A few small steps for man

After a somewhat sluggish start to the day (recorded by Heterocon: “A little de-concentration”) the day picked up somewhat, as my physical and emotional stamina resources provided a much needed energy boost. My beloved and I have just returned from a 30 minute brief brisk walk; the duration and the brisk pace were like a regained memory of former times. I congratulate myself for making the effort, my achievement of the day, whilst remembering that it takes more than one swallow to make a summer.

Immediately on return to the house, I slumped down onto the sofa; what had felt (unusually) like agile lower limbs, until a few moments before, suddenly metamorphosed into leaden appendages. That doesn’t detract one iota from my delight in being able to manage the exercise.

Accentuate the positive

I keep looking out of the window but, it all seems to no avail. The sky remains a dirty creamy grey, quite boringly static in fact; by this time I’m starting to doubt the message the broadcaster gave me an hour or so ago! Just where am I supposed to look for the laser beams and a sprinkling of powdered sunshine, I’d better just go and check it out again.

No wonderful light shows in evidence, perhaps I misunderstood the forecast but, I could have sworn that she foretold “scattered light-showers”. The sky seems as dull as ever. Perhaps a visit to the opticians would be in order, if I’m now incapable of seeing light; or did she really mean what she said. Now is the time to seek an alternative solution; I wonder if what she meant to say was “scattered light showers”; looking outside once more, a spattering of H2O seems a distinct possibility.

Dilemmas

An excellent article by Paul Oestreicher on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
Guardian Unlimited | Special reports | Israel's policies are feeding the cancer of anti-semitism

Me and Ma Belle

After recent knock backs on the health front, yesterday turned out to be one of my best days for many weeks. It was good to be able to face up to a visit to the local Brewer’s Fayre, for lunch with my beloved; admittedly it helped to be driven there, by my beloved chauffeuse, even though it’s within easy walking distance (for any ‘normal’ person). On our return home we even ventured out for a brief brisk walk, about seven minutes each way but, at least it breaks the spell of my recent total absence of exercise.

By late afternoon, my energy reserves proved up to the task of preparing a special Bolognese, which served as today’s lunch and left sufficient in reserve for a couple more meals.

It’s wonderful just to spend time with ma belle on this sixth anniversary of our wedding; there’s something so special about just being together, cherishing each other’s company. Perhaps one day I’ll feel energized enough to go out and do a little socializing as well but, for the present, I can only express my gratitude that I am so loved and cared for on the home front.

Market Forces - at any cost?

Two articles from Times Online caught my attention this afternoon.

Blunder left trail of lethal radiation

GPs told to abandon private suppliers of oxygen

Stargazing

After a couple of really groggy days, recorded by Heterocon, I’d returned to a state veering remarkably close to normality by last evening. Prepared a rather delicious salmon pasta dish for my beloved and myself, a short while before settling down to watch “Judge John Deed”(BBC1) and “Mock The Week”(BBC2), and then I ventured to the stable-type door at the back of the house to inhale a little hot nicotine and sundry toxins.

From my perch, in the aforementioned venue, I was suddenly struck by the clarity of the stars; quite unusually, I was able to see the appropriate outlines of certain constellations, even though I’d be unable to give them their right names. Called my beloved through to share my sense of wonderment, a new found childlike joy; the fact that this sharp imaging may portend (as proved to be the case) a cold and frosty night seemed immaterial.

Having immersed ourselves in a couple of hours of televisual entertainment, I later returned to the stable-door; this visit was accompanied by a sense of impending doom. Guess what, somebody had nicked a few of the stars; could it be my eyes playing up or, was it some cunning invisible clouds that cloaked something of the former majestic display.

My sense of alarm and disappointment is hard to describe but, as I eventually turned my gaze towards the far end of the garden there, overhead, was the lost constellation. So, no-one was culpable of depriving the odd solitary star of its companions; of a sudden, the giddy realization of the earth’s rotation struck home.

Wonderment restored!

A BrightHouse casts a dark shadow

The poor may be always with us but, that's no justification for exploiting them.

Church-based campaign pickets retail chain for exploiting poor - news from ekklesia

Quandary

Just switched on the TV and, it’s Davina McCall’s new chat show on BBC1; I know that I’ve only seen the first few minutes but, rarely have I felt so embarrassed for a presenter, it feels almost as if her body doesn’t belong to her and she absolutely doesn’t know what to do with her arms. I’ve just realized, she doesn’t know what to do with her legs either. Perhaps this reaction goes some way to explaining why I’ve always preferred spoof chat shows, at least the embarassment is intended. Anyway, I’m no TV critic so enough said!

The big question is, should I just switch the machine off or endure it (as background distraction) until K T Tunstall appears?

A la recherche ...

The ‘Afternoon Play’ on Radio 4 proved quite intriguing, with a man pursuing the reasons that his uncle, some 60 years earlier, was buried amongst the fascists in a Spanish village when he had gone out there as an idealistic communist. Eventually, it transpired that he had resisted the brutal bludgeoning to death of villagers by a group of republicans, hence his being considered an agent for the fascists, for which he was summarily executed and buried in the wrong camp. His nephew pleaded that the local priest should avoid any Christian ritual over the re-interment of his remains, in keeping with his uncle’s ideological atheism.

In my younger days, I was privileged to meet with former International Brigaders, many of whom felt that they had been betrayed by their Stalinist comrades and yet, still maintained a strong belief in the ideals that had taken them out there.

Although I was at this time much drawn to a pacifist creed and, something of a utopian socialist, I found it impossible to dismiss these peoples humanitarian idealism. Perhaps it was these people’s faith that freed me to take up a class war stance and, enter into an engagement with Marxist (specifically Trotskyist) politics. Over the years, however, I seemed to spend far too much time bitching over ‘theological’ differences with other left wingers, attempting to find a ‘true’ fundamentalist understanding of the beloved Karl; it almost seemed as if the real enemy was to be found in the ‘socialist’ camp and, the real struggle was forgotten, apart from a ‘token’ presence on picket lines and demos.

My socialist ideals remain pretty well intact but, I’m afraid I underestimated capitalisms ability to re-invent itself and pander to the baser instincts of an apparently wider grouping of people.

A Question of Taste

One of the great mysteries of life is how our taste buds can be cultivated to appreciate distinctive flavours, sharpness, sweet, sour etcetera. When I think of all the years of bold experimentation I underwent, in the quest to further my appreciation of the finer qualities of wine, real ale and, single malts, little considering the cost or benefits to my health, I feel quite proud of my powers of persistence for a noble cause.

Recently, I’ve even managed to cultivate a taste (from necessity) for water, not the pretentious bottled variety but that liquid, so easily taken for granted, that flows from our taps. Whilst taking anti-viral tablets, I have deliberately and advisedly increased my consumption but, I have to admit that its attraction is now on the wane. The taste of my first couple of glasses of the day seems far more appalling than the worst mass-produced keg bitter; in the beer stakes a little effort soon enabled one to swallow copious quantities of the stuff, good, bad or indifferent just to be sociable but, water is an altogether different beast. The more I consume, the more it seems to take on what must be the foul taste of my own mouth. Perhaps, persistence will wash away that self-same taste and, I will gradually rediscover the joys of H2O’s refreshment.

With the increased difficulty of taking Adam’s Ale neat, or “on the rocks”, the only option seems to be an increase in the infusions of green tea, jasmine tea and Earl Grey, to be consumed.

By way of variety, in the flavour stakes, the odd glass or two of wine will be more than welcome, slowly re-introduced to the system, within the limits of my reduced tolerance of course! It seems such a shame to have a reasonably stocked cellar if it’s never to be disturbed.