…A Prince named Phillip died. He was a man notorious for saying what was on his mind and being the only one to make HM Queen giggle. This drove anti-royalist Guardianistas into conniptive fits, which was always fun.
So Mrs S and I toasted his memory in tea and ginger biscuits on an Irish garden afternoon that seemed too sunny for such sad news.
We have steeled ourselves against the coming avalanche of empty platitudes from grandstanding politicians and other such luminaries. One can take solace that Phillip didn’t like them much either. His caustic wit will be missed.
Got up this morning to find that yesterday’s snow is all gone. Still cold and breezy out, and I’ve got some kindling to cut and dry later for our wood burning stove in the front room for when the central heating needs a bit of help. I try to keep busy.
On the topic of keeping occupied, that’s the last but one jigsaw finished. A 1000 piece rendering of Vincent Van Gogh’s famous painting ‘starry night‘. As jigsaws go it rates a ‘Pretty fiendish’ on the scale of difficulty. Took me five days. The Yin and Yang swirls in the middle were the most difficult to make sense of. Rather like the chaos of life.
A thought about life slunk into my hindbrain while I was making the coffee this morning. It was about how much we as humans need stories. Not only that, but how we need to be involved in those stories. How we need to create our own tales, not just about what we saw on TV, but what we’ve experienced in our own lives. From discussing what happened at the weekend to a bit of gossip, or the book we’ve just read, we need to share our personal stories to confirm to ourselves that we are not alone. To confirm to ourselves that we still have all our marbles. We need to communicate.
To enlarge; we need to communicate face to face. Because I’ve noticed that when I hear someone telling their story, I’m not so much focussed on the what as the how. Because the what is just the narrative, but the how lets us know about the person telling the tale. Are they being less than honest or are they just being entertaining? Some people are good at joke telling and making others smile, others, with exactly the same words, can relay an entirely different message. Our styles of communication alters meaning. A sidelong meaning glance and twitch of the mouth can fill a million gaps between sentences, but we do need to see all these micro-expressions up close and personal. And it is an emotional need.
Not only that but we as humans need physical contact, even a simple handshake, which can tell you a thousand details about someone else in less than two seconds. About what kind of person they are and their level of sincerity. Handshakes convey a litany of mood and emotion. A hug volumes more.
Deprive people of that contact and they lose touch, not only with other people, but with their own inner selves. People get broken. Without touch we lose our will, our impetus. It’s why solitary confinement can break even a moderately strong willed person. We as humans are not designed to live in our own heads all the time.
This is why we need the lockdowns to end now, whatever the risk of disease (Even if it is minimal). These repeated lockdowns are stripping us of our humanity, damaging our sense of commonality, of our shared experience and turning us into isolated screaming online mobs.
What we are seeing is that lockdowns encourage hate and division, increase civil disunity. They make it easy for certain people to be manipulated and others marginalised. Which is why Twatter and Farcebook can be such toxic environments. Isolation is not good for us. Even me, and I’m used to long periods of working alone. But at the end of a working week I still need to go wandering down a crowded street or walk into a pub, even if I end up drinking on my own.
On the topic of risk, for those who want a clearer picture of the current statistics, you could do worse than read this article.
The phones are back up, which means I can start getting things moving once more. Four days without a landline seemed like an eternity. No-one could dial in. I couldn’t dial out. People were getting fractious, not least of all me. Fortunately there is one silver lining to the louring clouds of lockdown, and that is that everyone’s expectations are significantly lowered.
As for the rest; sometimes the fun never starts. Especially for those living in County Longford.
Rent day conversation. Landlord likes his rent in cash. Not cheque or money transfer, but in physical Euros, which I have to get from the bank every month. It’s a minor inconvenience, but it gives me an excuse to pass through Gardai checkpoints. Colum (Not his real name) and I enjoy a cordial relationship. We pay him money every month, occasionally shoo wayward livestock back into the sheds and meadows, exchange gifts over Christmas and talk when time allows.
“Morning Colum. How are you coping?” I asked him. “Fairly well I suppose.” He said with a slightly morose air. He’s an Irish farmer, what can I say? “How’s yourself?” “Dodging the checkpoints.” I grinned cheerfully. “Otherwise we’re good.” “Ah yes.” He intoned in his slow Western brogue. “Those people up in Dublin are not handling this Covid thing well are they?” I’m glad he’s not a Cork or Kerry man, they speak too quickly, spilling out words like a river in spate, and even with my trained ear I find them hard to follow sometimes. Their speech is quick and musical, full of reiterations, back eddies and redundancies. Fun to listen to, but hard to understand properly. Colum’s slow western drawl is quite relaxing by comparison. “Well, they’re politicians.” I replied.
He looked at me gravely and said. “They’ve not got much of a handle on it have they?” “No. You got that right.” I responded and changed the subject. “Money? Receipt’s made out.” The pleasantries and signing off complete, we bid him farewell and he went back to his work, and we to ours.
He was right of course. The current crop of politicians, Tory, Labour, Limp Dems, Greens, Liberals, Democrats, Fianna whatever label they put upon themselves, are not doing a good job of handling what is in reality, a fairly minor crisis. Yes, people have died, but a good many should not have done. Politics prevented usable anti-viral treatments being applied and thus cost lives, as well as sent infected patients into non-infected environments full of the vulnerable. The grapevine tells me Hospitals aren’t giving anti-virals but using steroids and ventilators instead. Because of politics. Beds have been cut. Because of politics. In short, ignorant politicians panicked and made a mess. And are still panicking because no-one wants to admit they were wrong, or be the first to admit being so.
No government that I’m currently aware of, is applying or recommending known remedies, like improving metabolic health with simple means that work for everyone. This is stuff that was commonly printed in ‘Home doctor’ books available in the 1960’s and before. Even today, Doctors recommend them. Cut sugar intake. Eat a balanced diet. Cut down on Bread and rice. Get out for a walk every day in the fresh air. Do something physical. That way you’ll have what they call better ‘metabolic health’ and so be less likely to suffer the worst of any disease.
Now we’re in this crazy logjam of lockdowns and restrictions, maybe because no country wants to be made a pariah by other nations who will probably use the freedom within a neighbour state as an excuse to have a little trade war, or other such one-uppersonship to curry favour with their respective electorates. No politician wants to be first to ease the lockdowns, because for them the restrictions aren’t an issue. They can get all those little services the general public is denied. Apart from Boris Johnson, do any of these characters look badly groomed?
The thing is, those of us with an operating brain cell have things called memories. We remember previous virus outbreaks. We check our sources. We double check the evidence. Where possible we go to the base stats and don’t trust spin or regurgitated press releases. We also listen to the real world; for example, overheard in a Supermarket yesterday. Woman to checkout operator, “Oh, me Mam had the jab a few weeks ago and she still got Covid.” And that’s not the first time I’ve heard people say similar things within audible range over the last week or two. That’s from a very small sample size. All you need to do is keep your eyes and ears open.
You won’t read much about that in the political or media mainstream. The best they have is “Shut up and do what you’re told.” while people lose their livelihoods and human rights.
I agree with my farmer landlord; the politicians and media have it wrong. This pandemic has been an object lesson in how to screw up. And haven’t they done that in spades?
The Twitter share price has been in a forty five degree nosedive since 4th January, long before the current round of de-platforming and account deletion hit. So obviously the clever money is on the move. Fortunately, for those who bought in during their October dip, there’s still time to get while the getting is good.
Personally, I still regard the Alphabet / Twitter / Facebook shares as ‘bubble stocks’ And forgive me for not being a stock market expert, but I would have put in my sell order on Friday when the news of deleting Trumps account hit. I mean, how thick do you have to be to let your politics get in the way of profits? It wasn’t that long ago when some opined that Twitter et al were like betting on a three legged horse in a steeplechase. And if you bought in earlier in the year, there is still time to cash out while the cashing is good.
Might even stop using Amazon too. If Mr Bezos wants to play politics with his companies share price, I’ll be going elsewhere for my online purchasing. Don’t get me wrong, I was quite a fan of Amazon marketplace, but now? Not so much.
Tech stocks are proving, like in the first tech crash to be ‘surfer’ stocks, and the wave is about to hit the beach. Some will ride it out, many, lured by promises of big gains, may be about to find out how tenuous those gains are.
Then there’s the whole ‘clap’ thing people are trying to bring back, which just serves to embarrass many medical professionals. If you’re having issues in your locale with people getting raided because they’ve been snitched on, the most enthusiastic virtue signallers are likely the folks who are the informers.
Maybe it would be fun to snitch right back at them. Let them reap the whirlwind of their own actions.
Sunday, Sunday, can’t trust that day. Well, who and what can you trust? No-one, it would seem. Only your own judgement. Expecting others to act in your interests is too often an exercise in futility, unless you have the buggers wrapped up tight in contracts.
Anyway, the weather’s not been bad (It’s not raining at least) so we pootled off to have a scout around the South and East of county Clare. On that topic, we’ve found that the little service station with all the baked goods, is a lot closer than we thought. Close to the end of the lane we live on in fact. So yippee! go my taste buds. Freshly baked Irish cakes and pastries are less than five minutes away.
However Sunday took us East and South towards the Limerick border to look at furniture, as we are in need of a few sticks. In BC all our cupboards were built in, walk in wardrobes, small rooms and alcoves with hanging and drawer spaces. So we have no wardrobes or chests of drawers to put clothes in. Which can be awkward. So we’re looking for hanging and drawer space so our clothes are not all stored in suitcases until we get round to building anew.
In answer to a question I’ve been asked several times by friends and family; “Why Ireland?” I’ll offer this; Easy access because they’re part of the UK/Ireland CTA (Common travel area) ratified in 2016 (I think) by the Irish Government. It’s a more relaxed place with a great literary culture and deep history. Didn’t want to return to the UK because it’s still under the thrall of Blair-era changes which will hold it back for over a generation.
Rural Ireland has an odd feel to it. Almost like a well worn, and occasionally soggy, warm leather glove wrapping itself around you comfortingly, then giving you a pat on the head to say; “There, there now. Stop being such a feckin eejit and we’ll all be grand. Have some tea.” in a friendly but no-nonsense fashion. We’ve been here before on a previous trip, so knew what to expect. The prices looked right, far better than in BC, so with windows of opportunity closing in, we took the decision to up sticks yet again.
I’d also like to say that this side of the pond you’re not looking over your shoulder half the time to see who you’re offending, because outside of Dublin, no one cares. No-one is ‘offended’, or looking to be. Not like in BC, where it seemed that far too many people are wearing a T-shirt that says; “Everything you say is offensive, and we have hate crime laws. Peasant.” Here in Erin there is a refreshing lack of Kevins and Karens, and still fewer people willing to pander to their ill-natured demands. Here Mrs S and I feel we can be our natural selves. There is a refreshingly significant public protest against the ‘hate crime’ laws that certain members of the Dial have proposed. As we say over here, the politicians may well be told to ‘Feck arf’.
Speaking of Karens and Kevins, I see the ‘fact checkers’ are at it as usual over the US Presidential elections, throwing shade on what looks like blatant electoral fraud with the most overt obfuscations imaginable. Things like security video of poll workers pulling boxes of ‘votes’ out from where they were concealed under a table and claiming the votes thus produced were legit because, because well, reasons. Never mind that most were for Biden. Never mind that the challengers and overseers had been sent home to the assurances that all counts had finished, and would resume again in the morning. Despite all the evidence screaming that something is definitely crook. Yes mate, and shit don’t stink either. Furthermore, what would it be like to live with one of these self-important pedants? ‘Awaken with JP’ explores the topic below. (There’s a longish sponsor ad at the end of each video you may want to skip)
There are now so many of these fake fact checkers out there who only support their own side of the aisle that they’re not worth bothering with. As sources of information I would say all the ‘fact checkers’ are not fit for purpose because they too often rely on what I call ‘lawyer tricks’ and technicalities to warp their version of reality. Watching these social media ‘experts’ cover for wrongdoing is like watching a Bashir or Guru-Murthy interview, everything about them touches off my bullshit alert. The passive-aggressiveness, the insincerity and overall lack of integrity, the shifting of focus onto topics a given interview wasn’t supposed to be about. These are people who will gleefully piss in your face and tell you “Chill dude, it’s raining”.
For my last remaining reader’s edification, may I offer JP on a related topic?
Q: When is a conspiracy theory not a conspiracy theory?
A: When it’s a legitimate concern.
Woke up this morning with this question in my head, so I thought I’d run the old mental magnifying glass over it.
So what’s the difference? Put simply, a conspiracy theory is a collation of coincidence. A conflation of A and Z without any recourse to the rest of the logical alphabet. A join the dot puzzle where certain dots are joined out of sequence, marring the overall picture. Characterised by gaps in the chain of logic, filled in with assumptions and guesses.
This is not to say that the utterings of conspiracy theorists do not contain elements of truth, but their facts often don’t connect properly. Or there isn’t enough evidence to make a convincing case for a connection. A conspiracy theory being like one of those classic movie memes where the detective hero has an entire wall of newspaper cuttings connected with red tape, some of which are surmise and guesswork. Because conspiracy theories rely heavily on the intuition of the theorist. Whether that intuition is valid is another matter because even the best can get it very badly wrong.
As a small investor I like to listen to these wild eyed theorists with my bullshit detector set to ‘high’, because occasionally, and I do mean occasionally, the wild eyed conspiracy types get things right or unearth valuable clues. Clues that tell me how the markets might move or are moving. I also listen to people who have a proven track record in their field to see if what they are talking about rings true. Both can be wrong, and no-one is infallible. Particularly Government ‘health advice’ because that is far too often tainted with the politics of it’s time. I can cite a number of examples, some which are still current.
A legitimate concern can of course be derived from a conspiracy theory. However, if the ‘evidence’ being presented for a much-cited ‘truth’, mainstream or not, is missing information, or is presented as a fait accompli. Then it is legitimate to have reservations. Especially when classic ‘hard sell’ tactics are being deployed. You treat everything like you do when buying a car. You have to ask the right questions. What is the vehicles service history? Why is it going for this price? Why does the seller seem so desperate for you to sign on the dotted line?
On these occasions, nothing, repeat nothing should ever be taken purely on trust. Not even from ‘advice’ emanating from the highest level. My time walking the streets as an enforcement officer left me with a highly jaundiced view of authority and humanity in general, hence my much used description of same; ‘the general dyslexic’.
…does anyone personally know anyone currently affected by SARS/COV-2? I ask because I’m really sick and tired of these pointless lockdowns and masks, neither of which have any real science behind them. That’s the second hotel booking on the trot I’ve had to cancel and my patience is wearing thinner by the day. No-one can plan any more. We’re all just watching stupid politicians led by the nose, in turn leading us all deeper into a pit of economic and social disaster because they can’t admit they got it very badly wrong. Like the 1962 Milgrim experiment documented in the video below. The parallels are glaringly obvious.
These punishments, because that’s what lockdowns are, will continue until the virus is gone or a ‘miracle vaccine’ arrives. Neither of which is likely. Not for a coronavirus. Researchers have been looking for a cure for the common cold since the 1960’s, and that is often a coronavirus. The thing is that SARS/COV-2 is now endemic, that is, everywhere, as the number of tests shows. Yet how many people are sick enough to be hospitalised or even become more than slightly off colour? Those are the numbers we need to pay attention to.
Our planned Christmas trip, a two day treat which would have helped us both stay sane has fallen to the blunt axes of ‘level three’. I want to know who I sue for wrongful imprisonment and the imprisonment of my family, not to mention the losses to my business interests? I certainly don’t qualify for any ‘furlough’ money and my pensions are still several years away. Therefore any demand for extra taxes to pay for these lockdowns will be met by a negative value on my tax return, so the tax man will end up owing me. As for funding the health service, we’ve fed our respective health services extra billions and got nothing back for it.
We’re told that all these lockdowns were to ‘save’ the health services. Hoo-effing-ray. Unfortunately, a great many people who should have been ‘saved’ by the hospitals that were closed for nothing but COVID-19 cases haven’t been. Cancer diagnoses have been missed. Heart attacks and strokes that got worse and even fatal because they went untreated. Suicides because psychiatric care was neglected. To name but three. We know the body count of people who have been tested positive for COVID-19 post mortem, but what of those whose deaths were due to the political decisions surrounding this pandemic?
By way of anecdote. My own father died at home in extreme pain because of a missed cancer diagnosis, going from a fit and healthy fifty seven year old man to a bag of bones in less than three weeks. The doctors and technicians of the NHS missed his diagnosis, by which time it was too late. Ma Sticker and I nursed him at home until close to one awful midnight she came into the room where I was waiting to do my turn to announce; “Bill, your father’s dead.” Not only that but the GP had prescribed the wrong painkillers, so a brave man died in agony. My own later experiences of the UK’s national health service also left me less than impressed. I’m sure my occasional readers will have similar stories to tell. I’m not a fan of socialised medicine. You can tell, can’t you?
Now all our lives are on hold and despite repeated promises to the contrary, subject to arbitrary disruptions which are only adding to the body count attributed to SARS/COV-2. We were promised Christmas off, but the politicians and corporates have chosen to screw us all over, trying to bore us with tiers and other such half-arsed idiocy.
Right now I hope all the politicians, media and corporate lobbyists who pushed us into this mess, including all the members of SAGE and NPHET all die like my father did. In extreme agony from a missed diagnosis. See you in hell you bastards. You’ll know me. I’ll be the grinning demon with the really nasty barbed pitchfork at reception. Maybe I’ll even give you a friendly little wave before I ram it right where your sun doesn’t shine.
Saw this on Pinterest today and it made perfect sense. These gross interferences in our human rights that Government is responsible for in the name of some perverse form of ‘safety’ fit the bill. COVID-19 / SARS/COV-2 is a dead horse. Not a ‘conspiracy theory’ but simple common sense.
Dr Mike Yeadon, ex head of Pfizer R & D surmises that the pandemic has been over for months because most of the population is now immune. The pandemic is over, as is the emergency. A simple test using the law of diminishing returns means this logically has to be the case. The disease has already done it’s worst with the vulnerable population.
Yet still various governments are talking about cancelling Christmas. I say to the politicians, put your hands up, admit it’s been a major over reaction and lift the restrictions. You will be forgiven if you are honest. However, that window is rapidly closing. Time to ‘fess up and play fair boys. All the talk of mandatory vaccinations is not a good idea as the worst has been past for ages. The pandemic is fizzling out as they all do. It’s running out of people to infect.
Small aside; in the grocery store around lunchtime I turned around to see a tall girl in her early 20’s standing waiting for her turn with the cashier. She was terrified. The look in the poor girls eyes was of full on rabbit in the headlight paralysing fear. Now I’m not that scary looking a person, and I don’t think her expression had anything to do with me. However, she was almost paralysed with fright, twitching at every little thing or if anyone came within six feet. As I left the store, I found myself wondering if she would be one of the first in line for vaccination and if the vaccine is not as safe as claimed, run the risk of health damaging side effects. For one so young at the very start of her adult life, that would be an unnecessary tragedy. Even so, the fear being pumped out at the vulnerable will have repercussions for years, not merely economically, but socially and emotionally, scarring a whole generation.
Quick statement of interest here; I normally have no problems with vaccinations. I’ve had the set, from TB, MMR, Polio, Diptheria and half a dozen others. And if I’m off anywhere where some nasty bug is endemic, normally roll my sleeve up with a grin. With one particular exception; Influenza. Historically on the three occasions I’ve actually submitted myself to a flu jab, I’ve always been ill for three or four days forty eight hours afterwards, so nowadays I tend to ignore all the wheedling from GP’s and Pharmacists to bare my arm. If forced to, I’ll take a discreet place at the extreme rear of the queue and go “Oh dear, what a shame. You’ve run out of vaccine? Well I’ll be off then. No need to fuss, you did your best. Byee…” And wait for the ones before me in the queue to fall over, or not, as the case may be. If experience teaches you that something is likely to make you ill, doesn’t it make sense to avoid it?
I’d also like to introduce anyone passing who reads this far down my febrile drivel to the ten commandments of logic. Always a handy list to have lying around. Just as a reminder for when the levels of media and political bullshit rise above waist level, like now.
Update: Interesting reports coming out of Milan, Italy. Apparently patients in a lung cancer trial were found to test positive for SARS/COV-2 as early as September 2019. Now Mrs S and I suffered from a very strange bout of an influenza type illness I called ‘The London Cough‘ in November 2019. If the bug was active in Milan, in September 2019, it is not a massive conclusion jump to conclude that we may have already been infected and recovered. If this is true we’re already immune to the bug, not likely to catch it or pass it on and therefore do not need to self-isolate, or wear a mask. We are safe from the world, and the world is safe from us. Isn’t that nice?
It’s amazing the difference a lick of paint makes. The solid fuel stove in what we’re now calling our library, because that’s where most of our books are, has had a fresh coat of matt black heat proof paint and looks just the business. We’ve also laid in six months plus supply of Yorkshire tea. So no need to pop out to the shops quite so often. Not that there’s anywhere to go because everything’s bloody well shut. So I busy myself as best I can.
Mrs S this morning came across this guy. Theodore Zeldin, philosopher. He’s very interesting. Hint; the title is deceptive.
In a time where people seem to be so angry and intent on imposing their vision on the rest of us, whether we like it all not, Zeldin is pointing in the general direction of a door to the future. Where that door will take us, no one can say. He says that we no longer listen to each other or have proper, in depth conversations without all the mud slinging and tantrums. Which I feel is where the core of all our modern day issues lie.
Anyway. As always; don’t take my word for it; listen, consider and above all, think. I think I’ll be adding his works to our library, where they will rapidly become dog eared from use, as all the best books should.
Since we are no longer going to Galway, we’re now in our slightly echoing new domicile having run the gauntlet of Gardai checkpoints, which was a bit of an anticlimax. “Is your journey necessary?” Asked a young lady brightly, shivering in hi-viz. “Er, yes.” I replied, fumbling with my mask while Mrs S glowered at me for letting the side down. “Thank you. Off you go.”
And that was it. No “Where are you really going sunshine?” or “A likely story, chummy. Pull the other one” I must have an honest face or something.
I suppose they were a bit bored because there wasn’t much traffic about. Seriously, on our way north from Limerick the only traffic was the occasional truck and very few private cars. Nothing like the normal volume. There were times when we felt quite alone. Reminded me of certain parts of Devon and Cornwall in the off season. Like on a sunny December day. Even saw a rainbow.
Dropping in at local shop for provisions, checkout girl vouchsafed that the whole situation was ‘scary’. I was inclined to agree. If the only sources of information you have are feeding off the fear, of course it is reasonable to be afraid. Personally I switch them all off and just keep going. Life’s less stressful that way.
Mrs S and I had a bit of an argument about this. I told her what I’d seen on all the live feeds from the anti-mask demonstration at Trafalgar Square on the 26th and she refused to believe me. All of the non-MSM media tell the same story. Peaceful demonstrators baton charged without provocation. I’m just glad ‘North’ was out of town with friends.
Not the rioters and iconoclasts of BLM and Antifa, for whom the Police stand by and let them do what they want, even kneel in support of, but just your average punter who doesn’t like being muzzled. See Mahyar Tousi’s account below.
The protesters were baton charged. No provocation. Speakers were arrested. People fleeing the Police line seen with visible head wounds, ostensibly from baton strikes. For what? Wanting their civil rights back?
I say no provocation because in all the live feeds and non-MSM reports I watched, there is no wind up, no defining event that I could see, no civil unrest apart from that the Police created. There was no justification. The pandemic is over and the restrictions must be lifted.
Whoever gave the orders for this travesty needs to be fired. As for the Police, they are rapidly losing the support of the average UK resident. Time was I would go out of my way to assist an officer. No more. They can reap my non-compliance, and I’m sure I’m not the only person who thinks this way.
As for the sneering mainstream media, what do they know? According to Anna Brees, ex-mainstream journalist who was on scene, none of them were in attendance to report on the event. No Sky news, CNN, BBC, none. Perhaps they had been told to stay away and knew what was coming.
This is naked fascism. On the streets of Britain. Seventy five years after that vile philosophy was soundly defeated. It’s back. See this eyewitness report below;
Well we’re here. We have survived jet lag, some of the worst airline food it’s ever been my displeasure to encounter and successfully negotiated the supposedly byzantine ways of quarantine and immigration. I’ve just managed to get my first decent nights sleep in over a week. We have food, we have shelter. We have transport and fast Internet. We have COFFEE! (Good stuff too)
And it hasn’t been that hard so far. Of course there have been a couple of glitches. Money needs to be applied as a salve in a couple of cases, but on the whole Mrs S and I did like I said; moved purposefully with the right forms filled in and slipped through all the barriers like shit through a goose. In record time I might add. Even baggage claim was a snip. All you need to do is ask the right questions and keep a cool, polite manner.
So where are we? To announce the winner of the migration sweepstake; Glyn Palmer. Well done smartarse, the prize of absolutely naff all is heading your way because a sweepstake needs punters. No-one ponyed up any cash so, sorry, you’re SOL as they say in jolly old Interwebland.
For the rest of you that haven’t been following our little saga; Begorrah. We’re in rural Southern Ireland.
Bill, you bastard. Well yes, of course. I’m a bastard son of a bitch. Literally. An Irishman’s bastard son of a bitch to boot. Although you wouldn’t think it to hear me speak. I have an accent that contains elements of home counties England with a slight north midlands twang, overlaid with all sorts of other anglophone influences, from Australia to Canada. But not Ireland. However, I tend to adopt accents by osmosis, so this situation may well change.
Mrs S and I are currently finding our way around, despite my phones copy of Google maps getting infested with a dose of Leprechauns and sending us down tiny lanes through the back end of nowhere. We’ve successfully navigated our way out of Dublin past groups of up to ten Hi-Viz clad Gardai (Police) in the middle of O’Connell Street, looking for all the world like clumps of late daffodils. Been driven nuts by near constant electronic admonitions from our hire car all the two hour drive to our temporary home and then successfully stared down a bunch of farmyard cats.
From our bedroom window we can see a massive country house across the valley and the hilltop remains of a castle. There are trees other than endless conifers and then there’s Ireland’s boasted ‘forty shades of green’ bathing us in it’s munificent balm. The motorway network reminds me of Southern France. Similar construction methods and accessories. Switch sides of the road and you’d hardly notice the difference, short of the bilingual road signage and Celtic alphabet.
Out here the country folk have accents thicker than a doorstep Cheese butty with extra pickles. Their voices wrap themselves around you like creamy Irish butter, which is exceptionally good let me tell you. So far we have found them robust and easy going.
We will be ‘officially’ self isolating for twelve more days before being admitted to polite society. To be honest we’re not bothered. The dreaded lurgi has come and gone. All else is propaganda and scaremongering. No second spike or wave. No need to be afraid. And I have a bottle of Jamesons. There is bacon.
Despite the restrictions imposed by badly advised and panicking politicians, the panic is over. Which tells us this; we humans are robust, not fragile. We are descended from generations of survivors. The rest is bollocks. Modern humanity is stronger than the media and political pantywaisters aver. So I choose not to listen to their cultish canting. On that topic, our accommodation has two televisions. They will not be switched on for the duration of our stay. At least not by me.
Anyway. I look on the bright side; there are huge Irish beaches to explore which will be emptier than usual as the terrified classes won’t go anywhere near them. All the more for us (Snigger).
Thinking about what I’m about to do in the next few weeks, specifically change continents for the second time in a lifetime, I must confess to being a little stressed, but that stress is all about the small stuff. Things like; can I get to the airport on time, have I packed enough stuff in my carry on for comfort during travel, have I remembered to keep the myriad details of my life up to date so that we can pass untroubled? Is the last meter reading correct? Is the gas off? Are all the forms filled in properly? Hundreds of tiny details. But I’m not stressed about our destination or what we’ll be doing when we get there because we have a plan. A good plan. A workable plan. And I am not afraid.
I’m not afraid of this Pandemic nor of of man made climate change, or any of the other imagined crises the mass media likes to afflict us with. They’re coming across more like conspiracy theorists than the stereotypical tinfoil hat wearer bundled up in a slept-in parka raving about 5G and Chemtrails. Much of the mainstream news, with a little simple research, can be dismissed wholesale. Especially the more notoriously partisan outlets. I say; if the money ain’t moving it probably isn’t anything to fret about. It’s just drama for drama’s sake.
As for Neil Ferguson, the progenitor of the worst possible case pandemic scenario, a little bird tells me that he is heavily invested in one of the companies in the rush to produce a ‘vaccine’ for SARS/COV-2. Mm-hm, money followed and look where it leads.
Yes there are potential risks to our venture, but most of those come from over-zealous enforcement of rules made by badly advised and panicking politicians. I can deal with those by moving purposefully with the right papers in hand, having my lawyers on speed dial and paying the barest lip service to the many counter-intuitive restrictions. So I’m not scared. Exasperated probably, annoyed possibly, mildly worried, frustrated and even angry about the lack of cognition among the greater public perhaps, but frightened? Nah.
Yet I’m definitely not fearless. I actually like and respect fear. Fear is useful because the experience gives you options. It can also be a spur to action rather than make you freeze like a rabbit in the headlights. However, caution is usually a good idea when dealing with the unknown. Now the evidence is out there that this virus is a known risk and the raw numbers say it is a minuscule risk. Ergo fear at this juncture is not warranted.
I’m not afraid because I have learned that fear always makes things worse. All that screaming and shouting is so counter-productive when actions are more important. I swear, my last words on this earth will probably be something like “Oh fuck.” cursing myself for not being vigilant enough. Besides, I’ve spent a good deal of my existence fixing other people’s screw ups, as well as a number of my own. So being familiar with various minor disasters, conflict resolution gets to be second nature and all the drama others like to generate around their pointless little lives just triggers my eye-rolling reflex. Calm, I have learned, can fix almost anything. Calm lets you think, assess the true risks while everyone else is running about like headless chickens getting in the way. Panic makes you witless and prone to screwing up even further. Yes, I’m a member of the awkward squad, so what?
By way of illustration about my membership of the awkward squad, may I recite the following anecdotes; I got kicked out of the Boy Scouts and much to my families endless entertainment and embarrassment, Kindergarten. Bill, you got kicked out of kindergarten? Yes I did because someone’s little darling tried to push me around and I wasn’t in the mood. On my second day no less. Ma turned up and was visibly upset at me being asked to leave. I think there was something about a bloody nose somewhere in the mix, but it’s too long ago and I don’t remember. Honestly officer, I din’t do nuffin.
And I’m willing to bet there are a whole lot of other people out there who aren’t really afraid of this stupid mass panic either. They’re confused by all the craziness pushed by the dramatising, click hungry media, angry even, as am I. But afraid? No.
It’s not difficult to be unafraid. All you have to do is adjust your attitude to risk. Not to be fearful simply because someone tells you to be. Learn to accept the inevitability of pain, which is rarely so bad as imagined. I have old injuries that hurt all the time and slow me down a bit. However I have learned that fear only makes pain seem worse. Physical pain is a whole lot easier to handle than fear. I speak from raw experience.
The people pushing this endless fear need a good stinging slap in the face or two, just to let them know. Yes, you Piers Morgan, you media whore, we’re looking at you. Go to the top of the class and do a header into the playground. I promise not to cheer, much.
It must be cabin fever. Mrs S has received one of those Amazon widgets that does sound and voice control. The kids bought it for her for her birthday. Personally I don’t like them. Won’t have them anywhere near me due to the well documented privacy issues. To me, they are junk that has no real facility. I call them junk because they report to outside entities, rather like Windows 10, which is a shit operating service Microsoft won’t let you control and is full of bloatware. Besides, voice control and recognition has many drawbacks. Did play around with a few voice activation programs a few years ago, but when those report outside of my control, well… ’nuff said.
Today Mrs S waved the uninstalled item at me and said that I “Won’t let her use it.”
To which I had to respond; “Use it if you like, but I want nothing to do with it.” Now guess where I ended up. Go on. Guess. All because I like to keep my personal affairs private.
So the sound on her PC is now ‘inadequate’, because she wants to fill the house with Andre Boccelli singing the Easter Mass, which is my fault apparently. Not Boccelli, but the inadequate sound. If Mrs S wants to install the wretched gadget herself, she can do it.
Not that I care much for opera. The only Opera I’ve got any time for is using it as one of the five web browsers I use on a daily basis. When it comes to some opera I’d rather saw my own head off than be exposed to it any longer than necessary. Opera as an art form is an acquired taste I have chosen not to acquire. Not surprisingly there is no opera in my music collection. There’s classical music, a lot of Prog rock and electric folk, but no opera. Okay, I’d go to a performance if the tickets were free, but only if you didn’t mind tracking where I was in the audience by my snoring.
Add to that I’ve got a minor headache and a seasonal sniffle. A sort of light echo of what Mrs S suffered the day before yesterday and shrugged off in forty eight hours. So today we took a drive out. Unlike in Ontario and New Brunswick, the RCMP here in BC have better things to do with their time than randomly stopping people and demanding to know where they’re going, or if they’ve been buying stuff the prodnoses disapprove of. It was just a nice day for a drive, even if there was nowhere to go.
We have officially been in self imposed lockdown since 10th March. When the panicking is all over I am going to have the mother and father of all timeouts.
Deeply sorry to hear about Tim Brooke Taylor, comic actor who made the nation laugh in shows like I’m sorry I’ll read that again, At last the 1948 show, The Goodies and many more. The man was a national treasure, but now we have to bury him. He’d probably have enjoyed that gag.
