Certainties

Rift

The most valuable thing about travelling is that it gives you a new perspective on things. As I sit here with my morning cuppa, I think about my Canadian kin, sleeping half a world away. I so recently shared their day-to-day, looking at the world through their eyes.

I am no longer the person I was before I leapt from this corner of the globe, flying through different time zones to land on Canadian soil (tarmac, actually, thank goodness). I treasure my memory and joy of those welcoming hugs. And those lovely, familiar faces appearing in the flesh before me was miraculous. It was my own domain that was suddenly half a world away. I’m back at home now, and in the same way that we might edit our holiday photos, my mind is busy sifting and sorting the views I was presented with in those five very special weeks.

My environmentalism had made me feel guilty about taking a plane. I remembered the beautiful, plane-free, blue skies of lockdown, feeling the earth breathe clearly for a moment. But air-travel made it possible to be at my son’s wedding. I guess that makes me a doting mum but nevertheless a hypocrite. I arrived in BC at the tail end of an unprecedented (there’s that word again) heatwave. My brother-in-law was red-eyed-tired from managing fire-fighting crews and at my son’s lakeside home the ominous presence of wildfire smoke across the water focussed my mind on how climate change is a reality, making the urgency of reversing it more apparent. And yet, enfolded there in my family, I learned that any suggestion of a ‘climate emergency’ is taken with a pinch of salt - fake news put out by ‘the media’ to keep us all enslaved and compliant in a paralysis of fear.

Smoke

Back at home, not only is ‘the media’ full of talk about the climate emergency but a dear friend of mine is in jail for her part in an Extinction Rebellion protest. She’s 82 and passionate about the need to draw attention to the issue. But she has drawn a lot of abuse on the chat feeds for her actions and as her friend I felt the need to counter some of them. The responses were very unpleasant (one threatened to bury me) and left me wondering why we have to be so rude to each other. What has happened to thoughtful, respectful dialogue? I am using an on-line platform to write this blog, but I have come to deplore how on-line communication is full of vitriol and fabrication.

When visiting a funfair as a child with my grandmother, our favourite attraction was the Magic Mirrors. Her laughter at the distorted images she saw of herself was infectious, drawing in others to see what was so hilarious. The image of ourselves that we see in others is very often not one that we recognise and seldom do we find the distortion amusing. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could laugh hilariously instead of attacking the ‘mirror’.

Then there’s Covid-19. That has divided us, and big time! To travel to Canada I had to have proof of being double-vaccinated; a vaccination ‘passport’ in other words. My sister practices Ayurvedic medicine and is refusing to be vaccinated even if it means she will be barred from travel and entry to various establishments. She and her family are part of BC’s push-back against the creep of bureaucratic pressures that limit freedom and choice, claiming that so many Covid-related restrictions are illegal. Throughout my visit I witnessed widespread distrust of ‘the powers that be’ and of the corporate media. It’s somewhat the same on this side of the planet, of course. Who knows what information to trust? To accept that Science knows what it’s doing when we roll up our sleeves for some strange substance to be injected into us is a huge leap of faith. Yes, the vaccines were tested, but let’s face it, it’s still early days and there is much yet to learn about how they affect us; it’s still experimental. Similarly worrying, many of those who have accepted their part in this global experiment (out of fear, or solidarity….whatever), are evangelical about the need for it; vociferous in their criticism of those refusing it. I took the vaccine in spite of my reservations, thinking of myself as something of a guinea pig in advance of my family receiving it. My own brood have now all had it. It was their own choice. I now have to hope and pray that the awful implications so many of the anti-vaxxers predict, don’t materialise.

Fake news. How do we identify it? How do we find truth in a world where narratives contradict each other? What can we count on as arbiters of truth? Science? The Law? The Bible or Quran or whatever? Few trust politicians any more. 

This photo appeared in The Guardian 23 Nov 2020

Logic is seeing coherence in a set of premises, theory or viewpoint. Science, like detective work, is seeking evidence for a theory or viewpoint. A theory may be coherent and have internal consistency, yet lack evidence or be based on flawed evidence.  Also, investigations can turn up evidence to support (or refute) a theory yet miss that which goes the other way. An investigation which is in the pay of some commercial interest is unlikely to be trustworthy. For instance, the mobile phone company Motorola carried out a ‘scientific’ study into the connection between mobile phones and headaches. Also, many scientists, keen to promote themselves, may well be less than rigorously objective. The overlooking of inconvenient contradictions is well documented in the history of Science.  Nevertheless, inductive reasoning or empirical method is the tool of both science and legal investigation in establishing fact. What other way is there? We just have to do it right and remember that our ‘truth’ can be overturned in the light of new evidence. This is true for journalism as well.

“Follow the money” is a good mantra if we’re unsure of the motive behind a piece of news or propaganda.  But, if you are a conspiracy theorist it’s an inconvenient fact that many have made money inadvertently from this ‘pandemic’ (excuse the inverted commas - some argue that it’s just another flu and there is no pandemic). Does the acquisition of new wealth in this context mean that Covid-19 is a sinister invention for the very purpose of benefitting from it? No - correlation is not necessarily causation. 

The case is still on-going, of course, as to whether a bio-weapon escaped or was deliberately released from a lab in Wuhan; whether the mortality rates have been exaggerated; whether health services have been overwhelmed (in Canada and many other places, apparently not); whether the event is providing governments with an excuse for authoritarianism and repression; whether a virus was created by Big Pharma in order to boost their profits…..and so on, as we all try to dig deep into ‘what the heck is going on’. Certainly it’s an unfolding story. I don’t think any of us knows how the story will end, and none of us can claim to be certain of any of it (oops, I just contradicted myself - I should have said “maybe it’s an unfolding story….”) 

So what do we do in these circumstances. We are free to believe what we want, I guess, and I will contradict myself again by saying that while I would caution anyone to be too sure of anything I have nevertheless often admired people with a strength of conviction; it’s what leadership is made of. You have to wonder, though, about lemmings……(and sheep, and cults, and wars). So often we have been warned about the danger of blindly following along. George Orwell comes to mind - “Animal Farm” was on the pre-16 school curriculum at one time.

One evening in Canada we watched ‘The Matrix’. Gareth and I recently watched ‘The Matrix Reloaded’. I’ve been told that actor Keanu Reeves maintains that the film is not fiction but a documentary. ‘Matrix 4’ is due to come out this winter and I’m curious what its message will be. Dastardly plots, conspiracy and corruption is what good suspenseful movies are made of. They can feed into our consciousness such that our ‘suspension of disbelief’ becomes permanent and the fiction becomes a reality. I wonder - do such movies create or alert us to conspiracies? ‘Animal Farm’ was Orwell’s commentary on the folly of Communism, according to my teachers and according to the literati. I’ve never spoken with Orwell, however, so do I trust that information? Maybe he was simply telling a silly story about a bunch of pigs who took over a farmyard. I’d better track down Keanu and the creator of the Matrix movies to find out whether they are allegorical, factual or just entertainingly fictional. Oh boy - that means getting on a plane again, and will they speak to me anyway? Will they tell me ‘the truth’?

When a story popped up recently about a horrific event in the Danish Faro islands it would be a comfort to think of it as fake news; that a massive pod of dolphins were not really lured to a barbaric death and then rotted away as a result of there being too much meat for the islanders to use. 

While I do have the choice to believe or disbelieve that humans are on course to destroy ourselves and the planet, to ignore the alarm bells seems foolish to me. There is good science and bad science, but for me there looks to be very strong evidence for us humans having brought about a climate emergency. Am I a lemming, then, running toward the cliff, duped into believing a lie? Is the ‘real’ story that I am some sort of cash-cow, an enslaved tax-payer, farmed for the sinister desires of a small but super-powerful elite? The number who think so is growing, “waking up” apparently and ready to resist. 

One thing that my Canadian sister and I agree on is that humans have the capacity to overcome the dark and sinister elements of our world through love, hope and positivity. We really do have the power to manifest a better world simply by imagining and living it. My sister and I may be following different narratives but ultimately we both want a happy and healthy future for our descendants.  

And so, on both sides of the planet my family lives, breathes and tries to make sense of things. It’s a shame we can’t all be on the same page of the story, and we don’t even know if we’re reading the same book, or even using the same language. Things are, nevertheless what they are in spite of what we think they are (note my form of the “it is what it is” current mantra). Truth will out eventually though, and of that I really am certain.

I have downloaded this photo from Pinterest
Chinchillagirl2950 on Deviant Art

O Canada

 The other day I hiked 10k with my sister, my nieces and a friend to the 2,250m top of well-named Granite Mountain and gazed with awe at the surrounding peaks and mountainous skyline. We stood for a photo where my niece Holly poses brides and grooms for dramatic wedding shots after hauling them up the steep and rocky track by foot or on quad bikes. She showed me where one of the models for her red sheet photo series had posed for her and my legs turned to jelly just thinking about the treacherousness of it - a scantily dressed female robed in a flowing red sheet perched on the edge of a hundreds-of-feet high sheer wall of granite. My niece Becca gave her another photo op on a similar ledge, which added to my jelly-leggedness. 

Life with my Canadian family is always eventful. Next day, my brother-in-law, Peter, took a rare day off to get us all up to a wilderness park lake with their motor boat. Bearing in mind that the boat had been purchased as a reject and not been on the water for at least two years, this was a dicey idea. An adventure in the making, picnic and survival gear prepared, we set off on the long trek up into the park. It’s worth pointing out here that this Wells Gray Park is the size of Wales with just 20 miles of road into it. The road stops at the start of Clearwater lake and from then on the only way into the park is by boat. They don’t call it a wilderness park for nothing. To give a sense of the scale of things here, the park is a mere dot on the map of British Columbia. This is BIG country!

At the boat launch I stood around looking to see where I might be helpful but realising that my knowledge of boating was rather limited, I left it to the apparently more knowledgeable crew to get the craft into the water. Duly packed with all the gear plus my pregnant niece Holly, Peter reversed down the boat launch. The ominous sound of a ratchet alerted us to the boat having decided to launch itself prematurely and slide off the trailer onto the slipway. The propellor hit the concrete with a hard metal sound and a disaster was unfolding before our eyes. In these situations the screeching of bystanders isn’t particularly helpful so it’s a good thing that Adam, having got to the lake before us with Becca and their own boat, was there to help out, catching the ratchet to pull the boat back onto the trailer. Such a scary moment, seeing Holly’s imminent danger of being tipped out of the thing.

Finally in the water, a narrowly-escaped pregnant Holly, engaged with her father and Adam to get the motor running. Once again I sat back, taking in the scenery and watching with interest as the trio wrestled with a particularly obstinate machine. Meanwhile kayakers came and went from the little wooden dock. I saw them holding their breath to avoid inhaling fumes from the coughing and unco-operative motor boat that we had dragged unceremoniously into the peace of this vast, wild, clear and beautiful lake.

We took off from the dock without warning as the motor suddenly came to life. Adam, half dockside and half boat-side had to leap out of the way, shove his own little Becca-contained boat out the way too as our craft shot noisily and smokily out across the water. With Peter at the helm, for a few minutes we contemplated the adventures awaiting us further up the lake, and then the engine burned out.

Dreams are often a reflection of the very-nearly disasters of the day. Drifting off to sleep with thoughts of how fortunate we were to have lost the engine so close to the launch site with Becca and Adam available to tow us back in, I shivered thinking about how differently it might have gone. Had we been further up into the park with nothing but a pair of oars to get us back I pictured my sister, my niece, my brother-in-law and I, all with our different ideas of how to deal with the situation, coming inevitably to verbal blows, with our young German companion, Kat, calling desperately into the vastness for help.

As it happened we did enjoy the rest of the day once the boat was back securely on the trailer. We watched salmon jumping at Bailey’s Chute and stared with awe into the canyon below the spectacular Helmcken Falls. A good day was had by all, for sure…..except maybe Peter whose fit-bit registered a significant spike in his stress levels.

Helmcken falls is 141m high (463ft)

And thanks to Holly for most of these photos.

……and then!

 

Just a birthday beach party?

My son got married! 

It had been a well kept secret, from him anyway. Izzy had insisted through the years that she never wanted to marry. He’d resigned himself to the fact and then, on his 40th birthday, she presented herself to him, with a celebrant standing by and a marriage certificate ready to sign.

It was a beautiful day. Friends had participated in the subterfuge and in expertly organised fashion, set up the ceremonial stage on the property beachfront while William was canoed away for an apparent spot of birthday fishing. He duly complied in spite of his bemused reservations at having to leave his birthday party and when well out of sight of the activities at home he was presented with the proposal - by a series of photos on a fellow canoeist’s phone of the four Maine Coon house cats, each with an attached note to spell out “Will….you….marry….me?” Returning to the beach he had to hoist a Welsh flag for ‘yes’, which he duly did and a surrendered Izzy drifted diaphanously out to meet him with Lewie, the biggest cat, in her arms. 

William had never suspected a thing in all of the months leading up to the occasion.

So my two younger sons are now married. Richard and Libby marry shortly after I return home from here in BC and I will have a clutch of daughters-in-law. I’m getting used to the idea of being outnumbered but I’m so grateful for the additional female energy they bring into the family, along with my two little grand-daughters.

There’s nothing like a wedding to make one emotional, and this was no exception. Tears were order of the day for a good few of us, each with our different reasons. Listening to a couple make their vows to each other, gives everyone pause for thought. Those are big promises. As a mother I enjoyed seeing my son’s happiness shine out as he embraced his lady and looked into her eyes as he made those vows. As a woman who broke her own wedding vows I reflect on the challenges of keeping them. My darling sister, whose marriage is still strong (see previous blog post) stayed beside me, knowing instinctively what was churning in my mind.

Back at home my steadfast partner, Gareth, holds fort. He came to this ceremony as a finger puppet along with William’s brothers and their little families. He and I have been together now for twenty seven years without taking the step of getting a marriage certificate. Maybe we will and maybe we won’t. Who knows.

In another life I might have been like my sister, carving out a life and living in this vast country with my husband. It scared me then and it scares me now even though I sit comfortably on the beach, signs of the weekend party mostly cleared away, waves on the the lake rocking me gently, forested mountains basking benignly in a smoke-free sky and nothing for the moment to worry about. I can’t help but think, however, about my attachment to home, my partner and the rest of the family. I will be going home before long, leaving the newly weds to their life together. I am thankful and assured that my middle son has made a choice that brings him happiness and this is the place now where he belongs.

Why am I going fishing?

That’s it! Signed!

Look what I got for my birthday!

The family came too!

All together now

The land of the free and fearless

The farm - it was the second family home

It rained again -  a real blessing for the heat and fire-fighters. At my sister’s lovely home the other night we sat on her deck watching the storm. It was better than any firework display. Drama in the sky. 

It’s impossible to be in this environment, so recently a new frontier for Europeans, not to be awed by its wild grandeur. My sister and brother-in-law forged a life here from the moment of their arrival in British Columbia nearly forty years ago. I remember the scale and difficulty of what they’d embarked upon having seen it first hand when we joined them for a few months in those early days. They succeeded, after mighty efforts, and against all odds it seemed at the time, in making a home, a family and a livelihood, putting Clearwater on the map for tourists and becoming an essential part of the growing community. Now, while they live comfortably in the lovely riverside log home that they built near town, they are still frontiersmen, constantly pushing the boundaries of possibility. The family are a firm, involved in a multi-faceted business that includes farming, logging, tourism packages and fire-fighting. My tiny niece Rebecca manfully leads one of the crews. She is impressive, with all of the indefatigable nature of her dad and an independence of spirit like her mother. She, her sister Holly and older brother Ben were brought up in this environment and are formidable products of a life built on the edge of wilderness. Holly, a photographer, treks into impossible places taking brides and grooms for spectacular backdrops to their nuptials. Ben, an engineer, has narrowly escaped death many times with his adventurous and dare-devil adventures. Their partners are no less impressive. Ben’s Claudia is a vet who can manhandle cows with ease. Holly’s Angus has bagged bear and deer, so they’ll never be short of a meal for their imminent little family. Adam, who towers over tiny Rebecca has settled into life here from his home in Tasmania and has proved himself fully up to the tasks of building a home and living in the extremes. The lives of these young people are following in the footsteps of the alpha male and female. As I write, the family are busy in the rain pulling up the maintenance-requiring pumps from their well. It’s no small operation! 

Seeing how this family lives and works, in spite of the many developments that have made life easier for them, I am made to think about how so many of us have forgotten how to be resourceful. We have become so dependent on institutions to provide for our health, wealth and security. We have enslaved ourselves to so many things in our desire for comfort. One major consequence is the extent to which addiction is a feature of modern life. In a world where living on one’s wits, fitness and resilience appears to be unnecessary, where the god is Mammon and it’s so difficult to discern truth from deception, is it any surprise that so many take potions to deaden the angst and confusion.

This house is fuelled by conversation. There is a daily mid-morning coffee ritual that draws in friends and neighbours for a catch up on news and business, of social issues that could benefit from some kindly intervention, of politics, dark or otherwise and of more lofty spiritual things. My feeling is of a well established, wholesome environment headed by two now-mature, if eccentric, characters - my younger sis and her hubby, a great team that I’ve seen develop through the many years. He has described her as the CEO of the family and she describes him as Methuselah. The titles are spot on.

Sis assessing the work needed at the farm house

Sis researching stuff

There’s a big river at the bottom of the garden

Sis in her veg garden 

All hands on deck

 

Call of the Wild

100 Mile House

Rain. Such a gift when so many wildfires are out of control. Today I can see the other side of the lake with its forested domes beyond. The air is clearer and less smokey. I hope there’s some respite for the wildlife too. I’ve heard so little by way of bird calls though we did see a flock of geese flying in the smoke the other day. Many people here in BC have fire insurance on their homes. Creatures of the forest don’t. 

Sitting in my cabin the other day, staying indoors to avoid breathing in too much smoke, I had nothing to do except think about how I can contribute to a shift in the collective human consciousness; a shift towards recognising that, in the words of a friend, “we are burning our own house down”.

As you can imagine, there are campfire bans here in British Columbia. Lightening strikes are scary as they create hotspots in the ground that can suddenly, maybe weeks later, inflame the area and start a wildfire. Farmers here are very worried about their crops which aren’t ripening because of the smoke. Hay cutting is badly affected because of the heat scorched land so there won’t be enough winter cattle feed. The knock on effect for all of us initially, of a climate becoming violent with fires and floods around the world, is food shortages and high prices. And that’s just the beginning. What about the wildlife, I ask, too? It’ll have another threat as we humans return to hunting in order to put food on the family table and we find that we’ve already wiped out so much of it.

Our usual response to what is happening around us is to bury our heads in the sand. “It is what it is” I hear everywhere as we suffer our sense of helplessness. As a Canadian woman yesterday remarked as she anxiously counted the lightening strikes, “the bible warned us and here it is”. 

My friends in Extinction Rebellion at home are calling people to assemble in London this month from August 23rd. How else can we mobilise our governments into doing something effective to tackle this emergency? They must be held to account for lack of leadership, intention and motivation. Only through a real groundswell of frustration can we bring about the gargantuan change needed in the way we humans operate. It’s time, folks; time to put out the flames of consumption, greed and corruption. How foolish are we to party while the house burns down?

Lightning strikes setting the land alight

Vancouver Island

These are not my photos. I have taken them from Google - they are photos of current  fire activity in the province.

Canada, Covid and Climate

At last, something to blog about! I’m in Canada! 

This August, my son William turns forty and he’s having a party. His brothers, keen to share in the occasion, were faced with the logistical challenges (and costs) of getting to the event……in Canada……in a pandemic. Solution? Club together to send Mum. And here I am, bless their dear hearts!

It was touch-and-go whether I’d get here given the red tape involved. As all but essential travel out of the UK into Canada was banned by the FCDO I had to meet various criteria for exemption. I had to be double-vaccinated and have proof of a close relationship with a Canadian citizen. Wanting the visit to be a birthday surprise for William, my sister, who has lived in Canada for many years, went through the rigmarole of providing a legally witnessed declaration to prove our sisterhood. Being able to get insurance, however, was looking highly unlikely. 

We did eventually find an insurer (with an exclusion for anything Covid related) and started feeling optimistic about the plan working. For weeks we studied the changing picture on the UK and Canadian government websites and ticked off each bureaucratic requirement as we met it. Then western Canada was hit by a heatwave, the likes of which they’ve never had before and British Columbia, where my Canadian kin live, was bursting into flame. My sister was sending pictures of their town, Kamloops, ringed in burning forest, with news that one of its neighbouring towns had been completely burned out. Her family are all in the fire-fighting business, so it was a tense time. My son and his partner, Izzy were also (they still are, in fact) evacuation prepared, though living lake-side is something of a saving grace. Now that I’ve become temporarily resident in their property, however, I can see how vulnerable it is, being set in woodland like most homes are here. Wildfires are not unusual of course, but they are becoming more frequent and widespread as the climate warms. A couple of days before I arrived the map showing wildfire and smoke presented a dire picture. I lucked out as the air cleared in time for me to make the flight! My sister had told me that flying in smoke is no fun and being a rather nervous flyer, I was losing sleep about it.

Throughout the preparations for my visit, Izzy and I had fun colluding on Messenger about how to surprise William. However, as my Canadian niece Holly pointed out, William would need some notice in order to arrange time off from work to spend with me, so we decided to tell him, and it’s just as well we did. I was already braced for the possibility of being refused entry by border staff regardless of having the right paperwork and if I hadn’t, as a back up, got a copy of William’s Canadian passport and his birth certificate I may well have been turned back. The border guard in Vancouver only accepted me on the basis of having a son in Canada. The connection with my sister wasn’t enough for him!

I’ve been wondering whether and how many people were turned away by the border guards, either before boarding at Heathrow or on arrival in Vancouver. Travelling on the 9th of August just days after restrictions on travel were lifted, I was surprised at the number of people who had jumped on the opportunity. I was also surprised, like most of the passengers going through border controls with me in Vancouver, to be subjected to a Covid test, in spite of having my UK proof of a negative PCR test result as required before leaving the UK. Some of my fellow travellers became very vocal in their objections to another test, given the Canadian government’s own travel advisory that mandatory arrival testing had been suspended. 

But I got in, and arriving in Kamloops airport after 24 hours travelling the sight of my dear boy in the flesh, instead of on a video call, filled my heart and my eyes. 

How easily we all took for granted the freedoms of our time pre-Covid, freedoms which have now, for the most part, been taken away in the cause of fighting a virus. It gives me pause for thought for sure. I have, as a utilitarian, complied with being vaccinated, in spite of my misgivings, worn a mask as a courtesy to others, exercised rigorous hand hygiene and maintained social distances in public places. Now, there is a feeling of things returning to normal and, like childbirth, the pain of the pandemic is being forgotten, lockdowns just a gap in one’s memories. And yet there are reminders. Many are still choosing to wear a mask and back home in Wales it is still mandatory to wear one in shops. I was reminded by an email from the Canadian government that I might be checked up on in spite of my airport test results coming back negative. I am not entirely free to wander at will here; my son having to account for where I might be if necessary. Freedom is a tenuous concept.

The last couple of days have been filled with smoke and the beautiful Shuswap lake in front of me has disappeared from view. Eyes prickle and chests suffer from the effect, like when sitting by a campfire. When the air clears a bit in this popular holiday destination people around here are trying hard to play and party in their speedboats and houseboats. But these continue to be strange times.

The beautiful Shuswap lake 

Shrouded in smoke

I am delighted to be here, though, hanging out with my son, his lady and their four Maine Coon cats, lunching and planning adventures with my sister and generally just ‘being’ in every moment. It’s a beautiful world, inhabited by beautiful, precious creatures. My love for it and all within it is boundless. I call to those with vested interests in fossil-fuel-hungry enterprises to love it too. Nature is doing its best to wake us up to our fragile hold on existence, so let’s not act like sulky sleepy teenagers refusing to get up for school.

The Shuswap tree

Post-script:

I’d love if my readers could subscribe to my blog and even comment if you feel moved to. I don’t intend to monetise the blog but in my own little way I am trying to provoke discussion of the things that should matter to all of us. By subscribing and sharing it might happen that the conversation will widen out. I don’t want to be too evangelical, but as I’m sure you’re aware if you’ve read much of my blog, I am concerned about what we are doing to the planet and each other. Take a look at this from Global Optimism:

The #IPCC #ClimateReport is the final alarm bell. Scientists are 'yelling from the rooftops'.

#OutrageAndOptimism brings a special analysis of the report with Michael E. Mann, looking at what is still possible if we all take decisive action in a narrowing window of opportunity.

Tune in: https://bit.ly/2VJwc1j

Feeling a bit amnaesic

Yes, I’m still here, folks; not dead yet, though I’m finding it more and more difficult to find anything interesting to blog about. When, in future times, I’m asked by my great-grandchildren, “What was it it like in the 20-21 Pandemic?”, what will I tell them? I’m having difficulty remembering much about it, to be honest. At the moment I’m not quite sure how many lockdowns we’ve had. Is it three? Things are getting a bit more ‘back to normal’ with bars and restaurants now re-opened  for indoor hospitality, retail is in full swing and we’re permitted to hug and go on holiday. A traffic lights system identifies which countries it’s ok to travel to but we are nevertheless advised not to go (the UK government’s Rules and Guidance continues to confuse and frustrate this Covid19-weary country).

In telling the story to my descendants I may have to dramatise my experience of it in order not to give the impression that I have pretty much been a waste of space throughout the whole thing. I might tell them about Dotty, our hyperactive pup who grew so fast and ended up eating her mother. That would be a dramatic story, though nothing to do with the pandemic. It’s not true, either of course. This pup certainly doesn’t look like she’ll be petite and she is chewing everything in sight, including Pwdin’s ears, but she hasn’t eaten her......yet.

I can tell those future little ones how being so separated meant that we didn’t recognise each other anymore. That’s something that really did happen. My son, Richard, who has been living in the Midlands for going on ten years but still registered with the NHS here in Swansea, was called for his vaccine. Not having seen him since our brief rendezvous last August, I was excited but also disappointed that Libby and the children weren’t able to come too. Stopping at the shop on our way to Owen and Jess’s where we were meeting up, I was disconcerted by a guy walking purposefully towards me instead of keeping his distance. I almost had to step into the road to avoid him until I realised that it was my son, aiming for me with a huge hug and which caused passers-by to stare (hugs not, then, being ‘allowed’). I don’t think I’m senile quite yet, so I blame my lack of recognition on a combination of factors - myopia, mask-wearing and the unexpectedness of seeing him there (I’ll big it up for future story-telling, of course).

Maybe I can tell a story about how G (aka Gareth) wore away his bones in ‘mending’ another house; how in the 21st century house builders built matchbox homes for people from sticks and cardboard because they are cheaper and, knowing that a pandemic was coming to wipe most of us out, matchbox homes would be easier to clear away than solidly built ones. Through lockdown Gareth has been trying to fix the bad workmanship of this Taylor-Wimpey house while struggling with his second bad hip. Hospital waiting lists for routine treatments like hip-replacements have stretched way into the coming years as a result of flippin COVID. 

G also took on a little part-time job with Tesco for a while, by the way. There was considerable demand for delivery drivers, of course, given the increase in on-line shopping. His experience of driving a motor-home seemed to fit the job’s requirements and so, dressed in his Tesco delivery-driver uniform, Gareth worked a few evenings each week putting food through people’s doorways. He was enjoying it, seeing faces other than mine, but it took its toll on his hip, and eventually I put my foot down (the good foot, not the bad one) - he had to give it up. 

We both learned a thing or two about what it’s like for these grocery deliverers. For instance, people who live in flats tend to use the delivery service for things they’d find too heavy to shop for themselves, like big bottles of pop and water. None of the drivers enjoy seeing an apartment block on their itinerary. On one trip, Gareth had to deliver a huge order which included a crate full of wine and spirits. The old guy receiving was keen to tell him that they were having a celebration. What celebration, we wondered, given that he and his wife were elderly and supposedly isolating. 

Our new respect for delivery people includes knowing how they are expected to work to a very tight time schedule while adhering to some impossible rules and regulations, and monitored by not-fit-for-purpose apps.

Let’s see......what else has happened since my last blog post? In no particular order, Prince Phillip, Duke of Edinburgh died, we’ve had local and devolved parliamentary elections (the outcomes of which I won’t bore anyone with here), the news is full of stories about how the pandemic has been scandalously mishandled by Boris and his cronies (Mark Drakeford came out well here in Wales, though). Wars are breaking out regularly - elsewhere, fortunately for us Brits, though we have seen some outbreaks of rioting. Lots of businesses have gone under, some are hanging on by the tips of their fingers, and others have managed to get very much richer. We’ve all got bored or got eye strain with Zoom’s. Many people are finding that working-from-home is a good lifestyle choice while others can’t wait to have a reason to get out of the house. Children have gone back to school and the poor teachers are having to pick up the pieces of a fractured National Curriculum and mentally disordered kids. The News gives us regular updates of where we are with infection rates, deaths and vaccinations. We hear of the latest governmental incompetencies and some colour is provided with hyped up stories of some scandal or other. It’s all a fog in my mind.

Maybe it’s the absence of Trump that makes for a foggy news outlook. Whatever our opinions of him, he lit up the news feeds and gave us something to be astonished by. I don’t know how George Biden (is it George, or John?...Jo!) getting on with putting the US in shape as he’s of much less interest to anyone. Why Trump was so ‘interesting’ I don’t know. There are plenty of other candidates out there for the job of shocking us momentarily from our apathy. 

Watching the Duke of Edinburgh’s funeral on TV was an event as I sat listlessly in our Taylor-Wimpey sitting room. It wasn’t, of course the full State funeral he would have had if we weren’t in a pandemic and having to follow the social distancing rules, but it was nevertheless a bit of a spectacle. The most moving thing was seeing our little old Queen dressed in full black, masked, bowed and sitting alone where once he’d have been at her side as he’d been throughout the long reign and marriage. For me, her small, lonely figure symbolised the sadness of these times; so many bereft families suffering loss and separation. In my own case, I’m fortunate that none of my own circle has been afflicted, though there is always the knowledge of others who have. Fortunately for Prince Phillip he died as naturally as a near-centenarian can. He didn’t have COVID as far as I know, and his family weren’t prevented from being with him in his dying days as so many other families have been. That’s Privilege for you, even if it does come with the indignities of having the ins-and-outs of family problems and tragedies splattered through the Media. I’m not sure the Harry/Meghan thing will be much to intrigue future generations unless in their history books it will have been seen as contributing to a collapse of the British monarchy.

And there you have it - my record of things I can tell my great-grandchildren about if they aren’t too pre-occupied with things happening in their own lives. No doubt my memory banks will throw up other stuff that happened but for now it’s all I can drag up. Maybe it’s my own pre-occupation with wondering what the future holds for my descendants. I would prefer not to end this post on a downer, but the Climate Emergency hangs over us like the Sword of Damocles. I hope with all my heart that I will live to see a world that is healing, full of happy, healthy, thriving descendants and in which The News is happy at last.

I can end with a happy thought for now, though. Richard and co are due to visit very soon and so is my ‘baby’ sister! I just can’t wait! It will be a banquet of hugs. Oops, I’d better get rid of my lockdown looks in order not to frighten the grandchildren. I hope my hairdresser is still in operation.

It’s a dogs’ life

Three little working dogs are we
Unemployed and fancy free
(Look at those devil eyes!)

We’re now a three-dog household. Dotty is the pup remaining with us after the other three have left. As I write she is wandering around the living room looking to see what she can chew next. Welcome to chez nous; our kennel.

I hope that those who’ve, through lockdown, thought it a good idea to get a dog are fully prepared for that dog being for life and not just for lockdown. They are a full-time commitment that requires a lifestyle to accommodate them; unless you’re one of those celebrities who apparently own dogs and home them in dog apartments, cared for by paid dog servants (I wish!). Lady Gaga’s poor dog-walker was apparently shot as her dogs were stolen from him (or was it a ‘her’?). I wonder how the star feels about that.

There are a lot of dog-accompanied people out and about nowadays and you don’t see so many mongrels any more. In my younger days, dogs wandered freely and you had to check your shoes before coming indoors. It wasn’t an uncommon sight to see dogs locked together on the street “making babies”; intriguing and a bit scary to a young child. The modern day trend in dog ownership results in a range of designer dogs being paraded about, often as statement accessories. I recently saw a news item about a trend in ‘cosmetic’ surgery on certain dogs’ ears - mutilation in other words. Insane and inhumane! There is also a growth in dog theft given the demand for and prices for such pooches. So many dogs are being bred for their looks rather than for what was their initial man’s-best-friend function - to help with things like guarding and herding sheep and cattle. They’ve come such a long way from their domesticated wolf ancestry. There is even a TV programme where dog groomers compete to be, not just the most skilled, but the most artistic and creative. 

I think it unlikely that these modern day accessory dogs will ponder, like I do about myself, as to what is their purpose in life. Dogs are generally quite happy to be one of the family - to love and be loved, and as long as the family which adopts them understands that a dog is a commitment and life is not the same once you have one. Unfortunately, there could be a booming dog-rescue industry after this current trend.

So now we have three. We’re outnumbered and the question is how to accommodate them in our life without becoming thoroughly canine ourselves. After removing the lint from the tumble dryer the other day and wondering whether I could spin the dog hair to knit a sweater, I’m concerned that my dog-allergic daughter-in-law will never forgive us and I won’t see her or my grandchildren ever again. The next task for us is to sell this place (if it’s still fit for human habitation) and find a more dog-suitable property. If any of you know of such a property, please let us know......before I leave home! 😜

This is my spot!

Where are we off to today?

What does this book taste like?

Ambivalence and sweet sorrows

We’ve had some spring sunshine! Yay! We’re moving towards the light at the end of a dark winter-lockdown tunnel. As I drove to the vaccination centre the other day, a rainbow hung over the place I was heading to! A sign? Surely it was a reassurance, and somehow more meaningful to me than the Queen’s assurance to us that the jab doesn’t hurt. But, in any case I’ve now ‘done my duty’ and with no apparent weird after-effect; not yet at any rate. My family are checking on me knowing that I’m weird enough already.

Today we said goodbye to one of our pups. He’s not gone far and we know it’s to a happy home where he’ll have a wonderful life with his dad. It was so hard parting with him though; his chubby little frame and his sweet, engaging little face - Reggie. 

It may not have been the best plan to turn our petite and bijou property into a kennel but at least with it being lockdown we haven’t had to worry about entertaining visitors. The amount of pee and poo that four pups can produce seems way out of proportion to the amount of food they consume. It’s a four handed operation dealing with this litter of, now very lively, springer spaniel puppies, and each grown to the extent of being more than one handful anyway. Recently we’ve been trying to detach them from their mother in readiness for leaving us. The sadness of it occupies my dreams and I’ve had to prepare myself, too, having fallen in love with all of them as I shouldn’t have done. I won’t miss the mess and the backache though; it’s a bit like the ambivalence of feelings as ones own offspring leave home.

There is an allegorical feel about our puppy-raising experience. This pandemic has entailed separations that are completely unnatural. The pups have provided the cuddles and snuggles that I should be having with my grandchildren. They have filled the emotional vacuum created by this strange moment in human history and I am grateful. I will miss them.

I’m not in the business of creating conspiracy theories, like the one Gareth was presented with the other day - a theory that Bill Gates is a eugenicist and that his plan is to create infertility in the human population via vaccination and thereby save the planet. You surely have to ask, ‘why then start with the very elderly, many of whom have had their 100th birthday card from the Queen?’ But........

This pandemic has created a much greater dependence on digital communication and the ‘internet of things’ is growing apace (ref Jeremy Rifkin and his “Third Industrial Revolution”). That certainly seems to be the way evolution is going, with everything and everyone digitally connected. Even our pets, it seems, given the business racquet surrounding micro-chipping. (Oh-oh - shades of a sinister future if it’s true, as believed by some, that these vaccines contain micro-chips. Too late now.) I’m Libran, so for me there needs to be a balanced view on things. There is good and bad in everything. “You can’t stop progress” is a well used slogan and it remains to be seen where we end up after all of this. As I write, the air is blue around Gareth as he grapples with the paperwork to do with handing over these pups, and also dealing with the ridiculous bureaucratic processes concerned with redress for our purchase of a faulty washing machine. It’s no joy having to hand wash everything in the bath, spending hours on the phone to Curry’s PC World going through recorded option after option and ultimately ending nowhere while at the same time the hounds are baying for attention. Surely we can find better ways to employ people than getting them to build more and more complex snakes-and-ladders-type retail after-sales-service platforms aimed at making life difficult and annoying for customers. My nephew, Russ, once proclaimed that the exponential growth in bureaucracy is because its purpose is to provide work for those who’ve done courses and degrees in business studies. So it would seem. It’s the same in every sector - our very existence makes us simply a bundle of data that can harvested for many purposes. The Kennel club is at it too, with its dubious marketing attached to puppy registration.

As my wise friend Jinny said, having these pups is proving to be a life experience for us. And this pandemic with its lockdowns and multitude of attempts to make sense of “what’s going on” is a life experience that we have shared across the globe, all of us trying to stay afloat (I hope that metaphor won’t materialise given the Climate Emergency).

After my vaccination the other day I couldn’t resist a hug with my son. Yes, I know I’m still not supposed to take such a risk, for his sake or mine, but, Boy, did it feel right! It was like being given a float cushion (don’t take that the wrong way, Owen - it’s a metaphorical float cushion).

This morning I opened the curtains and was presented with a light sea mist, drifting across this housing estate. My mind wandered back to a time, not too long ago, when travel was our new lifestyle choice and I was gazing out from Hymer at a Spanish sea mist. As I looked at the red-brick landscape, somewhere from the back of my mind came the song “Everything is beautiful in its own way”.  Whether that can be said for a fast mutating virus or a theory of dastardly plots to  enslave us I’m not sure, but whatever life throws at us we must embrace it. Hugs all round......just make sure you’re wearing a mask 

Reggie

The fourth is elsewhere still tearing the place apart!

Boxing match over