The Glumness of the Nordics.

I’ve started watching a Norwegian cop drama called Wisting, thinking it would be interesting to compare it with the Swedish Wallander. Well now, if you think the Swedes are the world champions in the glumness stakes, think again. Norwegians, it seems, are even glummer (though a little less self-absorbed.) No wonder the Vikings spent all their time risking life, limb, and sanity desperately trying to be somewhere else. (But at least the Danish Vikings had the good sense to settle in Britain and France.) And it appears that both Swedish and Norwegian detectives are similarly saddled with troublesome daughters.

I do have to add, however, that they’re all so very decent and earnest. I like that.

And I’m only kidding anyway…

Oh, and another difference: Norwegian detectives drive big, meaty vehicles. Swedish detectives drive posh ones. There's generalisation for you.

On Falling Below the Mark.

I took a cognition test tonight devised by Professor Something-or-other from Imperial College, London. I did badly – below average in nearly everything except crystallised intelligence, whatever that is. Sad, isn’t it, but it did at least validate my decision to tell the priestess in my last email: ‘I’m not worth knowing any more.’ And also why I terminated my connections with everyone except my immediate family and my ex. I like to know myself and make rational decisions, you see.

So is there any point in continuing this blog if my opinions no longer count? I think so. It uses up a bit of time when I’m bored but still feel inclined to exercise my fingers, so I might still make the odd jotting now and then.

In other news:

I kept getting hijacked by random encounters while taking my walk this morning. I ended up talking to one dog, one postman, one French woman, and the man who came to fix a problem at my house. (The latter was causing me quite some concern; it was even leading to the suspicion that I might be prey to some condition related to cholera, however unlikely that might sound. Put it down to loss of cognisant ability if you like. The reason for such a suspicion is rather long and not very palatable, so I won’t bother to expound further.)

A Worrying Political Muse.

Would I be guilty of a silly flight of fancy if I look at the recent German election results and wonder whether one in five Germans want to welcome Adolf Hitler home? I suppose I probably would because I’m sure that it’s not so simple and not so extreme – yet.

And now we have indisputable signs that Trump wants to put distance between the US and Europe (he wants to do lots of other unsavoury things as well, but let’s keep it simple for now.) The old post-1945 security connection between the two is seriously under threat and might soon be a thing of the past.

One result of this is that the British Prime Minister has now undertaken to increase defence spending and says that it will be funded by a reduction in international aid. Just when the world seems to have entered a phase in which the common humanity of people everywhere is recognised – and the rich and powerful undertake to help the poor and vulnerable – it is being thrown out of the window. Mr Starmer justifies this – and it does have logic to commend it – by saying ‘the British people must come first.’ But isn’t there an unholy whiff here of ‘America first’ and ‘Germany first’ and ‘Italy first’? It seems that the fires of dangerous nationalism are being stoked in the whole western world by Trump’s complete disregard for humanitarian values.

But let’s accept for the moment that this is simply a major shift in the prevailing political wind. Increasing defence spending to build up and train an increased military profile will take several years to make a substantial difference. So what happens if Trump’s new best buddy Putin decides to start reviving the Soviet bloc by invading one or all of the Baltic States next week and Trump says ‘Tough’? That would certainly test America’s commitment to NATO, wouldn’t it? Might we then witness what would effectively be the start of WWIII, and might it lead to America (and presumably China) remaining aloof and picking the best bones off the battlefield? (That’s as long as the losers don’t unleash the N word, of course.)

Is this Trump’s big stratagem? Is Trump capable of thinking that far ahead? Or is it all just me giving vent to wild fantasies again? I certainly hope so.

The Blog as Travelogue.

If somebody were to ask me: ‘What is your blog about?’ I suppose the easiest answer would be to categorise it as a sort of travelogue. It’s a running commentary on the myriad things I see, experience, and comment upon as I walk the road of my life. In short, it’s a description of the scenery that I walk through.

But now there’s a problem; my life has become a wasteland of late and so there’s no scenery to describe. About the only thing which catches my eye at the moment is the incomprehensible behaviour of Trump and his fairy godfather, the mega-rich South African, and I’ve become a little weary of that so I shut it out. Otherwise, there’s nothing to observe, experience, and comment upon (unless you count the ever-present depression and I’ve done that one to death.) So what should I do about it?

I began countering this state of affairs by searching for alternate worlds to briefly inhabit, and found a most engaging BBC series based on a well known trilogy of books here in the UK. Watching one hour-long episode a night for the last two weeks kept me well engaged, until last night when a bombshell exploded. I suddenly developed a profound dislike for the main protagonist, and accompanying her was my principle reason for being there. I no longer find her company acceptable, you see, so that’s one alternate reality gone. Maybe I’ll find another one soon.

(I suppose I might mention that I feel ill tonight – sore chest, light headedness, fatigue, and an odd taste in my mouth. I expect it’s down to the changeable weather we’re having at the moment. It usually is.)

So now I ask myself whether this is worth posting. Why not? It’ll keep the little counter ticking over and I doubt I shall die of it. Sorry about the tedium.

The Worm Turns.

Given the nature of international relations over the past eighty years, I find it somewhat odd to witness the President of the USA clearly siding with transparently guilty Russia, while exchanging childish insults with the President of the equally transparently wronged party. He even goes so far as to label Zelensky ‘a dictator.’ And Putin isn’t?

I could go on to speculate on the dubious state of Trump’s mind and the questionable nature of American ‘diplomacy’ over the years, but more fruitful duties call so I won’t bother. (And then there’s the fact that my outcries and asides don’t amount to a hill o’ beans in this crazy world anyway.)

The Question of Trump and Appeasement.

I read today that Mr Lavrov, the Russian Foreign Minister, says there would be no point inviting Europe to take part in the discussions over Ukraine because Europe just wants to prolong the war. This sounds farcical on first reading, but I assume that what he meant was that Europe doesn’t want Putin to come out of the conflict with a substantial land grab. Trump, on the other hand, is now putting distance between America and Europe and probably doesn’t give a monkey’s toss if Ukraine loses some of its territory. Trump is, therefore, the one the Russians want to deal with rather than Ukraine or any other representative of Europe.

And Trump’s own position would appear to be very simple. If he can get a deal – by hook or by crook – in which Russia withdraws but keeps some prime real estate close to the warmer parts of the Black Sea, he can then present himself to the world as a peacemaker. (He could even come up with some pathetic, fallacious sound bite as he did when he said ‘I took a bullet for democracy.’ And he would be more easily able to save billions of dollars in military aid to Ukraine, which would be more acceptable to the folks at home than firing half the American civil service.) Some people would no doubt see Trump’s position as appeasement and draw parallels with Anthony Eden’s response to Nazi aggression in 1939, but probably not enough to count for very much.

And I might be completely wrong, of course. Time will tell, won’t it?

(But do I detect a slight whiff of the potential for a much bigger conflict here, one which I expect America would watch from the sidelines? I hope not.)

The Lady B's Letter and the Wishing of Luck.

The weather here has been unremittingly dull and cold for the last week, and such conditions are unfavourable to my perceptions of life and the human condition. I’m tired of one and dismissive of the other. I’ve fallen into a state of mind comprising a sour cocktail of apathy, relentless musing, and the seeking of alternate worlds in which to immerse myself. Hence no blog posts.

Much of that musing has concerned the remote figure of the Lady B. She follows me as the scent of a tropical island might follow the lonely sailor heading west long after the fruits and flowers and seductive palms have sunk beneath the eastern horizon. Her physical presence is still in this world, but the phantasm lives only in a veiled place and out of reach.

Five and a half years ago I wrote her story down and settled it in an envelope. I asked my ex, Mel, to give it to her I’ve gone, but tonight I considered destroying it since what purpose would be served by her reading it? None at all, I suppose, but I’d still like her to read it anyway (although whether I shall care when the time comes remains to be seen – or not, of course.) I didn’t destroy it.

*  *  *

I wrote most of that last night until it began to bore me. Today has been dull and cold again with occasional drizzle, but we’re forecast to have higher temperatures and a little sunshine from Wednesday on.

Tonight I feel I should mention the big news from across the water. It appears that the USA – at least in the guise of Messrs Trump and Vance – is tired of playing Europe’s older and bigger brother who occasionally steps in to help when the latest bully is going around biffing everybody. America wants to stand aloof now, still being the Big Boss when it suits, but declining to spend dollars on the ne’er-do-wells over there. That way, Mr Donald can add 'Charity Begins at Home' to 'God Bless America' as he stands with hand on heart planning how to cement his position at the head of the table for the long haul. And more middle class Americans will get jacuzzis, and the truly rich will become truly richer, and America really will be great again. And can you blame him? (Whether it will work or not is part of a different argument.)

But what about us Brits? We gave up being part of Europe with the Brexit vote, didn’t we, and Donald has real estate over here. So will he make an exception for us? Well, whether he does or not, I think we might have to decide whether we want to be the obedient lap dog tucked securely in Donald’s folded arm, or go cap in hand back to the EU and build a bigger army.

And do I really care? No, I don’t really care, at least not for my own sake because my time is nearly up. Tomorrow is the business of today’s young, and it’s for them to deal with. I wish them the best of luck.

Trump and the Grabbing of Gaza.

Now let me see whether I’ve got this right. My understanding of the Israeli hardliners’ attitude towards the Palestinians runs roughly thus:

This whole land is our land. God gave it to us thousands of years ago and so it is scared ground. That being the case, only we have the right to occupy it; you have none. That’s why we’re forcibly evicting you from the place you have called home for many centuries and making it available to proper Jews. (If I’m in error, please feel free to correct me.)

If I’m right – or even approximately so – I wonder how the hardliners will feel about having part of their sacred ground owned by America and developed into yet another Mediterranean playground for wealthy westerners. I wonder whether this was the reason for Mr Netanyahu’s visit to his pal Trump a few days ago. I suppose Mr N might well be in favour of allowing a part of what he considers to be Israeli territory to become American-owned because Israel will then have another level of security against the dastardly Muslims. And so maybe he can persuade the hardliners to agree to having part of God’s own country swallowed up by American capital. Strange world, isn’t it?

But what about Hamas and other dissident groups in the Middle East? How would they feel about it? I can’t imagine they’d be too pleased, and I feel it would be logical to expect deaths and bloodshed to follow in the wake of such a project. If Israel really wants to take the steam out of Hamas, surely it needs to reach an acceptable accord with the Palestinians, not throw stinking mud in the faces of the armed wing.

And what of the Gazans themselves? I gather tens of thousands of them died in the recent ‘war’, and those that are left are now trying to rebuild their lives. How must they feel about somebody living over 4,000 miles away seriously threatening to relocate them and turn their homes and homeland into an investment opportunity? (It’s interesting that I haven’t yet heard anybody in the media use the term ‘diaspora.’)

I think it must be obvious that this plan of Trump’s is both heartless and the height of disrespect, but that’s just the nature of Trump. I’m quite sure that he has no heart, and I doubt he could even spell the word ‘disrespect.’

And another point occurs to me: For nearly forty years I’ve been complaining about the despoliation of the Mediterranean coastline by the tourist industry, especially the northern part fringing Europe. Even the locals are now complaining about it. They want tourism rationed there, and a return to something like sanity. Now Trump wants to do the same thing in the eastern Med, just as he took part of the wild Scottish coastline and built commercially attractive golf courses on it.

But will he succeed? Personally I doubt it, but Big Capitalism is a powerful enemy so maybe he will.

Taking the Wrong Line.

There’s a piece on the BBC sports website about Kadeja ‘Bunny’ Shaw, the Manchester City striker who is widely recognised as one of the best strikers in the women’s game, receiving ‘racist and misogynistic’ abuse on social media. The piece carries a statement from the Man City management expressing the usual outrage in the usual predictable terms: ‘There is no place for racism in our beautiful game and we will take all necessary steps to identify the culprits and punish them!’ and other similar platitudes. We’re seeing this kind of thing all the time now.

When are they going to realise that by taking this line they are only making matters worse because they’re letting the perpetrators know that their vomitous bile is having an effect? Social media has become huge now, and trolling comes with the territory. It’s as common as cow dung in the farmyard. So what can the players do about it?

Simple. They need to realise – and it shouldn’t take too much effort – that the women’s game has grown immensely and the top players are now basking in the limelight of celebrity. They are, by the societal perceptions of the day, highly successful people in their chosen field, whereas the perpetrators of abuse are sad little nobodies with nothing better to do. The perpetrators are also very much in the minority among the people who follow the sport.

So don’t publicise the abuse. Ignore it. And if they can’t ignore it, come off social media because it isn’t going to stop while it continues to be given big publicity and made to seem important.

The New Cold War.

Well, what a turn up. The old Cold War was a nice tidy business between, principally, the USA and the Soviet Union. The new Cold War is between the USA and Canada/Mexico. What fun. I wonder whether the fact that Canada is still part of the British Commonwealth of Nations has been given any consideration. Not that it would matter, I suppose. Maybe the French Canadians would even welcome being part of the 51^st state, although I somehow doubt it. Yes, fun indeed.

But I gather there’s a bigger concern – the effect of Trump’s Tariffs on the global macro economy. I remember it being said during Donald’s last occupation of the hot seat that, being a businessman rather than an economist, he understands micro economics but not the macro variety. I don’t suppose we need worry, though. I’m sure there are much bigger fish in the global economic sea than Mr Trump, and I expect they’ll be able to put him firmly in his place if the situation becomes too turbulent.

(Although I have been saying for many years that I can’t see big capitalism lasting forever - so did Karl Marx. It seems to me – and I admit that I know nothing about the intricacies of macro economics – that it’s all based on money, and we all know that money doesn’t exist in an objective sense. It’s all about trust and consensus, and those two pillars of support can be a little fragile when the waves of turbulence swell.)

*  *  *

By the way, my computer is following my lead. It really, really doesn’t like getting up in the morning. Neither does it like being given too much work to do. I apologise to him frequently, but just in case you hear never more of me…

Imbolc Oddities.

Soon after the clock struck 12 last night…

(What’s brown and sounds like a bell? Du-u-u-ng. I like that one.)

… I remembered that it was the start of the Celtic season of Imbolc, and so I did my usual ‘white rabbits-plus-two-repetitions’ thing as I always do at the start of every month. (Imbolc is a particularly propitious time, you see, because spring is when rabbits are known to multiply. And it’s impossible to know whether superstitions have any effect or not. It’s no good saying ‘I did the white-rabbits-with-two-repetitions thing and nothing good happened’, but you can never know whether something bad would have happened if you hadn’t. See?) And then I listened to lots of Celtic music on YouTube before going to bed.

Now, it is a fact that most of the odd things that happen to me happen in bed. Last night I was dreaming that I belonged to some sort of organisation which was twinned with a German organisation of like mind, and we came by the intelligence that our German friends had made us some soup. The problem was that we were unaware of how much soup they’d made, and so we didn’t know whether there would be enough to go around and that was causing consternation. In fact, so much consternation was being caused that it woke me up, and guess what – I felt chilled. There was no obvious reason to feel that way because it wasn’t a particularly cold night, the bedroom heater was working perfectly, and I was covered with a good quality flannel sheet and a 17 tog duvet. But chilled was what I felt, so I pulled the covers around my head and began to feel my whole body warming up rapidly. That was reassuring until I noticed that my hands were warming to an alarming degree, so alarming that I began to fear that they were about to burn. Seriously! And then they returned to normal.

So what was that all about? The German connection was probably the result of having read about the spat between Mrs Merkel and Mr Merz over the AfD thing (I did say I was keeping an eye on German nationalism, didn’t I?) Maybe the desire for soup was engendered by the fact of feeling chilled. But what about the burning hands? Was that biological, psychological, or paranormal? It’s never happened before so how can I know? But I might add that I’ve started to get intermittent sharp pains at the base of my fingers when I grip things, so maybe there’s a connection.

All I did today was pay my electric bill, which hopefully should ensure that I’ll have a functioning heater in my bedroom for at least another month. And this morning’s walk was uneventful, being entirely devoid of rabbits, Germans, or creatures with flaming talons.

And I know this post is tedious, but I wanted to get something on the blog to mark the start of Imbolc. Such things matter to a mind which spends most of its energy on the question of whether there’s anything meaningful about living a life.