Late Life Crisis - October 2020
Glasses. Mask. Rain. Mask. Glasses. Fogging up. Going from outside to an inside public space I feel that I am at more risk of personal injury than of Covid 19.
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A gotcha question? Alok Sharma, not the brightest button in a drawful of largely dull Cabinet Ministers, accused a Today Programme interviewer of attempting a gotcha question when asked about the Prime Minister's inability to summarise the latest Covid social distancing rules for the North-East. A sharp comeback blow, and certainly one that a Humphreys or a Paxman would have landed, would have been to remind the hapless Sharma that Ministers are expected to have a grip on their brief. Now the Prime Minister should not be expected to know the detail on all of his underlings' portfolios, but at least he should know sufficient to field a simple question of the day on a topic of the day.
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I know that I am fond of literary analogies for political issues, but the splurging out of Government Covid announcements on rules and guidance does remind me of Hogwarts caretaker Argus Filch, who, following the arrival of the despicable Dolores Umbridge, nails up on the internal wallls of the school, to an improbable height and on an improbably high stepladder, plaques containing a series of increasingly manic orders delivered by Umbridge on behalf of the Ministry of Magic.
So who can we have for Dolores? Simples: it has to be our Priti, the exponent of "I legislate (or at least threaten to legislate), therefore I am". The commentator Leo McKinstry wrote of her penchant for threatening new laws to "do something about" movements ranging from Extinction Rebellion to Black Lives Matters, whilst ignoring the fact that we already have workable laws that could address most unacceptable behaviour. His blunt conclusion was that "We don't need more laws - just better policing", although it seems to me that this misses the point of the police often being hobbled by political correctness when it comes to enforcement.
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Early October: POTUS says that he and FLOTUS "will get through this together" after both testing positive for Coronavirus. I am sure that she is delighted at the opportunity to spend the next two weeks closer to her husband.
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I have no idea why talking of POTUS leads to this next item, but I had a catch-up cup of tea in the City with a friend I had not seen since the beginning of lockdown. The cafe was quiet, and to compensate was playing pleasing but reasonably loud music - my excuse for what follows. Whilst we were sharing thoughts on TV programmes we had respectively watched to get us through hibernation, she sung the praises of an excellent TV three-parter called "The Big Dick". Only after a minute or two, and a mention of archaeology, did I realise that she was talking about "The Big Dig". I had kept a straight face, thank goodness. Sometimes amusement can come from having dodgy hearing.
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Down to the GP surgery for my flu jab - sadly I now qualify for priority boarding. The scene is so different from what I recall from pre-Covid. I saw just two chairs in the waiting room, and on closer inspection these were marked as only for people who could not stand. I was the only person waiting, so did not immediately pick up the two-metre queue signs.
In the consultation room the helpful practice nurse was adorned with gown, mask and gloves. And standing up, even for administering the jab - it makes you think about all the sitting down you do in public places. But as they have got you into the surgery, they take the chance to check you over for blood pressure and for any irregular pulse. I had learnt this from last year's experience. Then another nurse initially thought that my pulse was a touch on the irregular side; she was on the point of packing me off for tests, but then decided to do another run, and concluded that there was no problem. She also diagnosed me with "white coat syndrome", a factor that led to my initial blood pressure reading being high. However, pragmatism ruled; she suggested I buy a BP monitor and take the pressure morning and night for two weeks, recording the results and reporting them in.. I duly did same, and of course the readings stabilised at an acceptable level, as well as showing that my pulse was steady.
So this year I took three readings on the morning of the jab, all fine, wrote my readings down and gave them to the nurse, who appeared happy with them without further due diligence. Of course, the lawyer in me meant that I had popped the BP monitor in my rucksack before heading down, lest I was questioned on what was the authority for my claimed results - the machine records the last 50 readings. When I mentioned this to the receptionist she shook her head and chuckled.
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When someone writes a message word in error and does not immediately register this and add a comment, how should one respond? My principle is "Don't be cruel". Applying this involves sensing the degree of embarrassment that the writer would suffer on being teased. I have just received a message wih a delightful new word, although the person picked up the error straightaway. Certain words make you want to invent a meaning and then argue for the word to be included in the next edition of the OED. Thus I give you "folkiwed": "A pastoral joining of two people in holy matrimony".
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In a similar vein, I recall a trainee solicitor whom I was teaching some time ago lecturing me on the importance of punching up, not down. An example is that you can mock a politician, but should not mock a person's disability. This is persusasive, but then I read something suggesting that the judgement not to mock someone's disability is negative in itself in that it is patronising to the person or class of person concerned. Would it also be patronising to have the thought that you should not mock a disability because to do so would be patronising? As the smartest person in the world, perhaps Donald Trump could tell us.
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You are standing on the balcony of the White House. Your tie obscures the obesity of your midriff. The unnaturally bright lighting tells us that you are having a campaign video recorded. When you talk to camera your shortness of breath can barely be concealed. But faced with the chance of four more years in the White House against the ignominy of being a one-term President, you are going to fight.
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The Home Offfice, as directed by its Secretary of State, has been railing against leftist lawyers and activist lawyers, let's face it against lawyers generally, although the Home Secretary might have a problem in trashing conveyancers. The Law Society and others have responded robustly. I take a simple position: lawyers are there to apply the law as its stands in the best interests of their clients. In fact a duty to act in the best interests of the client is one of the core principles of the Solicitors Code of Conduct. If you let that one go then it is genie out of the bottle time, and the Rule of Law will be replaced by the Rule of Daily Mail.
Before anyone not liking the drift of this argument gets too upset, let us (punching up of course) consider Dominic Cummings and the flight to the North. Now ok, he probably did not get legal advice before jumping in the car with wife and child (you don't need legal advice when you are shielded by the Prime Minister). But if he had, then I am guessing it would have gone like this:
"Mr Cummings, I think you will probably be safe. The guidance issued by the Government says only leave your home for limited reasons, and on this alone your trip does not look to qualify. However, as your solicitor I can tell you that what really matters are the regulations. These say that you must not leave home without a reasonable excuse. There then follows a list of excusable reasons, but critically it is not an exclusive list. In other words if you can get in something that is uncontemplated in the regulations but that is reasonable, then that is fine. Also, as I am a rounded lawyer and alive to the bigger picture, I can tell you that it is more subtle even that. If your excuse might not ulitimately be found to be reasonable objectively, but nevertheless might be difficult to prove as being unreasonable, then the police, on what we call the "not worth the bother principle", are unlikely to prosecute. And Mr Cummings, although I hesitate from venturing into an area where you are more of an expert, as long as you have a small hook on which to hang an argument that can be deployed in the House of Commons by your colleague, Mr Hancock, then your opponents will find it difficult to get support for recriminations against you.
I am delighted to give you this advice as in doing so I am acting in your best interests, given you have told me that you wish to get away from the glare of journalistic attention as quickly as possible. So have a good trip, and my bill will follow shortly".
But before we close this one, also bear in mind that solicitors have a duty to act with integrity and not to advance arguments for the court that they know to be false.
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I am about to eat some baby sweetcorn. The packaging says that it comes from Thailand. Bonkers.
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At this moment of writing, Trump refusing to participate in the second head-to-head on a virtual basis. Terrific how the virtual world throws up unexpected quirks - here that Trump's bully boy overtalking tactics could be frustrated by a muting button.
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I recall watching Mike Bartlett's Doctor Foster with someone who said frequently, and quite correctly in my view, that the storyline did not make sense. I have much the same feeling about his latest effort, Life: why after what appears at least to have been a happy marriage in a material sense have Gail and Henry ended up in a flat and not a leafy suburban mansion? But the main improbability concerns the size of the apartments. Yes, I know that any set shows a darn sight more space than you would get in real life. But here it is in extremis. However, I have identified an explanation that makes sense of it. Henry is played by Peter Davison. Peter Davison has been a Doctor Who. There's your answer. All Mr Davison needs now in his later years is a consultancy to the pointy shoed industry.
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I am not quite yet the possessor of an academic history qualification, but I am going to do a little sortie. The presenter and historian David Olusoga has written a children's book, Black and British: A Short Essential History. This is welcome as part of Black History Month projects, but the examples he gives, at least in the first of a five-parter of extracts beng serialised by the Times, and covering the Tudors, show black people in subservient positions, which I suggest is, whilst I am sure historically accurate, not inspirational to children of colour. In contrast, the American historian Henry Louis Gates in Africa's Great Civilisations on BBC4, takes us painstakingly through Africa's great empires and great conquests. The African empires included those of the Moors, who invaded Spain from North Africa in 704 AD and ruled it for the next 800 years. I have just used the "empire" word. I could have used "colonised". Oopsy - empire and colonisation is only what white Europeans did, isn't it? No, it's not. What we need is balance and filling in gaps. Cue Sir Lenny Henry: "Let's hear it for the Moors!".
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Tier 3 restrictions, no problem: "Landlord (sorry, Maitre), a pint of bitter and a substantial plate of cheesy chips, if you please."
That is not a cheap comment. Every few days, new guidance, new slogans, new definitions. And in our wonderful English language, every word or phrase can be tested and challenged.
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However, for the French, anglicised language is horrible, or horrible, if you get what I am saying. Giles Coren has just written delightfully about attempts to get English words out of French fashion vocabulary: "les top models" to become "mannequins vedettes"; "le streetwear" to become "la mode de la rue" etc. He advocates a return salvo of banning French expressions in English. So "je ne sais quoi" will go. He does not have an alternative there: I might favour "dunno" (not of course translationally accurate), but a more serious response contains my point. We are not bothered that horrible has a Latinate root (remember "annus horribilis"?). "Je ne sais quoi" fills a gap. A word or phrase comes into the English language because it provides a useful function not already present.. We did not mind being slagged off as "les rosbifs", especially since our cuisine became admired by "les froggies". That is because we are not nationalistic.......are we, Nige?
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Indications in the press that Covid walk-up check-ins at pubs and cafes are mostly government window-dressing, with the systems being unable to process the data. Anecdotal evidence suggests a mixed picture: someone told me how, on arriving at a pub, he was asked to complete a sign-in sheet. He found that the previous six guests had all been called Dave and all had the same mobile number....
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Cue Second Movement of Dvorak's Symphony No. 9. Possibly add the smell of baking bread. And keep in mind this image (my photo), from.....Shaftesbury, Dorset.
It is 2030.
Alfred: "D'you remember 2020".
Walter: "I do that, Alfred".
Alfred: "I never went out without mask, and I always wore it in't shops".
Walter: "Nay lad, I can do better than that. I never went out without mask, and I wore it everywhere outside, even on't streets."
Alfred: "Well, I wore mask indoors as well, although t'wife complained that it made my snoring even worse".
Walter: "Of course I always had sanitiser with me".
Alfred: "Well when I went out I wore mask, and rubber gloves too, so I didn't have to sanitise hands every time I touched surface".
Walter: "I went out with mask, and rubber gloves, and sanitiser. That way I could sanitise gloves too".
Alfred: "Didn't you chuck gloves in't bin?".
Walter: "You can never be too careful, lad".
Alfred: "Even though I had mask and gloves and sanitiser, I always kept that two metres apart".
Walter: 'I always took tape measure, just so I could tell other folk to bugger off".
Alfred: "And I cut baths down to once a month, to make sure no one came near me".
Walter: "Those were the days".
Alfred: "Aye lad. So how was Covid 29".
Walter: "Bloody awful".
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So we limp on into November. Will it be more of Boris Johnson's Flying Circus (see above)? Or more Hancock's Half-Arsed? And then there is the spectre of Nightmare on Pennsylvania Avenue. We shall see.
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