance, I think I probably did have the virus, back in March around the time the first wave and lockdown were running through the country, but a mild case.  Not enough to hospitalise me or slow me down, but sufficient to make me feel pretty shitty.  It then seems to have transformed itself into the so-called Long COVID - where the symptoms hang around in your system for months and keep retreating and returning.  It's a strain or variety or mutation or something of the parent virus, but so far the medical community knows less about it than they do the parent strain - and we are all still learning stuff about that every day.

Like COVID19, there is no cure or vaccine.  It will remain there in the backgound, like measles or the common cold or a hundred and one other viruses, while our bodies develop an immunity to it or the vaccines come on line.  There are over 30 candidates in development, some coming close to approval for use, but we're still months away from their free availability.  Manufacturing several billion (that is not a typo) doses, distributing them across the world and each country devising its own vaccination plan and administering it, is going to take months, if not years.  But it will come: I'll get there.

The point is, this virus is NOT a hoax, not just like a cold or the sniffles, as the nay-sayers and conspiracists on social media would have you believe.  Nor is it anything to do with 5G (we have no devices at home, and as far as I know there are no masts or whatever anywhere close to our home), Bill Gates, the Deep State (a myth). the Lizard People (ditto) or any of the other whack job lies that are in circulation.  In my view anyone who gives that stuff, or the nonsense Trunp and co are spouting, a second thought  are as mad as they are

This coronavirus is a very real and very unpleasant ailment.  It doesn't matter where it came from - China, the CIA labs in Virginia, Iran or the Planet Zog: makes no difference.  It's not going anywhere and there will not be a widely available vaccine for months yet.  It kills.  At the very least, It makes you feel bloody awful and can hang around in your system for months - maybe years: no-one knows that yet.  Nor does anyone understand the long term effects on people who've caught it and recovered: there are suggestions that in serious cases some permanent damage is caused to the lungs and other organs but it's not certain: the virus hasn't been with us long enough to figure that out.  But anectodally: well, to pick the two most well known and public victims, Boris Johnson seems less decisive since he was hospitalised (which is saying something), and Donald Trump even more surreally off this trolley.....

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Take it seriously.  Wear a mask - not to prevent catching it - there are no masks, even in hospitals, that can guarantee that - but to prevent spreading it if you're unfortunate enough to catch it.  It may not be the most comfortable thing, but it's a hell of a lot better than being hooked up to a ventilator and assorted machinery in an ICU somewhere.  Wash your hands and wipe dpown surfaces, including your mobile, laptop keyboard and so on, frequently - the thing can hang around on surfaces for a long time.  Stay away from crowds - any virus loves one of those.  If you have to go out try to keep a couple of yards or metres away from everyone else in the shops, trains, buses, workplace and so on.  Christmas: make do with staying at home and Zooming or Skyping the family.  Meeting up would just be a dumb thing to do, no matter how much you may want to and how much you may miss them.  It's just not worth it.

Take care of you and yours.  Stay safe.  Spare a thought for those on their own, particularly the elderly, and if there are any nearby reach out to them. Please.

The Demise of The Donald

So here is a disclaimer: as an Englishman living in Poland I don't really care whether the President of the United States of America is a Democrat or a Republican.  Doesn't stop me from having and voicing an opinion on the incumbent, however, no matter which side of the aisle he represents.  All I care about is how his policies affect the direction of travel of the States, and how that might affect my life.  So with that in mind, I cannot wait for President Donald Trump to vacate his job and the White House in 60-odd days time.

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I've held off from writing this in the hope that in view of the Election result, he would do the first Presidential thing since his own elevation four years ago - namely, accept the result, concede defeat and offer his Administration's support to guarantee the peaceful transfer of power that is, according to most Americans of either stripe, his sacred duty. It is after all what was afforded to him by the Obamas at the end of their period in office, what President George W. Bush did for the Obamas, and Bill Clinton for the Bushes, and so on back to George Washington.

But no: true to form, Trump has thrown the grandmother of all tantrums and disappeared to his golf course (that's when he's not been sulking in the Oval Office or its toilet), firing off tweet after tweet insisting the election was rigged, he won it, it's all a lie put about by the Fake News Media etc etc - you know the kind of shit he talks.  He's also fired off a whole raft of lawsuits in various states he lost demanding that various counts be annulled or re-done, alleging all kinds of electoral fraud - votes not counted, or counted twice, or made twice (in person and absentee), or done by dead people - without providing a shred of evidence.  Predictably, they have all been kicked out in 5 minute court hearings.

His sons and family and supporters, equally deluded and loyal to a fault, have joined in the bollocks.  Don Jr. has even proposed a revolution as the only way to get the result "the People voted for".  No, Don - that was Trump vacating the office in favour of Joe Biden.   But, hey, when you've spent four years peddling every dumb-arsed conspiracy theory available and trash-talked anyone, whether news organisation, politician or Joe Public, who happens to disagree with you you're not going to change overnight.  These clowns will never change.

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If it were not so tragic it would be laughable.  Trump was the model populist leader: forget Chavez or Orban, Castro or Kaczynski, Salvini or Johnson - none of them can hold a candle to Trump.  Surrounding himself with a bunch of sycophants and being guided initially by a lying fantasist in Steve Bannon, supported by a Fox News Network and various other Murdoch outlets interested only in sales and ratings - as is Trump, The Apprentice host who believed his own publicity - he has ridden roughshod over not only Americans but the country's allies.

Anyone in his Administration who spoke out (always in private: no-one had the balls to do so in public) was summarily dismissed, with a replacement whose loyalty was even more guaranteed by their own cowardice.  NATO, the European Union, the UN, the WHO, the WTO - all felt the lash of his poisonous toungue at various times, often more than once.  Trade wars were launched that have done little except push up prices and harm American workers, and as a by-product damaged everyone else's trade.  Promises have been broken regularly - whatever happened to the "big, beautiful Wall that Mexico is going to pay for"?  If "great clean American coal" was going to be the bedrock of the country's energy provision, why are uneconomic mines closing with the loss of thousands of jobs?  If Obamacare was so bad and destined for the trash can on day one of the Trump Presidency where is its replacement, this "wonderful best in the world medical system" he has touted every couple of months while never revealing any details?  Why are tens of thousands of Americans dying EVERY DAY from a coronavirus pandemic that "America has defeated/its a Chinese hoax/we're turning the corner (delete as you see fit)"?

Broken promises is probably a generous description - LIES is more accurate.  Here's another one: "No American President has done more for the African American community than me."  What about Abraham Lincoln, who abolished slavery? Lyndon Johnson, who completed the Civil Rights Act that John Kennedy was working on when assassinated?  All Trump has done has openly supported white supremacist groups during a summer of discontent after the killings of the unarmed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor and others by white cops.  

And another: "I've brought about the strongest economy in the history of the world".  Nope, the Republican Ronald Reagan and Democrat Bill Clinton presided over stronger ones at various times.  And a third: "This agreement between Israel and the United Arab Emirates brings a new era of peace to the region" - except that Israel and the UAE have never been in conflict with each other, and that Palestine and their Arab nation supporters have condemned it, if anything making the Middle East MORE volatile rather than less. 

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Trump is simply a congenital liar, and somehow or other millions of Americans simply haven't noticed - or, worse, noticed but don't care.  They believe every word the man says, and agree with his complaints that "the Deep State" (whatever the hell THAT is!) and "mainstream media are all against me."  He got himself elected in 2016 by appealling to the fears and imagined persecutions of a legion of largely poorly educated and frequently grudge-carrying unemployed Americans, mostly white men, by painting himself as one of their own.  As a  New York property developer, reality tv star and (allegedly) billionaire quite how he managed it I'm not sure, but swallow the yarn they apparently did.  An even bigger mystery is how even more people voted for him this time around, after four disastrous years that have done precisely the opposite of "Make America Great Again".  As I think P.T.Barnum is quoted as saying: "There's a sucker born every minute".  And most of them seem to be Trump supporters.

The problem now is these people seem unhinged enough to cause mayhem.  Every utterance Trump and his accolytes spout on Fox News or Twitter about stolen elections, the radical left taking over the country (Biden is hardly a radical even if he is a tad politically to the left) merely fans the flames of their discontent.  And Trump and his inner circle know it.  

For example: recently the (Democrat) Governor of the state of Michigan was found to be the proposed victim of a Trump supporting group of white supremacists who hatched a plot to kidnap and perhaps kill her for imposing a fairly loose lockdown in answer to the coronavirus pandemic that Trump has failed completely to handle.   The FBI managed to intervene and capture the conspirators before any harm was done.  Predictably Trump said he knew nothing about the plot (I'll give him that one) but refused to condemn their actions.  Now a few months have passed, and the pandemic is running out of control across the entire country, and Michigan remains one of the worst affected states.  The same Governor has brought in new measures, stricter than those before in another effort to save lives.  As he's still sulking about his defeat, Trump has said nothing, but a surrogate, Dr. Scott Atlas (who knows fuck all about infectious diseases and is not qualified as an immunologist but has somehow convinced Trump he is an "expert") took to Twitter, denounced the Governor's measures and said the only way to stop them being "imposed is to rise up".  A call to arms.......  

And still there is silence from the White House.

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But if this President, though not worthy of the title, is incompetent, his party and its Representatives and Senators in Congress are an absolute disgrace.  For all their mealy mouthed words about a "peaceful transition" they have said very little since the election took place.  A number of leading Republicans - McConnell, Graham, Cruz - continue to publicly support Trump and his frivolous lawsuits that the once respected but now laughable Rudy Giuliani is managing, if I can call it that.  They remain unable to condemn his petulant behaviour and lack of leadership that has been clear for years.  They are, presumably, in fear of their own local electorates and reluctant to lose their own highly lucrative positions, salaries no doubt topped up by lucrative rent-a-quote tv appearances and lobbyist payments.  Cowards to a man.  

Meanwhile the Administration is refusing to co-operate with Biden's Transition Team, refusing to release funding and share critical information - because Trump is still insisting on Twitter that he won the Election.  No co-operation on health while the pandemic rages uncontrolled. No security briefings covering the perennial disputes with North Korea, Iran, Russia, Syria and of course China.  No departmental briefings on the economy, energy, infastructure and health - all of which are standard procedure during a transition. And all because Trump refuses to accept the reality.  He LOST.

Trump was elected on a pledge to "drain the swamp" - his metaphor for a Washington full of seasoned politicians and administrators who, in his delusion, were betraying the American people (as well as keeping them safe, and healthy, and educated, and employed....but we'll gloss over that, the same as he did). What no-one foresaw was that he would fill the swamp with a far more potent and populous bunch of pond life than was already there.  White House Press Sectretaries who are content to lie on tv for their boss.  Secretaries of State who are content to follow a dangerous and unplanned foreign policy agenda that involves appeasing dictators and sharks like Putin and Kim and Netanyahu, and states that "we are preparing for a new Trump administration".  Departmental heads who are not qualified the run their charges (deVos, the idiot running the Post Office whose name escapes me - I can't be bothered to Google it -  or Justice's odious puppet Bill Barr) but will kow-tow to the Leader and do his bidding without question.  Remember Nazi Germany or Leninst Russia?  They ended well didn't they?  Blind devotion to The Leader never works.

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But now, he is going.  Whether he accepts it or not, Trump lost the 2020 Election, both the Electoral College and the popular vote (again: he lost that heavily in 2016 too but a broken electoral system gave him the key to the White House anyway).

The hope was that he would muster the good grace to accept it and shuffle off the stage to a book deal, his golf and an old age away from the spotlight.  It ain't going to happen - the narcissist in him will not allow it.  So we suffer for another couple of months this unedifying spectacle of a silly and fat old man throwing his toys out of the pram and howling "It was rigged!" to all and sundry. Were I American I would be very angry and embarrassed in equal degree.  We are led to believe that he is planning to run again in 2024, no matter what happens this time, when he will be nearly 80 and even more senile,,,,,,please God someone talks him out of that plan!

But on 20th January 2021 at noon, it will come to end, and Joe Biden will be sworn in as 46th President of the United States of America  I don't expect Trump to be there to watch: he will probably be holed up in the Oval Office with his nearest and dearest while the Secret Service batter the door down and drag him kicking and screamning off to Marolago (or hopefully a padded cell)

I can't wait.  It will be rivetting tv, and top the ratings for years to come.  Which is probably what The Donald wants.

Remembering Mum and Dad: All Soul's Day 1 November 2021

This a re-post from last year.  The sentiments are unchanged and always will be, but I've updated it to take account of the passage of time and the Pandemic.

Forget Hallowe'en.  

Despite all the trick or treating, crazy costumes and horror movies on the telly, here in Poland it's no more than a sideshow.  Thankfully the American obsession with it hasn't reached us, at least not to the same extent.  Indeed, the Catholic Church here, whose priests and nuns provide religious instruction in schools, in a country where First Communion and Confirmation are taken much more seriously than in many places (certainly than back home in Britain) openly and happily denounce Hallowe'en as being Evil, and encourage parents to ignore it and punish kids who join in the fun.  Mind you, they say likewise about the Easter Bunny and Father Christmas.  Which says a lot about the the shape of things here right now.....

No, the big day here is the next day, November 1st.  All Soul's Day.  The old religious festival - that has pagan roots rather than Christian - is the third most important day on the calendar, after Christmas Eve and Good Friday.

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Traditionally, people are expected, and indeed are taught from childhood, to remember and pay their respects to their deceased relatives.  This is done by visits to the graves of parents and grandparents, aunties and uncles, brothers and sisters and cousins who have passed away.  Parents take their children, and often travel the length and breadth of Poland to carry out these devotions.  All Soul's Day itself is a religious holiday with shops and businesses closed (their workers are obviously making their own observances).

Visitors do not only take flowers, as is the norm in the UK.  Far more predominant are the candles, of varying sizes and in a dazzling array of coloured and clear plastic vases.  Most graves end up with two or three bouquets and at least half a dozen candles.  By the end of the day, even the smallest and darkest cemetery is ablaze with the light from hundreds of candles. But Polish cemeteries, at least the city ones, tend to be huge affairs with thousands of graves spread across many acres, so you're talking tens of thousands of candles.  The light from them can be seen from some distance - I can remember flying in one All Soul's evening under a bright cloudless sky and being able to clearly see the patches of golden light that marked the cemeteries in many towns and cities  that we passed.  It's a beautiful and moving sight.

In fact, the whole event is that.  I don't consider myself in any away devout - I have my own set of beliefs that are a kind of Christianity, that I have come to over a lifetime and that comfort me - and do not belong to any recognised religion.  I was christened Church of England, though my teens attended a non-conformist Baptist chapel and ended up marrying two Catholic girls and attending Mass most Sundays (once the kids came along) but was never confirmed in either of the first two and never converted.  I'm not an atheist, but it would be difficult to classify me as Christian either.

Yet there is something comforting in standing at the various graves of my wife's departed, lighting our candle and placing it carefully amongst the others (we are never the first to arrive), then stepping back for some moments of quiet prayer and contemplation.  When the kids were small, my wife would lead them in some traditional Polish prayers and the kids would join in the genuflection and "Amen" conclusion.  I would listen in silence, as I still do, lost in my own thoughts.

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Every time I go back home to visit my sisters and sons and their families, I make a pilgrimage to my home town in Kent.  I've watched it change over the years: the High Street changes, more housing, more people, a one way system and traffic lights. But remaining constant are the graveyards in Church Street, the old one-time council estate where I was born.  In one of them my parents share a grave, with a grey marble headstone and edging, gravel base and flower pots.  Compared to some of the huge headstones that dominate Polish graves, its small beer indeed, but of course it means the world to me.

I clean it up, dispose of any old and dead flowers and weeds, give it a sweep, change the pot water and place my own bunch of chrysanthemums - my parents both loved the flower.  All the time I'm chatting to them, telling them what I'm up to, how the boys are (my dad died before any of them were born but mum was there for all three) and their families and children; I've introduced my two younger children, born and raised both Polish and English, when I took them to visit when they were smaller.  I get some funny looks from people who might pass (few and far between), but that's ok.  I don't pray, at least in the traditional and recognised way, but have a chat and thank my God for looking after them - it's the kind of informal prayer I learned in my Baptist teens and I'm comfortable with it. 

I went back recently, the first time in nearly three years, now COVID has abated somewhat - at least enough to allow travel (with some restrictions.  The town has changed little, and nor had the graveyard. But mum and dad's plot was badly in need of some care and attention, the headstone and surround and pebbles around the flower pots filthy dirty and covered in grime from three years or more of completely understandable neglect. I went to the nearest tap to get a can of water to at least try and spruce it up a bit, but there were no watering cans. A notice requested that mourners bring their own: an old lady passing by told me all the public ones had been stolen.  It made me very sad.

In the next, older part of the churchyard, are the graves of mum's mum, my aunt Rose and my cousin Taff, so I usually stop by and say hello to them as well.  It's all very low key, you could say typically British, but if gives me comfort.  Not in the least like a Polish All Souls Day devotion, which is a real family affair that fills the graveyard with visitors for probably the whole weekend.  I can't remember ever seeing more than a couple of people at any given time when I've been to see mum and dad.

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 My parents would both be over a hundred now were they still alive, both born when the First World War was at its height.  My dad, Wilf, was born in a very small village close to the Kent - Sussex border that has hardly changed since then - I went back a few years ago and it looked exactly as I remembered it in my childhood, when my elder sister lived there, and my late teens when my paternal grandmother died and was buried in the little churchyard there.  After leaving school at a probably young age (as was typical in poor - what would then be considered lower though I prefer the term "working class" - families) he went to work at the local castle as an under gardener.  The grounds were quite extensive and included a small lake in which he planted some water lilies that still proliferate today, even though the place is now owned by the National Trust.

There he met my mum, Floss, who had been born in a small town 6 miles or so away - my home town in fact.  She was working at the castle too - "In Service", was the job title.  Basically she was one of a staff of young boys ans girls who spent long hours cleaning, washing, ironing, peeling vegetables, waiting table, clearing up the mess - I knew it was hard work, but reading sections of Bill Bryson's excellent book "At Home" I have a much clearer picture of what that actually meant.  What you see in Downton Abbey or Upstairs Downstairs or any one of a dozen Merchant Ivory productions is a very sanitised and romanticsed alternate reality. It was really brutally hard work for next to no reward or what we recognise today as workers' rights.

Wilf and Floss met, somewhere, somehow, fell in love and married shortly before World War 2 broke out.  They lived in a small cottage in the castle grounds but had to leave that when dad signed up and marched off to war.  Mum was moved into a brand new council house and lived there for the rest of her life.  I was born there, the only son, with two elder sisters.  It was a struggle at first bringing up the girls on her own, but with the community spirit that existed then, all neighbours mucking in together, she got through it.

Dad, meanwhile, had a year in North Africa under Montgomery, part of the heroic Desert Rats that defeated Rommel's Afrika Corp and brought the area back into Allied control.  Job done? Not a bit of it: after a brief leave off he went again, this time to Burma, where he remained until 1946.  Yes, yes, I know the war ended a year earlier, but it seems there was still work to be done.....  He was wounded twice, neither seriously, met Vera Lynn, the Forces' Sweetheart when he was in hospital recovering from one of them (she spent a half hour chatting to him apparently.....he never forgot that, and it was a cherished memory until he died).  But he survived, and came home to a wife who was a stranger and two daughters who had no memory of him, and with no job and little money.  Like thousands of other young men - he was just 31.

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I can't imagine how they got through it all, rebuilt their relationship, stayed together in our little council house, made me, and brought up the three kids....  I don't think dad was ever paid more than about £25 a week, and he had a succession of jobs: a stoker at the local gas works, a coalman, a removal man, and finally for a number of years a mill operator in a plastics factory.  All dirty, hard jobs in polluting environments. Whether they led directly to the cancer that killed him at the age of just 56 (I was 19 at the time) is open to debate, and nothing can ever be proved now, but I suspect it did.

But he was a lovely man.  He was quiet and placid - possibly a result of some kind of PTSD after Burma? Who knows! - and never had a bad word to say about anyone.  I can't remember him ever raising his voice or getting really angry about anything.  He had an allotment that, with our big back garden, provided the best fresh fruit and veg I've ever eaten.  He smoked (which probably didn't help) and enjoyed the odd night out at the local men's club or British Legion with mum and their friends, veterans all.  A couple of brown ales and that was enough.  He saved my life twice when I very small, both near drownings, but made no fuss either time, and insisted on cleaning my football boots after every game, right up until the last couple of weeks of his life.  He was my hero.

Mum was my rock.  She was always there when I came in from school and refused to get any kind of job until I left school (then took one in a tobacconists and worked there until retiring a year or so before she in turn died of another cancer). She was more volatile and had a temper on her, far more so than dad, and ruled our home with a strong but kindly hand.  Neither her nor dad ever smacked me, as far as I can recall - not more than a tap on the arse anyway - but I was under no illusions about what was acceptable behaviour.  Discipline was gentle but effective.  She was a terrific cook (aren't all our mothers?), and I remember the most wonderful Victoria Sponge cakes, jam roly-polies and fruit cakes for Sunday tea or when we had visitors. I always had clean clothes freshly ironed (difficult I recognise now, as I was a messy kid and always came in from play with cowpat on my trousers, or split seams in my school uniform that needed mending overnight (without a sewing machine)......but she always managed somehow.  She was my heroine.

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I never mourned either of them properly, when they passed.  I was just a kid, fresh out of school, when dad died and in my first job.  Mum and my sisters were distraught so I took on the burden of arranging the funeral, sorting out his final payout from the factory, all that stuff, with the help of Brian Oman, the minister at the Baptist Church.  I didn't have a lot of time to mourn, and then as the main breadwinner had to stay strong for mum and and my sisters.  To help, I hit the drink for several years....... But I got through it.

Then when mum died, I had my own family to think about and stay strong for, for my kids were in their early teens and had been very close to mum.  Again, I had to make the funeral arrangements, then with the help of my brother-in-law sort out the house.  Mum had bought it as part of Thatcher's Right to Buy initiative, but my sister and he decided to move out so there was much packing to be done.  It took some time, and my own precarious work situation to handle (working for a highly aggressive US investment bank that insisted on long and unrelenting hours and didn't take prisoners) was also critical.  So I didn't really mourn her either.

But I missed them both, and still do, all these years later. Hence the annual pilgrimage to the grave that I missed the last couple of years.  The emotional dam finally broke, many years later.  I was ironing, the radio was on, and a particular song came on. There's a verse in there where the singer believes he heard his late father's voice in the cry of a new born son.....  That did it for me: the tears came, long and painfully, but at the end of it I felt much better.  I still can't listen to Mike & The Mechanic's "Livin' Years" without a tear in my eye though.

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They were good people, my mum and dad. 

Here we go again - Wave 2

There are so many doubters still about this coronavirus pandemic, even after 10 months of unrelenting spread.  Many of them are in positions of power, and what could loosely be termed "populist politicians".  Think Boris Johnson, the darling of the Brexiteers.  Jaire Bolsonaro, the Brazilian strongman who has kept the economy open while the death count climbs to the second highest in the world.  Behind the US, where Donald Trump is the epitome of the populist politician, which is to say he is a loudmouthed, narcissistic incompetent whose primary concern is himself not his electorate (especially that portion that voted for someone else.  Here's another link between the Three Amigos: they have all caught the virus and been hospitalised, but have not changed their sceptic views one iota.  Perhaps that's because all three are also conspiracy theorists and proven liars.

There are others: Jaroslaw Kaczynski in Poland, where the initial lockdown was quite successful in keeping the numbers of infections and deaths very low for the size of the population.  The economy was re-opened, with many restrictions (masking, social distancing etc) still in force but poorly enforced.  Numbers are now going through the roof.  Narendra Modi in India - a similar story, compounded by questionable record keeping that means that probably many more people have been infected and/or died but simply not identified in poverty stricken rural communities.  The list goes on.

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But the point is, contrary to all the optimistic statements about "turning the corner" coming out of the White House and Number 10, about vaccines being available any time now (Putin has signed off on two in Russia already, despite neither being adequately tested - on not much more than 1000 "volunteers", all of them in the Red Army - oh, and his daughter), this virus has NOT gone away.  Nor will it.  Viruses tend to stick around forever.  Think measles, mumps, the common cold, various flu's.  Polio. Diphtheria.  They've all been killers in the past, and still are in impoverished areas around the globe.  We've learned to live with them, with the help of innoculations of vaccines developed over periods of often several years - and in the cases of flu vaccines requiring an annual top up.  I have no doubt that Covid will be the same, with us for the foreseeable future.

The problem is that Covid is much more virulent than the flu virus.  I know people die of the flu every year, even in so-called developed countries.  They still are.  But those deaths tend to occur during the autumn and winter each year, the "flu season", and no doubt they will do so this winter as well.  But people have been dying, in droves, throughout the hot summer months, from coronavirus, and most experts are predicting there will be even more deaths as we go through the first full winter of its existence.

We're entering that period now, and already numbers of infections and deaths are going up, rapidly, in countries across the world - including some that had been essentially Covid free for some weeks and months.  Clearly, unlike our friend The Donald confidently predicted to his admirers from a hot and sticky Florida back in April or May, the summer months have not killed off the virus, nor even slowed it down.  If anything, it seems to have strengthened it, since cases of infection and deaths are now spreading into all age groups, not just the old and those with pre-existing health conditions.  Viruses mutate.  Covid too.

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Governments the world over are struggling to find a balance between opening up struggling economies and the health of their citizens.  There are tightening restrictions.  Partial and local lockdowns.  Higher fines for flouting the "rules".  The blame game is ramping up: messrs Trump and Biden are fighting for the US Presidency largely on the performance (or lack thereof) of the government's handling of the pandemic: as I write there have been in excess of 8million infections and nearly 220,000 US deaths (and the President still insists he has handled the situation brilliantly and awards himself an A* Grade).  

In Poland, despite the evidence of ambulances queueing up round the block for hours outside hospitals in Warsaw that refuse to accept Covid patients (due to a lack of PPE, ventilators and staff trained to operate them), the government insists the situation is exaggerated and under control, and accuses doctors of "neglecting their duties".  In Britain, yet another new Three Tier system has been put in place to manage the crisis and help define prevention measures on an area by area basis, but the mayor of Greater Manchester is refusing to accept his city's categorization and refusing to adopt the mandated prevention measures unless the government makes additional funding available.  There has been pushback in France, Germany, Spain and elsewhere, mostly citing the ill effects on people's mental health due to continuing enforced isolation, and the closure of many businesses (of all sizes) due to contracted economies.

News bulletins and social media are awash with videos of crowded bars and street parties, people dancing and shouting and getting pissed, without a mask in sight and no sign of anything resembling social distancing measures being followed.  Interviews and Facebook posts are full of complaints about individual liberties being eroded or ignored.  The general thrust is if I catch Covid it's my choice and I'm happy to take the risk.  Ok, but the old person you pass it on to on the bus or in the check out queue probably doesn't feel the same way.  It's selfishness, pure and simple, and frankly it disgusts me - and not only because I'm in what is generally accepted to be a high risk group.

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It seems evident to me, as a layman prepared to do some research and think about things, that like it or not, we are indeed going into a Second Wave.  Most virologists and epidemiologists agree that this will be worse than the First Wave, meaning that millions more people are likely to get infected and die - the numbers as I write are in excess of 40 million infections and over 1.1 million deaths worldwide.  Admittedly, out of a global population of 8 billion odd, it's relatively small beer - but these are 40 million people infected and a million plus dead who ordinarily would still be here and healthy.  In less than one year....  Equally evident: it will be some months before ANY vaccines (outside of Russia) have been properly tested and released, and many more months before any real mass vaccination programs are launched as stocks need to be built up and distributed and prioritised. 

So economies will continue to be battered.  Businesses - small, medium and large, across countless industries and market sectors - will go bust, and no amount of government giveaways can change that.  Unemployment will rise massively, as will social security claims, placing more strain on government budgets already straining to breaking point.  As a simple example, on his election Boris Johnson pledged there would be no rises in personal taxation.  Through no fault of his own, he has had to dip into the government's coffers to provide tens of  billions of pounds in support of a UK economy already in recession (a recession that will likely deepen next year as the country completes its exit from EU with no trade deal).  Where does the money come from? Even grants are a form of debt on the government, that will need to be covered or repaid.  There are few option: more government borrowing from the money and bond markets (expensive....) or tax receipts being the most popular.  But if unemployment has gone up - as it will (it has already) - then by definition tax receipts will go down as social security payments go up. With a no tax increase pledge tying his hands, how does Johnson square the cirlce?

He is not alone, of course.  Every country, every government, every leader, is facing the same balancing act.  Britain's will not be the only economy going into recession: this is a global issue.  Even the richest nations - the US and China (the world's two largest economies), Germany and France, both EU powerhouses, the oil rich Gulf states, Japan, South Korea - are not going to be immune.

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Somehow, we HAVE to come together and find ways to live with this thing.  Changing work patterns and working from home, home schooling, furlough schemes and so on will not of themselves provide all of the answers, valuable though they clearly are as support tools.  We, as people, must make fundamental changes to the ways we think and live.  We must accept that this is a different world right now, and will remain so for a number of years.  Yes, vaccines will come and make huge differences to us all - but not yet.  Until then, WE have to take responsibility for our own lives and our own futures and act: clearly, in many cases we can't leave it to our leaders to lead because too many of them aren't prepared - or capable - of leading.

We need to ACCEPT that COVID19 is real, and not some internet conspiracy involving a mythical Deep State, Bill Gates and/or George Soros, aimed at some kind of world domination.  We need to accept too that viruses cannot be spread by 5G networks: they are organic and spread organically.  Blaming China, the CIA, Russia or any other convenient entity is a pointless exercise that will make no difference to managing the situation as ir is NOW: the blame game can come later,

We need to UNDERSTAND that businesses will go bust and jobs will be lost, possibly forever, tragic though that is.  People's livelihoods will disappear.  Throwing more government money at Greater Manchester, the entertainment industry, Virgin Atlantic airlines or any other "worthy cause" is not the answer long term.  We do not have a Magic Money Tree, no matter what old Jeremy Corbyn, Boris Johnson and others would have you believe.  At some point, probably sooner rather than later, the money will run out.

We must ACKNOWLEDGE that, with very few exceptions, our elected leaders are no more scientifically literate than we are, and stop accepting every utterance from Trump or Johnson, Hancock or Gove as gospel, the truth, because it undoubtedly isn't.  That's not to say that every utterance from the scientific commuity is true either: scientists are humans too, and may make mistakes like the rest of us.  But if 99% of them say the same thing, then it would probably be a good idea to do what they suggest.

Wear a MASK, properly.  That means so that it covers your mouth AND your nose - breath, and hence potentially the virus, can travel through your nasal passages as well as your throat.  Remember that masking will not necessarily stop you from catching Covid, but if you are unfortunate enough to pick it up somehow then a mask will make it harder to pass it on. Masking primarily protects other people: that's why doctors, nurses, dentists and other health professionals wear them all the time. 

Basic HYGIENE is also critical.  This is not only washing your hands all the time (but certainly every time you come indoors, and use sanitiser when offered entering shops and so on) but keeping surfaces clean and disinfected.  A recent study revealed that the virus can remain active on a work surface, door knob or whatever for several hours, not just a matter of minutes, so wiping everything down frequently will make a difference.  That includes your mobile phone, laptop or computer keyboard and mouse, tv remote - the lot.

Not only follow the science, but also whatever RULES are put in place in your locality, no matter how onerous they are.  The rules are not there to piss you off or make your life more difficult, but to protect everybody - including you.  It's nothing personal, because the government, local or national, that is introducing the rule does not know you from Adam, and they are just as inconvenienced by it as you are.  Live with it.  Halloween, Christmas, birthday parties and so on are not cancelled or illegal: they can still be celebrated but within your own direct family in your own home, NOT with your extended family. 

Similarly, be aware of TRAVEL RESTRICTIONS and follow them.  As someone who has spent most of the last 20 years jumping on and off planes and trains for work and pleasure, this has been a terrible year: my world has shrunk to the area surrounding my apartment block - perhaps a square kilometre, no more - and my apartment itself is small.  I have family in Britain I will not see this year, including a grandson I haven't met. I miss the whole journey experience, seeing new places and cultures.  Sure, I get cabin fever, some days terribly - but that's better than getting Covid.

It's been, and remains, the most extraordinary and diffcult situation for all of us, probably since the end of World War 2, certainly within my lifetime, and there is little prospect of it changing anytime soon.  But our species is resilient, and we will come though it eventually.  This is the Second Wave of infections.  There might well be a Third, maybe a Fourth -  I hope not a Fifth - before we get through the crisis. The world will be different, and the way we all live and work will be different too.  And the optimist in me says that will all be worthwhile.

I'm leaving LinkedIn. Here's why.

 

I

I’ve had enough. I’m leaving LinkedIn, closing my account, and wandering off into the sunset. I’ll take a week to go through all the stuff on there – primarily the articles I’ve published over the last few years, to see if there is anything I can make use of on my blog or elsewhere – but then I’m off.

I see nothing wrong with the site, despite the increasing number of complaints from other users. Sure, it’s not Facebook or Twitter, TikTok or Instagram – and thank Christ for that! - but I see no reason to complain about something that is not 100% business related appearing on a business networking site if it is current and in any way relevant. Example: some people complained to me a few years ago when I wrote posts critical of the Brexit referendum result. Others bitched about my complaints about the behaviour and incompetence of the current (and please God soon to be ex-) POTUS. Irrelevant, they wailed, this is a business network. So what, says I – both POTUS and Brexit are having a massive impact on business, mostly negative, and will continue to do so. I see no reason to believe otherwise still, nor to change the opinions shared.

In my view, if LI has a problem, it’s in not policing closely enough the members who masquerade as recruiters but are nothing more than CV harvesters. I spent the 6 years from 2013 to 2018 working as a self employed contractor in the banking software space. At the outset, and thereafter whenever a contract ended, I uploaded a current CV, edited my Profile to give details of my availability and from when. The result? I was generally, for a few weeks, receiving unsolicited Connect requests from people claiming to be recruiting for this project or that, within the particular space I was operating in, and asking for a current CV. Sometimes – indeed, frequently – there was no project mentioned, simply a demand for a Connection and CV. Initially I gave it a go, but invariably never heard another word from the recruiter and messages via mail or LI were ignored, and worst of all phone calls unanswered.

In the end I tested one, who had been pestering me for some months about work in a particular area. I happened to know someone that I had worked with previously in the location, and he knew of no projects in the country my recruiter had mentioned – odd, as my friend was the country manager for his firm. I did a bit more research, and found out that my “recruiter” was one of 2 people operating out of a business centre in the Home Counties with a declared turnover in the preceding 12 months that was less than my own. I deleted the contact and warned my friend, who had been approached by them too, offering CVs. No idea how it ended, what became of them, and frankly I don’t care. At the end of the day, every single contract I won during that period was directly via people I knew, and had done for years. The “resourcers”, “recruiters” and all the other buzz-word titles they used when asking for my CV and Connection during that same period failed to muster a single interview, never mind contract offer. Anecdotally, LinkedIn is full of these people.

Of course, it could also have been partly down to me, and a lack of “networking” from my side. The number of times I’ve seen posts from people bigging up their attainment of hitting 30,000 Connections this year or some such nonsense never ceases to amaze me. My first thought is always, “So what? How many of them do you actually deal with in any meaningful way?”  I read somewhere recently a report that says that the average human brain finds it difficult to manage and maintain more than 120-odd personal relationships (e.g. connections?), and even that seems a high number. So how anyone can seriously boast of managing and maintaining a list of thousands of such Connections is beyond me. I still don’t understand this focus on the number of Friends, or Connections, or Followers, or whatever you want to call them, that you can rack up on these sites. Surely you should aim for quality not quantity? Where is the advantage in having a list of thousands of complete strangers that you will never meet or speak to? There is no profit in that that I can see!

I currently boast 314 Connections. Of that number I know, personally (as in worked with, had a beer and a meal with, accompanied to a football match or something) probably getting on for a hundred, but most of them I haven’t seen, or in some cases heard from, for years. Of THAT number, how many do I really consider to be friends, people I would happily help and advise and be able to rely on for their help and advice at need? Maybe 15, 20 if I’m generous. In my perhaps antiquated view, that core of 15 to 20 friends are my network: everyone else on my LinkedIn list are just background, people passing in the crowd across London Bridge. Many of them (most in fact) I’ve never knowingly clapped eyes on, nor ever will.

But the main reason I’m off is the site is no longer relevant to my life. Its content no longer interests me. I have no real desire to read about why this challenger bank is better than that one, and why both are hoovering custom away from more traditional banks. Cloud computing is of no interest except as a way to store my Photos and Music without cluttering up my hard drive. Crypto-currencies and Blockchain may be the future of finance but are beyond my aging mind. I can do a very basic PowerPoint, Excel spreadsheet and Word doocument, whether on Microsoft Office or the various open source alternatives, and apart from the written Word don’t anticipate any need to learn more. Networking I’ve already discussed. And now I’m fully retired, the recruitment bit – which never worked for me in any case – is equally redundant.

So I would like to wish all my Connections, whether old friends or total strangers, all the very best for the future, may you have long and successful careers, health, wealth and happiness. Remember family should always, but ALWAYS, come before work – your loved ones will love you long after your employer has decided you are no longer wanted (and unless you are a business owner, that WILL happen, probably more than once). Live life to the full, and have no regrets. Be humble and happy, and no matter how low you feel remember there are others, millions of them, far worse off than you will ever be.

Those of you who want to stay in touch probably have my number and email or at least are Facebook Friends. I will still be writing my blog on a regular basis – since no-one can apparently be arsed to Subscribe and Follow it I have no clue if any of my Connections, including those in the various Blogging groups I’ve joined on LinkedIn, bother to read it, but the url is the same: http://travellin-bob2.blogspot.com.

Good luck, stay safe, and may your God go with you.

Trip of the Year.......

 

So.  

After six months of being housebound because of this bloody COVID it's time to act, I decided.  Much as I enjoy being with My Beloved and our kids, the dog and the cat, much as I love living in Warsaw, eating good hearty food (Polish and my own English specials) and drinking decent Polish beer - such variety! - I need a change of scenery.

Back in Blighty, I have my sisters, not getting any younger and, frankly, not in the best of health, to check up on.  I have My Three Sons, and their families to visit, and a lovely new grandson to meet.   Instead of looking out at apartment blocks and traffic jams, it will be nice to look out at trees and green fields and a huge variety of sparrows and tits and God knows what other birds feeding on the bird tables in my sister's Norfolk garden.  It will be lovely to wander the miles of clean sand at the nearby Holkham and Tichwell beaches.  Eat a good plate of freshly caught fish and chips in Wells-next-Sea.

Visit my mum and dad's grave in my home town of Edenbridge, down in Kent, tidy it up a bit (no doubt that is badly needed) and put out fresh flowers, have a chat with them.  It's a pilgrimage I make whenever I'm in England.  Drive on the correct side of the road in a car where the gear lever is in the right place (to my left) and other drivers by and large obey the Highway Code and use their mirrors and indicators. 

So much to look forward to after nearly a year away.  I checked the Foreign Office Travel Advice website to confirm whether I needed to quarantine for a fortnight and found I was clear.  My passport runs out on New Year's Eve, but by returning early in September there is enough validity. not to cause problems  So all good. I booked my flight, WizzAir to Luton as usual, decided which car to hire, and let my family know I was on my way.  A three week visit.

My first trip of the year beckoned, but not the one I expected.

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This is Lulu.  She is four months old, an English Bulldog, and full of both energy and mischief, as any puppy should be.  We love her dearly.  Now she has had all her shots she needs regular exercise, as much as anything to save the floors in the apartment from being completely ruined.  So we take it in turns to walk her.  Next to our block there is a small patch of grass in front of an old telephone exchange that is waiting to be bought by some enterprising developer, demolished and replaced by a new apartment block.  Beyond that is a Park-and-Ride facility, surrounded by landscaped lawns and footpaths and cycle tracks.  A walk around that complex, as far as the traffic lights at a nearby intersection, is enough for her to do as she wishes, and even chase a couple of butterflies and the odd raggedy-arsed pigeon.  

Generally she is really good, does as she is told and walks (or trots) quite happily where you want her to go.  Because she is a fine looking pooch, we are often stopped by other people, dog lovers who make a fuss of her and sometimes even take pictures.  We often meet other dogs too, of different breeds, and being sociable she enjoys that very much.  Whether Dachsund or Dalmation. Airedale or Alsation, she is happy to have a bit of a romp, until either we or the other owners separate the dogs and go our separate ways.  

But sometimes, especially if the weather is hot - as it has been for a couple of weeks now - she gets a bit stubborn.  So we have to carry her, at least until behind the Park-and-Ride and sometimes further.  Then we try to walk again, but instead of walking she might just let her legs go weak and collapse on one side or the other, or flop onto her belly in that classic Bulldog pose with both back legs straight out behind her and front legs straight out in front, her head resting on her paws and looking at you with a "sod this, I'm going nowhere" look on her face.  It's funny, but frustrating.  At other times, the sound of someone talking the other side of the hedge, or a motor bike passing or something, brings her to a complete stop, she digs all four paws in and remains immobile, staring at whatever has caught her attention.  If you're a pace ahead you don't know until you've walked on a few steps, the lead fully extended until you stop.  For a little dog, she is STRONG.

So develops a battle of wills that generally she wins and is carried home quite happy.  But I can be stubborn too, and want her to do as she is told - for her own safety, as much as anything: I don't want her running out in front of cars and causing an accident or getting hit herself.  This is what happened Saturday evening, as dusk fell.

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We did a lap of the Park-and-Ride with no problems at all, but she had done nothing.  Not a pee or poo in sight.  I decided another lap was needed, preferably at more of a jog than a stroll (that tends to get things moving so to speak...) so instead of heading back to our block I turned left, alongside the complex.  Lulu is far from stupid, and decided this was not a good idea.  This time she flopped onto her left side and looked at me.  I picked her up and carried her to the back of the complex, and explained to her she had to go round again, for her own good.  I kid you not, she sighed wearily as if she understood every word, and gave my face a lick.

I put her down on the grass, and she gave me a filthy look.....  I gave her lead a gentle tug and told her to come - as you do - and started walking.  Not the best idea I've ever had as it turned out.  I took my eye off the ball, so to speak....

She dug her heels in I realised when the lead went taut.  I turned to look and she was standing there, looking at me, solid as a rock.  I told her to move her arse and gave the lead a little tug.  That was it......she pulled back sharply and somehow her head and shoulders slipped back out of the harness and she was off.  I hadn't realised she was so fast as she dashed off in the general direction of Home.  I swore and gave chase, yelling at her to stop.  There are two access roads either side of the car park she ran through, and I was worried some nutter would zoom down one of them (as often happens) and hit her.  She of course ignored me.

By the time I got through the car park she was trotting towards our block entrance, so I speeded up (or tried to).  She speeded up.  So did I.......for a few seconds.  The fatal error was that 67 year old men in flip-flops should not try to outrun sprightly Bulldog pups.  I had no chance.  

As I reached the first car park entrance, again yelling at Lulu to stop, I guess I must have tripped on the kerb.  All I know is I took off, turned a half somersault, and felt searing pains in my right foot and left thigh.  I ignored them and tried to stand, and collapsed in a heap, neither leg was working.  Lulu turned the corner of our block as the security guy dashed out - he must have seen everything on CCTV.  I yelled "DOG!", and waved my arms wildly.   He glanced round the corner, then calling "OK! OK!" ran to me.

He helped me uo and with an arm round my shoulder for support, helped me hobble painfully to the entrance.  Lulu was sitting there, quite happily, looking very pleased with herself for finding her own way home without my help.  Pleased to see me, she wagged her whole body in the way Bulldogs do when they are happy.

She is brilliant, really.

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Up in the lift, leaving a trail of blood from my toe.  Into the apartment.  My Beloved, about to take my son off to a party, looked horrified.  I staggered into the bathroom and sat heavily and painfully on the edge of the bath.  My son took off a blood soaked flip-flop while My Beloved filled a washing up bowl with cold water.  It was the first time I had seen the damage and ir didn't look good.

I sat there for a half hour while the water turned red and the blood sort of panting congealed around the wound and rapidly blackening nail.  Then my daughter carefully wrapped my foot in kitchen roll, changed the water for me, and tried to wipe away the worst of it.  God love her, she's just turned 12.

My Beloved got back, and looked at my toe.  One word: "Hospital".  She called a friend of ours who came to provide help and some light relief, and we tottered out to the lift.  My daighter came too, and we left her at the friend's place (one of her best friends from school is the daughter).  

The hospital was fairly close to the city centre but in a side-street that took a little finding. By this time it was after 11, so My Beloved had to make sure the A&E would see me.  Saturday night?  Of course they would.  I hobbled in, filled in and signed some forms and was led through to the business end while the ladies waited in the Entrance. 

There were about half a dozen people there, including a couple of policemen.  The young orderly asked me what had happened, filled in an on-line form, and asked me to wait, gesturing at some seats.  I hobbled to the one furthest away from the guy, probably my age, panting and coughing into an oxygen mask on a trolley....just to be on the safe side, and made sure my mask was on properly.

Ten minutes wait.  Not bad.  A lady called me and I hobbled into her room. Again I explained what had happened.  She shook her head (I could read her thoughts: "Silly old sod.") and sent me by wheelchair to X-ray.  The porter must have been 70 if he was a day, but what the hell.  The lady radiographer was probably my age, spoke no English and was miserable as sin - I guess she'd had a long shift.  But we managed, she took the pictures and the old porter took me back to another room.  Different doctor.  Some English but not the best.  Broken toe.  Stitches needed then a plaster cast.  On the bed please.  Then the fun began.  

While they cleaned my foot up, I WhatsApp messaged My Beloved to tell her what was happening.  Then the doctor said "I will inject you, painkiller."  Bloody hell, for a painkiller those three injections to my toe HURT.  The air turned blue.  But ok, in a minute my toe will go numb and he can patch me up.

Nope.  I'm not sure what the stuff he used was, but it was bloody useless.  Now I've seen movies where the hero (James Bond, Jason Bourne, whoever...) performs some self surgery, digging out bullets and stitching themselves up without batting an eyelid.  What a load of old bollocks!  I have never known any pain like it, not even when as a 16 year old boy I cut three fingertips off in a factory accident (another night in hospital as they were re-attached not quite as good as new but workable - but that was done under full anaesthetic).  Maybe toes are particularly sensitive (at least mine). Maybe the geezer just wasn't very good at sewing.  But fuck me, it was agony.  I sweated buckets.  I used every bit of foul and abusive language I could lay my tongue to in both English and rudimentary Polish.  I covered my face.  I clutched the sides of the bed.  I desperately tried not to puke (and, thankfully, succeeded). And all while keeping my leg and foot stiff and still for him to stitch away.

It took a good five minutes to insert I think four stitches,  It's now Wednesday, the fourth day after the ordeal, and the wound is still sore. On Friday I have to go back there to have the dressing changed (it's hanging off anyway) and perhaps the stitches out.  I can hardly wait.

On went the cast.  It's not a full one, just the back of the calf and ankle then strapped on tightly with cotton wadding and a bandage.  My Beloved, her friend and the kids were disappointed because they can't write or draw anything on it.  But it goes to just below the knee and will need to be on for 5 or 6 weeks. Presumably it will also be changed Friday).  Quite why I need a knee-length cast for a broken toe I'm not at all clear.  

Another X-ray, this time to make sure the quack had set the toe in the right position.  My radiologist lady was in an even fouler mood, and had problems explaining exactly what she needed, so we had a full and frank bi-lingual exchange of views that I hope made us both feel better.  I know telling her to fuck off improved my temper no end.  But the pictures were fine.

The doctor gave me three papers, all of course in Polish, and sent me on my way.  We had an entertaining photo and movie shoot outside the doors while My Beloved trundled my wheelchair to the car and I struggled my way into the front seat, then we headed home.  It was nearly half past one Sunday morning by then, but the cold beer from the fridge was a delight.

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It was also my last for a while.  On Sunday, My Beloved read through the hospital papers and spent the next hour driving around from apteka to apteka (pharmacies) picking up a fine selection of drugs to keep me going.  There are a couple of anti biotics. There is something to help the bone heal quicker.  Pride of place goes to a forty day course of an anti coagulent - as I'm not going to be very mobile for a while this is apparently needed to prevent blood clots and minimise the risk of heart attacks or something, since my circulation will slow down.  

The fun part about this potion is that it comes in the form of an injection that I need to administer to myself......  It's actually not too bad - the needle is very thin, you squeeze up a roll of fat on your belly (I have plenty to play with), shove the needle in and press the plunger.  There you go, job done in a few seconds, and to my surprise not painful at all.  But weird.  But with all that stuff being ingested beer is off the menu for the duration.  Bugger.

So instead of flying off today to visit Mon Famille back in Blighty, I'm still at home, sitting on my balcony in my rocker typing this.  My leg is up on a chair for some support, and as ordered by the doctor highr than my hip to help the healing process.  I spend most of my time like this, or on the sofa, resting.  I've borrowed a very nice walking stick from someone to help me get around the apartment a bit, but I can't really do a lot.

Thr foot and the other leg (my hamstring is damaged and yesterday we spotted a bruise about the size of a tea plate, delightfully black and blue) is feeling a little easier today though, so I'm getting there.

Oh, and Lulu and I have made up.  She's laying by my chair here (when she's not leading the kids a merry chase around the Park-and-Ride)