Tuesday May 5th
There aren’t very many good news stories around, but here is
one. The number of applications for
patents has soared during lockdown. It’s
often said that it is good for children to be bored – it helps their
creativity, and forces them to think for themselves rather than ingest parrot
fashion the facts in examination syllabuses that are inflicted on them. So it would seem, that with time on their
hands, people have turned to thinking; and that thinking has led to ideas,
which has in turn led to invention.
A little grey with slight rain this morning but improvement
later. Spent the afternoon researching
bidet toilets for our new master bathroom.
A hoped for eventuality, but who knows?
These are standard in Japan, and many other countries are introducing
them. Widespread introduction of these
would perhaps reduce the demand for toilet paper during future lockdowns.
Further news that the much trumpeted Nightingale Hospital in
East London (East London, U.K. that is), with its 4000 bed capacity is to be
mothballed. The demand for ventilators
just hasn’t been as high as the scientists predicted. It’s easy to be wise after the event, but a
lead consultant in intensive care has stated that ‘We were never going to start
ventilating lots of 90 year olds – the reason – they just don’t survive’. It is a fact that our ventilatory reserve
falls steadily as we get older. Even those
with minimal pollution exposure and non-smoking history show such decline that,
on average, at about age 100, even our maximum ventilatory capacity and oxygen
uptake is only just enough to maintain normal resting VO2 rate of
around 3.5ml/Kg body weight/minute. (This
is the oxygen uptake necessary to maintain life). I am sure you have noticed the laboured
respiration of even healthy people in their 90s and beyond. An illness such as Covid-19 will therefore
overwhelm even the ability of a ventilator to achieve adequate oxygen exchange
in such people. This is a long-winded
way of saying that epidemiological modellers do not know everything. In the case of Professor Neil Ferguson of
Imperial College, his shortcomings in lockdown have been further demonstrated
by the fact that he has had to stand down from the SAGE because he didn’t
follow his own instructions – a bit like the Scottish medic. In Ferguson’s case it seems that his married
lover visited his house on several occasions.
She is apparently in an ‘Open’ marriage – all very open now. Ferguson’s previous predictions in the case
of the 2009 Swine Flu (predicted 65,000 deaths: actual 457), and BSE or ‘mad cow disease’ (predicted 50,000
deaths: actual 177) have been rehearsed.
Additionally, farmers whose livestock were destroyed at the cost of £10
billion during the foot and mouth outbreak in 2001, have pointed out that his
lack of knowledge of farming made this decision questionable to say the least.
Wednesday May 6th
Beautiful day (ABD) though there is a very strong and
slightly chill easterly wind.
President Trump makes hilarious and presumably unintentional
headlines as he visits a mask manufacturing plant in Arizona. The usual one liners about ‘team doing a
great job’, while in the background a Guns N’ Roses’ version of ‘Live and Let
Die’ is playing.
Our exercise today is a mountain bike ride. Crossing Canford Heath and returning via
Poole quay where there is another spectacular superyacht now furloughed on the
wharf opposite. UK deaths crossed the
30,000 level today. Journalists keen to
state that the UK is the ‘worst in Europe’ though in fact our death toll per
million population is much the same as others.
Only South Korea looks dramatically different from other countries when
that data is displayed. There is a
suggestion that China concealed the incidence of cases by around 10-fold. Whether we will ever find out for sure is
uncertain. There is still an issue with
key workers, e.g. in care homes, getting tested. The drive through testing works well, but it
requires intelligence, a mobile phone, and of course, a car.
I was struck by a letter in the paper a week or two back
from a man who had major arterial surgery a few years ago. He feels minded to sue the Chinese Government
for depriving him of the wonderful but few years that he has left to enjoy the
outdoors and all the other elements of a civilized life. I felt like saying, ‘Life is Real, Life is
Earnest’ (Longfellow). Enjoy what you
have. My comments on the upsurge in
patent applications indicates that others are indeed making the most of their
time in lockdown. I could draw on other
sources: ‘When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of
fools.’ Samuel Beckett observed
somewhere that ‘Life is a matter of getting through.’ He also pithily observed that ‘They give
birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once
more.’ A rather gloomy assessment. We are not all as morose as Beckett and
should perhaps be more upbeat. Best to
leave this topic.
So finally for today:
‘Which two countries border on the insane?’ Answer: Mexico and Canada.
Thursday May 7th
ABD. Spend much of
the morning putting up bunting and flags to celebrate both VE Day (tomorrow)
and the NHS. We have a large rainbow
flag (the current symbol of the NHS). Vexillologists
will immediately see the real identity of the flag – Peru – at least, the
traditional Inca flag.
Non-vexillologists may be impressed that I know that word. The reason is that a very memorable
vexillologist (he had to tell me what it was) became a patient of mine – he
suffered an aortic dissection (tear in the main blood vessel while in the
shower. He attended three different
hospitals with no diagnosis before his sister, a local GP, contacted me and
asked me to see him. One only had to
listen to his description to make a diagnosis.
As the great physician, Sir William Osler, said; ‘Listen to the patient,
for he is telling you the diagnosis.’
Friday May 8th
ABD. Obeying lockdown
is very hard for many people in such beautiful weather.
75th Anniversary of VE Day. Little Coco (nearly five, step granddaughter)
told us that her teacher had said she was to make a Union Jackson.
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| Our VE Day tribute |
A lovely bike ride today for our exercise. It’s a little wearing however trying to dodge
everybody and maintain social distancing.
There are often parallels with past history, but the clips
this morning of children combing over bomb sites in WWII are very sad and so
poignant. I don’t hold a candle for our
Prince Dauphin and his lady wife, but their walk to the memorial outside
Birkhall on the Balmoral Estate this morning while a lone piper played was very
dignified and moving. Clips of the gun
firing from Edinburgh Castle to start the two minutes’ silence and to close
it. Did the piper play ‘Flowers of the
Forest’ I wonder? Often the standard
Scottish lament.
‘Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat
it.’ (George Santayana, 1905). A friend has messaged me with an apposite
warning from – yes, Machiavelli – ‘Some Princes fail through indolence for they
never imagined that when times were quiet, they could change. And this is a common fault of mankind; never
to anticipate a storm when the sea is calm.’
We hope to have a distanced wine tasting with neighbours
this evening.
Saturday May 9th
0645 hours. ABD. A hangover from the effects of celebrating VE
day. Very nostalgic events yesterday
evening with a concert from Buckingham Palace, interspersed with interviews of
those who were there. Followed by a
superb speech by the Queen. Soon it will
be time to move on, to engage with the events around us at the moment, and let
WWII slide into the distance. Though the
parallels of today and yesterday are only too obvious; the sacrifice, and the
impositions of the lockdown.
Lindsay consulted her father’s RAF log book, and discovered
that on 8th May 1945 he was relaxing in Venice after the long fight
up Italy. My own father, a keen swimmer,
was somewhere in the Pacific Ocean on a destroyer. He celebrated VE day by diving from the top
of the superstructure of the ship into the sea.
This was of course, banned, and an extremely dangerous thing to do. It could only be accomplished if there was a
decent swell on the sea. The trick was
to wait for the slow roll which took the top of the vessel out over the sea. Get it wrong and you would plunge down many
feet onto the decks. Typically, my
father never told me about this. We
visited an old shipmate sometime in the 1990s who asked me if I knew how Dad
had celebrated VE day and related the story.
For so many, providing they survived, the ‘war’ was the
defining and the greatest period of their lives. Lindsay’s dad flew Spitfires in 225
squadron. His log book records 155 hours
in the spitfire cockpit, starting when he was 20 and finishing before his 22nd
birthday. It seems to me that everything
in one’s life thereafter could feel like an anti-climax. Most of his comrades whom we met subsequently
at reunions had managed to adjust to normal life. There was one possible exception that I met,
who used to come to the RAF club every year, a member of the ground crew. His life seemed normal on the surface, but he
was haunted by one episode, which he told us about every year, and during which
all of the squadron remained respectfully silent. During the battle of Sicily, his job was to
do the final checks on the aircraft and to check that the pilot was properly
belted in. He would stand on the wing
just beside the cockpit and check everything.
There was one young man whom he obviously liked immensely. It was this pilot’s 21st
birthday. ‘Just for a birthday treat’,
he told him, ‘I’ve managed to get you a perfect orange, and I’ll keep it for
you until you come back. Then I strapped
him in and waved goodbye. He never came
back.’
I could, of course, relate many more stories about
WWII. Lindsay’s uncle, a Halifax rear
gunner, was shot down near Berlin in 1944 and sent to the infamous Stalag Luft
III. How he was shot down by an aircraft
they never saw, due to ‘Schräge Musik’ (q.v.), and so nearly managed to escape
in the ‘Great Escape’, but fortunately for him, didn’t. Humdrum life for him was as a solicitor in
Poole until his retirement.
Back to May 2020.
31,241 total UK deaths, with 626 yesterday. It doesn’t feel like success, but the daily
number of newly reported cases is only 113, so allowing for the lag, in about
two weeks’ time we would anticipate a dramatic fall in mortality.
Rod Liddle, in the Sun newspaper, has been enjoying a few
innuendos at Professor Ferguson’s expense, but I won’t detail them. For my overseas readers, the Sun is what is
known as a ‘Red Top’, a populist newspaper with an easy to read format. Its writers love puns and innuendo. Although they usually do cover the stories of
the day, it is just as likely that an important feature about the EU will be
less obvious on the front page than a photo of Victoria Beckham at a Milan
fashion show. When I first went to work
in the USA in 1970, a Brooklyn medical student friend tried to explain to me
what the New York ‘Daily News’ was like.
‘Andy’, he said, ‘If World War III was declared, the Daily News
headlines would be: 1. ‘Mets Win’.
2. ‘Jackie in New York.’ 3.
World War III Declared.’
Sunday May 10th
No rain, but a strong wind blowing and by evening it will
bring arctic air in from the north. The
film club met last night and watched ‘The Darkest Hour’. I don’t think Lindsay enjoyed it that much,
but I did, and of course those Churchill speeches brought a tear to the
eye. Gary Oldman deservedly won an Oscar
for his portrayal of Churchill. The film
showed how strong was the appeasement lobby, from Chamberlain and from Viscount
Halifax.
An excellent bike ride today, with a brief stop outside St
Peter’s Church, Lytchett Minster, for a snack, including our last bottle of 25 cl
French red wine that we often use for picnics in France.
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| St Peter's Church, Lytchett Minster |
Spent too much time on the dreadful jigsaw of ‘Convergence
1952’.
Daily deaths 269.
Continuing downward trend despite the weekend drop. The PM speaks for 15 minutes this
evening. He promises some relaxation of
the rules, including travelling to work if necessary, and for once, endorses
the use of cars rather than public transport.
The Mantra changes to ‘Stay alert; Control the virus; Save lives.’ Some including Nicola Sturgeon, say they don’t
know what ‘Stay alert’ means. I have to
agree. But generally it was a strong
performance, though perhaps understandably somewhat vague.
Monday May 11th
ABD. Very strong
wind. Much of today seems to have been
involved in organising care for a family member who at a young age, has
developed unstable angina. Care at a
major London hospital was less than ideal but appropriate investigation today
has shown a critical lesion which needs treatment, and he is currently safely
in another coronary care unit awaiting PCI (percutaneous coronary
intervention).
Lindsay departs mid-afternoon to take over help and care
with her grandchildren.
Brief brisk walk this evening on Talbot Heath. No meeting of the film club or the ‘Victoria’
series club for obvious reasons.
Tuesday May 12th
ABD. Wind strength
somewhat declining. It has occurred to
me that with the many obvious preoccupations I have forgotten to write about
the summer. As I walk or cycle, the
automatic life of the English countryside has moved on, and consistent with
global warming perhaps, flowers appear earlier.
Rhododendrons, pernicious weeds that they are now show full purple
blooms everywhere. The early gorse has been
replaced by broom. Showy shrubs such as
wisteria are fading; the lilac is almost over.
Clematis montana flowers are dropping.
But deutzia, viburnum, and sweet smelling philadelphus are here. The other day when I sat on the green at the
tiny village of Holdenhurst, the house martins were everywhere, swooping across
to pick up the flies on the wing. As I
cycled I came across a house in Bear Wood with a garden so immaculate that I
had to stop and gawp. Neat clumps of
arum lilies everywhere, so perfect and so neat they seemed like delicately
carved leaves of ivory. Sorry – an
allusion that is no longer politically correct.
I wonder what became of my parents’ early 20th century
ivories that they bought in Hong Kong in the 1940s? It must be many years since pianists
literally ‘tickled the ivories.’
Boris’s team have produced their multi-page document which
apparently details how we will begin to break lockdown. With one’s usual spirit of self-absorption
the main features I have taken from it indicate that as of tomorrow we will be
able to play golf again, only with one other player and with certain restrictions,
but we will play.
Wednesday May 13th
ABD, but a cold strong Easterly wind.
Following the Government’s advice that one could travel to
do exercise, I took my bike out to Winterbourne Whitechurch to do a circular
ride that is a favourite of ours, but involves getting on for 2000 feet of
climbing. It starts with an unrelenting
long climb up to Milton Abbas, where we usually drop down past Milton Abbey
school, but I decided to continue straight on through lanes literally bulging
with wild garlic, until at last I came to the top of Bulbarrow Hill, where
buzzards circle above the surrounding land which makes up the start of the
Blackmore Vale. Fields lined with May
bushes, clad in white blossom, and wildly waving alleys of cow parsley as one
descends towards Buchalwell, a tiny hamlet at its foot. I had forgotten what a ‘lumpy’ ride it is
towards and onwards through Sturminster Newton, one-time home of Thomas Hardy
and William Barnes, towards Manston, where I turn towards another classic
Dorset village, Child Okeford, and then across the Stour to Okeford
Fitzpaine. Some friends live in a
converted cowshed off this lane (better than it sounds), and in view of the
fact that it is Martin’s 70th birthday I am able to pass a few
‘socially distanced’ sentences with the birthday boy.
Passing onwards I come across a house with an extraordinary
scarecrow outside it. Dressed all in
black, with a head modelled on a coronavirus, it holds a large and very genuine
scythe in its right hand. I will try to
remember to post a picture of it.
 |
| Memento Mori - well it certainly scared me, as Lord Wellington might have said |
Undeterred by this Memento
Mori I pass on to the ghastly cycling experience of Okeford Hill. The scarecrow is still fresh in my memory as
I embark on this challenge. A young lad
cycles breezily past me – well, I tell myself – he’s at least 40 years younger
than me. Then an old boy comes past me
too. He looks as though he could be my
age, but perhaps he is just wearing badly.
He looks, as a friend of mine used to say about slim people, like a long
streak of piss, and I console myself with the thought that he is not conveying
85 Kg up the hill. I do manage to pass a
horse, with a small girl on its back which is obviously finding the gradient
even tougher than me.
As one can imagine, the evening passes in a bit of a blur,
especially after a nice bath and a bottle of Butcombe Original Bitter, and in
fact, I am writing this the next day!
Thursday May 14th
A quiet day. At 5pm I
have just come in from the garden, spending 45 minutes sitting in a comfortable
chair and reading, an excellent cure for seasickness. You might well ask about the
seasickness. No, I haven’t been on the
water. The association of ideas is
because the Government have just announced that one can go boating again. Joy!
Except that we have sold our boat, which is quite a sensible move when
contemplating building a house.
Installing a Miele cooker rather than a Baby Belling takes precedence
over such trivialities as boating. The
advice has been conflicted however because Poole Harbour Commissioners have
stated that marinas may not open (difficult to go boating otherwise). My crafty stepson wrote an e mail to the
Poole Yacht Haven (run as a business by PHC) and asked if he could bring his boat
there, use it, moor it, and pay a year’s mooring fees in advance. ‘Yes, of course’ was the reply. So he then wrote to PHC and informed them of
this anomaly, and within a short space of time the advice was corrected. You can go boating!
Our young family member has now had
PCI (percutaneous cardiac intervention), performed by the remarkable team at King's, led by Professor Philip MacCarthy. A cardiologist friend of mine in Bournemouth says that he has ‘dodged a bullet’ and I
see no reason to disagree.
The Jackson Pollock jigsaw is described in an article by the
author Margaret Drabble, who is apparently a jigsaw addict, as ‘the world’s
most difficult jigsaw.’ Again; no reason
to disagree.
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| Jackson Pollock - but only the bottom left corner |
I have been working on my memoirs of Malta for many
years. This was an extraordinary
experience for a 7-year-old boy, in post wartime Britain, to be transplanted to
a Mediterranean paradise for three years.
Many children who had the good fortune to be there, and to be at Verdala
School, feel the same. I hope to help
readers to take a break from Covid with a little breath of colonial
Britain. So these diary entries may take
a back seat.
This evening, Thursday evening, is ‘Clap for Carers’
evening. No, this is not some
psychopathic wish for NHS workers to acquire a sexually transmitted disease,
but a new tradition that dictates one stands outside one’s house or residence
and claps or applauds lustily and loudly to thank those who are trying to save
our lives. I’ll join in, but I wonder
how long this will persist after we’ve gone back to our self-indulgent lives? I must get out and put up our rainbow flag
(also the current symbol of the NHS).
Friday May 16th
ABD. Cold wind.
Time for exercise.
Route of about 20 miles on the mountain bike. Although the trails are feasible on a road
bike, the MTB is a bit more secure, has lower gears, and is also more of a
challenge due to the harder work against friction. Half way round I have a socially distanced
chat with a friend who lives by the Stour.
 |
| Stourside garden |
Have enjoyed reading an unusual book, ‘Dear Lupin’. Consisting of letters from a father to a
wayward son. The father is (or was),
Roger Mortimer, ex-Eton, Sandhurst, Coldstream Guards, Dunkirk, POW in various
Stalags and Oflags, and subsequently racing correspondent for the Sunday
Times. Writes well in a very candid way
about the shortcomings of his family, and especially to his son, Charlie, who
seems to have failed at everything he’s ever tried. Fortunately, Charlie kept the letters and it
makes for an entertaining and at times guffawing read. I gather the title is a reference to the son
in ‘Diary of a Nobody’, which regrettably I have still to read. I do know a little about the book. The main character, George Pooter, has
spawned the description ‘Pooterism’ which means taking oneself grotesquely
seriously. I suppose this blog is a
sustained Pooterism, but if you have read this far you might well read on!
A friend has urged me to join in ‘View from my Window’ on
Facebook. Most of the participants have
the sort of view which usually features in travel brochures, and although our
little rented house in Westbourne is cosy and comfortable, I don’t think it
would contribute greatly to cyberspace if I posted anything. One or two people have posted views from
rather lowly homes, but not the majority.
Typical is ‘View from my Window in Barbados showing the beach where I do
my Yoga.’ Ah, yes, Pilates of the
Caribbean…
Saturday May 16th
ABD. Daren’t go to
the beach. A friend whose flat overlooks
the sea tells me that the ocean is still as a millpond and covered in jetskis
and boats, including some sailing boats with sails hanging limply and not going
anywhere. Guess they are just pleased to
be out.
It may be noticed that I haven’t focussed too much on the
Corona pandemic of late. This is because
of distinct ennui with the format of the daily 10 Downing Street briefing. A journalist commented quite rightly the
other day that we don’t need this on a daily basis now, but that the Government
seem to have pasted themselves into this corner and don’t know how to get out
of it. The first section each day is a
sort of propaganda lecture from a minister on the latest Government action plan
and achievements. Care homes was the
focus yesterday. The data slides have
changed in format when the medic gets to speak.
It seems that the death rate is declining though very slowly. The R value is perhaps slightly higher – 0.7
to 1.0 – so there is much hassle from the press about this. In the House of Commons this week, Sir Keir
Starmer is a much abler opponent than Jeremy Corbyn, and to his critical
questions Boris really has no answers, or faffs about with lots of
politicospeak but no real acceptance of blame.
Lindsay is back home.
Family medical crisis sorted out with PCI (percutaneous coronary
intervention); now another close friend is admitted to hospital with a heart
rate of 35 and needs a pacemaker. Since
disasters tend to come in threes (this is a hopelessly primitive and illogical
belief), we now hope that all that is behind us.
Sit in the garden for a while this morning. Lovely.
Sunday May 17th
ABD. I made no entry
today because it was such a busy one (sic).
This is penned on Monday! Relaxation
of lockdown has allowed golfers to get back on the course, as of last
Wednesday. Much grief in the press about
‘It’s only the toffs’ sports that we can play.’
This includes angling and tennis.
Nonetheless, it’s my first opportunity for a game for months. The early part of the year was ruined by the
terrible weather. We are only allowed to
play singles, and the popularity at Parkstone has meant that the only tee time
my friend and I can get is 1750 hours today.
Lindsay had requested a walk today; she’s been rather deprived of
walking in London, and we both want to pick some elderflowers to turn into
cordial. So it is two long walks today.
We drive to Gussage All Saints, near Cranborne. The countryside is almost deserted. There is a preternatural stillness. Nothing moves. No sounds.
We walk down green lanes, the farm tracks rutted and solidified by the
dry April and May weather. Butterflies
flit around us as we go. Most striking
is the uniformly yellow brimstone.
Although we have marked on the map the places where elders flower, the
exact location depends somewhat on the farmers’ decisions about hedge cutting,
since the flowers are borne on last year’s wood. There is a great haul though, the early
creamy blossoms with some unopened flowers are the choice.
 |
| The Perfect Elder Flowers |
 |
| The Elder Tree |
Back at home, Lindsay embarks on preparing two and a half
kilograms of flowers for flavouring cordial, while I ready myself for
golf. Some rather wild shots
characterise my round, but we finish at 9pm, just as the light goes completely
(sunset was reckoned at 2053 hours tonight).
Now that Lindsay and I are together again we can watch another episode
of ‘Victoria’. Feel that I deserve the
large glassful of Chateau du Tertre 2009.
 |
| 15th Tee, Parkstone |
Monday May 18th
ABD. It seems hard
that the farmers of North Dorset, whose beautifully neat fields of corn we saw
yesterday, must be praying for rain, and we are praying for continued good
weather so that our house building can continue and the house be made
watertight. ‘It’s an ill wind that blows
nobody any good.’ I believe it was
Sidney Bechet, who described the soprano sax as ‘An ill wind that nobody blows
good.’
Lindsay has come up with rather an original suggestion. In the news at the moment is an American
woman, Anne Sacoolas, who allegedly killed a 19 year old boy, Harry Dunn, on a
motorcycle, by coming out of her husband’s USAF base in Northamptonshire and
driving on the wrong side of the road.
On the basis that she and/or her husband was a CIA agent, she claimed
diplomatic immunity and fled back to the USA.
The US have refused to return her to the UK. Now it seems that Interpol have issued a ‘Red
Notice’ about her. This means that if
she visits another European country she can be arrested and extradited to
Britain. On the other hand, lawyers in
the Jeffrey Epstein paedophile case in the USA are continually asking that
Prince Andrew, Duke of York, attends hearings in the investigation of underage
sex trafficking in the United States.
Lindsay’s simple idea is that we could do an exchange: we give them the
Duke of York; they give us Anne Sacoolas.
Somehow I don’t think it will come off.
Our walk yesterday reminded me of a painting, which I used
to have on my wall – at least a print of one.
In the days when drug companies were more or less unrestricted in their
advertising promotions for their products, one company used to send me a
beautiful fine art calendar every year.
A magnificent old master, appropriate to the month, would be chosen for
the month in question. Breughel’s
‘Hunters in the snow’, for example, would be a shoo in for December or
January. One year in the late 1970s, May was illustrated
by a beautiful painting by John Constable entitled ‘The Elder Tree’. The elder blossoms were done with a near
impressionist touch. Indeed, a book on
painting which I acquired many years ago, showed a picture of Constable’s
‘Barges on the Stour’, and pointed out that the broad brush technique indicated
that Constable was an Impressionist many years before the Impressionists. His en
plein air technique also anticipated their approach. ‘The Elder Tree’ hangs (according to the
calendar) in the National Gallery of Ireland.
I’ve been to the gallery several times since and never seen it – either
it is being cleaned, exhibited elsewhere, or the galleries are closed for
renovation. A future ambition perhaps.
Although there may well be some more information to impart
today – the corona virus death rates for instance, which are still falling
albeit slowly, I see that much time has elapsed since my last diary posting,
and this will therefore form the end of Diary Part 7.
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