What do you do when you are on the brink of world war?
How do you react when your prime minister makes a speech with grand sounding phrases which don’t actually say anything?
How do you feel when you see people like yourself making Molotov cocktails to defend their city from an aggressor who wants to change the way they live, the way they think?
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Just typed the heading of this post and wondered when one will start without those three words. I felt an unexpected surge of hope this morning about the future. Maybe it was the spring. Maybe the unexpected blue skies when rain had been forecast. Maybe it was a headline now forgotten.
Yesterday I received an unanticipated letter. I’m not going to say what it was, but it first puzzled me then unsettled me. I wasn’t sure of the protocol of how to respond, and I didn’t understand why it had been sent. My first reaction was that although it was an odd way to communicate with me, that wasn’t my problem. But as time wore on I wondered what the motivation had been and if I should be worried; if there was an implied threat. I told Celia about it and then B&J. I was confused and uncertain as to how I should respond. To be honest I still am. But as they say, a problem shared is a problem halved, and moral support counts for a lot.
I have been doing my physio exercises religiously. When I broke my right wrist I found the hand therapy class wonderful. I worked and worked at my exercises and was rewarded by almost complete use of my wrist. This recent break is not in the same league, thank goodness ,as the other one, so although I find myself gritting my teeth as I try to squeeze a ball, or bend my wrist up or down, I know that gradually these exercises will make a difference and restore the movement to what it was. I am trying beyond exercises to tread the fine line between being over protective and gungho. Gungho sometimes wins simply because I don’t think. Returning form a walk with Celia this afternoon we passed an empty children’s playground. Earlier we had seen another empty, and much more exciting one.
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I have spent much of the day in front of the computer screen so this post may be short. If only I had established and maintained a streamlined online filing system life would be so much better. I spend hours searching for lost documents and pictures. Still.
Tomorrow I shall probably be glued to the news hoping the inauguration of Joe Biden will happen smoothly and peacefully, that the events of two weeks ago will be like creatures in a cheap B movie about Hallowe’en, sunk back into the ground with a ghastly but hammy sucking sound, and then swiftly forgotten.
Don’t call us, we’ll call you. And we won’t.
Reading reports it sounds as though all may be quiet, but unfortunately these abhorrent creatures will not have gone away, they will be waiting their moment. Maybe if the moment passes or seems never likely to come they will shake their head like characters in other B movies who wake and realise everything was just a dream, and resume lives as reasonable people. I hope.
Hope should not be sneered at. Sometimes it is all we have. It is easy to condemn those around Trump who are now coming forward and telling how it was for them. But being bullied is not an easy place to be, and who do you whistle blow to when your boss, the bully is POTUS?
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So what have I done today? The military aircraft continued their fly overs much later than I expected, so my early night didn’t happen. I was in my pyjamas, but the noise kept me awake, so I read and MasterB slept on my feet.
During the night I woke briefly several times, mainly because I needed to change position which isn’t always easy with a cat who has decided to sleep on or as close to one as possible. Around six he came under the quilt, curled up by my chest and we slept companionably until half past seven. The morning wasn’t as cool as I was expecting, but the windows in the rear cabin where we’d slept were covered in condensation. Even so, it was obvious it was going to be a beautiful day. The light was gorgeous. I emerged from the boat in time to see a swan flying low over the river. It’s moments like this when it feels unthinkable to give the boat up.
I‘ve been puzzled by a bit of broken ceramic, tonight I got the answer when the bathroom shelf fell off the wall and I could see where the piece fitted on the back. Since it was fine on my last stay and Older Nephew and his partner were the last people to use das Boot, I assumed they had had a mishap with the shelf. He says not. Strange. The shelf didn’t get back on the wall on its own.
Anyway, MasterB and I enjoyed our respective breakfasts and then I read for a while, feeling rather contented and lazy. But there was shopping to be done at Reach. I wanted carrots, salad and a marrow. I didn’t find any of them, I ended up with squash and fresh walnuts. There weren’t any water melons either. I wasn’t expecting them. They are not the sort of fruit I expect to find on an organic farm in Cambridgeshire, but a woman who was there at the same time as I was waxed lyrical about them and was very disappointed not to get one today.
I turned down the lane and picked blackberries for a crumble I have made this evening. I had half feared there would be no blackberries, that I’d be too late, but I think these were on a north facing hedgerow. I’ll go back and pick more before I go home and I have two orders for sloes, both I think for gin. I may try sloe chutney. I have only had sloe gin once, an ex neighbour made it and it was so strong I thought I’d go blind. Continue reading
My supper included butter beans and baby potatoes with sage pesto. Over the last few months sage pesto has featured heavily in my meals. It’s delicious, and it’s both very cheap and very easy to make. Usually I pick the sage from our garden where it grows in abundance. But there is some of the sage with the big leaves growing in a communal bed just down the road, so I picked that this time. Weirdly it tastes quite different, not as nice, and is much drier. I used the same quantities of everything, so I can only assume it is a singular property of this variety of sage. I don’t plan to use it again.
Still with plans, I finished the podcast plan, next I need to record it, but the duster called to me insistantly. With my windows open and breezy weather there was even more dust to disperse than usual. I’m not going to run my finger tip along the shutters tonight as I have a nasty feeling they are already gritty. I’ve already noticed stuff that’s blown through the window on the kitchen floor. However, the flat feels clean and there’s certainly less cat fur on the carpets.
My constitutional took me to Blackfriars where I dropped off a jigsaw for a friend. She’s not currently there, being one of those with two addresses, but the concierge took it to give to her. I think she’s going to be a member of our jigsaw syndicate when she does come to London again. The day was warm, but not as hot as it has been. Perfect for the boat, but Stuart plans to do some work there at the weekend, so I shall remain a landlubber for a few more days. I forgot to take my little Olympus with me today, so these pictures ae from last week outside the William Booth Memorial College.
Hope in Pictures
Johnson, Gove et al appear to be engaged in some political limbo challenge. How low can you go? Hey I can go lower than that. So we are being shamed almost hourly by the ridiculous sabre rattling, the aggressive speeches, the threats against those who oppose them and their dangerous alt-right fuelled dreams.
I say shamed, but terrified would be more accurate. How many of you saw the Leave poster yesterday? It’s been taken down now but I may be able to find it on the web to show you. Well that didn’t take long, you can see it here.
One of the backers of this campaign is Arron Banks. Not the man you’d like find moving in next door. All the hallmarks of fascism are stamped over both Leave and Johnson’s government. The playbook is lifted from the rise of the Nazis. We are constantly told leaving the EU is the will of the British people; that to ignore the result of the 2016 referendum would be undemocratic, would let down the 17.4 million who voted in favour of ‘going it alone’. Never mind that the population is more than four times that number, that quite a few of the people who voted are now dead, and every poll shows most people want to stay in the EU, that large numbers of those who voted Leave are horrified at what is being done in their name. No, the tail must wag the dog and pull us all down. It would be nice if the 17.4 million stood up now and told the government to stop. It may only be if they do that the madness will end. Continue reading
Anger is only useful if it fuels action.
Yesterday’s anti-Brexit march felt useful. I wasn’t on it as I was working, but just seeing the pictures gave me a sense of solidarity, a sense of hope; this madness will stop.
If it doesn’t, those of us who wish to remain in the EU will continue to campaign to return. Please don’t talk to me about the will of the people, or democratic process. When the referendum was held in the early 1970s and people voted to stay in the EU, or Common Market as it was then known, the leave campaign sprang into action immediately. To paraphrase a meateater’s saying, what’s sauce for the lentils is sauce for the butter beans.
Democracy is about argument, not things set in stone.
My outrage meter was just returning to somewhere above normal after POTUS’ announcement that he would reverse his inhumane decision to separate children from their parents and then blame the Democrats, when I realised it doesn’t apply to those families already separated. The trauma those children have undergone for this Trumplestiltskin to make a point, beggars belief. I cannot begin to imagine how this is going to affect them in their adult lives. The insecurity, the realisation at a much too young age that their parents cannot always defend them will leave an indelible mark. And all because this man likes to think he’s strong, and that this is the sort of thing strong men do. The truth is he’s weak, and the weak never know how hard they are hitting you. Continue reading
This Saturday will be the 14th January. I understand that on the other side of the pond the floss-haired one will be inaugurated as President of the United States, something that strikes me as a being a joke too far, as well as being a jolly disrespectful thing to do on the first anniversary of Aunt’s death.
Or so I thought, but Lyn has just emailed me to say it’s the 20th, not 14th, so goodness knows where I got that idea from.
Auntie Mary October 2015
I meet quite a few Americans through my work. I have yet to meet one who says (confesses?) s/he voted for Trump, which may be significant in itself as I am meeting those who travel away from their home country, and I know a large number of US citizens never acquire or use passports.
A woman today, I’ll call her Jane, told me she is returning on Saturday, and marching on Sunday as a Nasty Woman who is not going to be quiet. She won’t be alone; just her party comprises two busloads of similarly nasty women. She cheered my heart. Continue reading
It seemed people didn’t want to leave. I had been working and so unable to be in Trafalgar Square this afternoon, but I wondered if there might be some remnants of what had been going on, so I walked down from Green Park to have a gander. As I turned the corner towards the National Gallery I could see the flag still flying at half-mast, and a number of police in hi-viz jackets standing looking relaxed.
The screen caught my attention.
Thank-you
People talking quietly; some on their own looking thoughtful; some huddled together silently.
MORE IN COMMON
Hope
Today I pledge…
Like many people I have been on Twitter this evening, and on the internet. I have watched the news obsessively. The first I knew of the shooting of Jo Cox MP was when I picked up my ‘phone early this evening and saw an email from a newsfeed saying there had been reports of an attack on an MP.
Jo Cox was one of the few MPs in the House of Commons who made you feel every word she said was genuine. She was bright and funny, serious and committed. I am sure I am not the only one to have noted her as a future leader of the Labour Party, and a future Prime Minister.
For all my news scanning and watching, why she was killed is still unclear. There are reports that her killer suffered from mental illness, that he was normally a gentle person who did work in other people’s gardens for free. Other reports say that he shouted “Britain first!” before pulling the trigger on his home made gun. Continue reading
Isobel (and Cat)'s Blog 