That's What There Is

 My brain is full again. 

They have changed the interface on the blogging platform. 

There is spam everywhere.

There is noise and rush and complaining about politicians and teachers and hurling coaches. 

There is good masks and bad masks and unrepressed sneezes.

There are good writers, better writers. I cannot read fast enough. I cannot type at all.

There is the hint/sniff/possible possibility of legitimate guilt-free childcare (aka school) and I can smell the freedom, but I know better than to trust it.

There was sun and sand and gentle breeze. Now there is lashingness and dampness and soggy towels. 

There is a pain in my sternum. There is the lack of adherence to the physio's advice. 

There is a list. 

There is no end to the list. 

There is the hesitation to speak about such things. 

There is a speed and a slowness to each day which is almost unbearable, and yet it is borne.

There is strength and bravery and good humour and kindness, and there is the lack of these things. 

There is the darkening of the clouds. There is the blue sky. 

Trench Rot

At the start of the whole pandemic thing (heretofore known as the Pain in the Face), I wrote about how us doctors were standing at a cliff edge, terrified of our next steps. I used the analogy of the WW1 soldiers going Over The Top, facing into certain terror and almost-certain death. 

That's how I perceived it then.

Now I realise that we are in fact experiencing all of the other episodes of Blackadder Goes Forth, and not just the dramatic and poignant final scenes. We are living day by day with uncertainty and the vague dread fear of something happening, but it not happening Quite Yet. In the meantime we shoot the messenger (er, pigeon) and come up with endless cunning plans. 

Some of us are doing a fine imitation of George, infinitely chirpy and positive, always looking on the bright side, until finally the time comes when we have to ask permission for our lower lip to quiver. 

Some of us are in a Blackadder/Darling face-off with colleagues or friends, where people who are closer to the Front Line are dismissive of those sipping the General's wine in the fancy chateau up the road . There is a oneupmanship afoot. "I work harder than you and I'm better than you and I deserve the box of Roses more than you". This, of course, simply stems from the exhaustion of working without sufficient support and acknowledgement, and is entirely self-destructive for both parties. 

We like to think there are some General Melchetts up the ranks somewhere, dithering doddery idiots who we can blame for the PPE mess-ups, or testing failures, or nursing home tragedies. The truth is there probably is no moustachioed buffoon on whom all the blame rests. It was probably simply a product of a very, very difficult situation. 

We may be tempted to try Blackadder's trick of feigning madness in order that we will be sent home from the Front. The irony being, of course, that it is the mad ones who stay. The more burnt out we get, the harder it is to make the wise decision to step back and take a break. 

Captain Flashheart and co are great for the telly, and sure fair play to them, Virgin Media would be lost without their sage and learned advice. 

As for Baldrick, well, we'll always need someone who can rustle up a quick cappuccino...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CtdYqVK_R4

Why, like?

There are quite a few things that I simply do not understand. 

I don't know why some people (men) wear shorts in winter.

I don't know why some people (men) wear woolly hats in the summer. 

I will never understand why a person who lives in a city would purchase, and then regularly drive, a vehicle designed for traversing a field in Connemara. 

And I am not sure if my attitude to, and perception of, wealth will ever align with (what appears to be) the societal norm.

(Of course, of course, of course, what I am about to say is absolutely and fundamentally informed by my position of privilege, and my colour, race, profession, background, etc, etc, etc. I am standing here with my head in the stocks, waiting for the wet sponges of approbation to be flung in my face. Perhaps those of us who regularly spout opinions secretly yearn for those wet sponges, now and again. To wake us up a bit, like.)

So this is the thing I don't understand: what do people be wanting with all that money? Why do some people want more money than they need? 

What is the attraction of excessive wealth? 

Why, like? 

For what? 

I am completely on board with the idea of a house with enough rooms for everyone, and a garden, and warmth, and a "nice" neighbourhood (though not entirely clear with what that "nice" means). I think a car that works is probably a necessity for a lot of people. Clothes that fit. Food that is plentiful and tasty. Being able to say "yes" when the children ask for an icecream, or a pointless overpriced magazine in a shop. These are all luxuries, but I am grateful that I have them, and I have to say I would be a bit reluctant to give them up. 

But why would the clothes have to be expensive? Why would the car need to cost the same as a house in Leitrim? (no offence, Leitrim). Why would I need to buy, and then exhibit, a candle that costs the average weekly industrial wage?

I just really, really, really don't understand.