Mum to the rescue

 Amongst the bric a brac that Sandro left behind for us to collect was a relatively new office chair which had been dismantled. Albina was determined to replace my old office chair with this new one. 

I was in despair as I had no idea how to reconstruct it and when I looked at the screws intended to hold together the back and the arms I noticed that the scredriver required had a miniscule span. Last night, after I came back from work, got the assembled pieces together, miraculously found the right mini-screwdriver, and, with me holding the pieces together, she set to work. Eventually, the pieces were all lined up, starting with the back of the chair, and then the sidearms. Albina managed to start fitting in the screws, but she had only so much strength in her arthritic hands. She asked me to finish turning the screws in tightly. This was not a good idea. I am not, and never will be, a DIY man. Quickly she noticed that I was turning the screws in the wrong direction. After some altercations, under her watchful eye, I finally got it right and the chair was ready to use. 

With great pride in my wife's achievement, I sent a picture to Sandro with the completed chair, acknowledging that "Mum is brilliant". And so she is.

In the meantime I put out a notice to the residents in my block that we had my old office chair available for anyone adventurous enough to want it.

I am please to see that NATO countrues are geting ready to hand over their Leopard tanks to Ukraine, but it is a slow process, the tanks will be too late to stop the Russian surge, the amount of tans will be small and they are mostly in a dilapidated state in nearly ever country they are coming from. I am please that in the iterim Poland is still sending 60 tanks of the old post-Soviet tanks, which the Ukrainians already know how to use, including the Polish Twardy tanks. I even wroye to The Times to make these points but it did not get printed this time. See below.

 Letter to the Editor of "The Times",

Dear Editor,

With regards to your report on "Ukrainian cities feel Putin's wrath after tanks pledge (Times 27.01.2022)", Western governments must understand that Putin could still win the current race for time. Belated pledges to send tanks in the next two or three months, are not the same thing as providing the tanks themselves, while Ukrainian civilians are dying from Russian bombs, and a Russian military surge is imminent. For now, supplying tanks is not a question of quality, but of quantity and speed.

That is why Poland is not only the primary host for Ukrainian refugees, but also, prior to a promised prompt delivery of 14 German Leopards, the immediate supplier of 30 more Polish Twardy tanks and a further 30 post-Soviet T-2 tanks.These the Ukrainian army can utilize straight away as they have already been trained to use both. Poland understands, better than most of its European neighbours, the need for urgency as it knows that its own precious independence can be guaranteed only if Ukraine also retains its independence. 

Yours faithfully,

Wiktor Moszczynski

Farewell to Cambridge

I am exhausted.

We had a full day at Cambridge on our last trip there to pick up the remainder of Sandro's belongings and furniture from his abandoned rented house in Cambridge. Albina and I took our friends Stefan and Ewa to assist us. Initially we had packed a heavy air conditioning unit onto Stefan's car, and then collected some stools, pot plants, lamps and clothings, as well an office chair for my office. Then we gave Stef and Ewa, who had never been to Cambridge, a quick visit to the city and a promise of a meal. We parked just to the east of the centre overlooking a weir on the Cam. We crossed over the weir and walked along the south side of the river, past the punt station and Magdalen Bridge to Trinity Street. Ewa in particular was enchanted by the city, understandably so. She chortled with glee at the narrow streets and elegant shops. We passed St Johns College and Trinity College with their sumptuous chapels heavy with statues and  tabernacles, but we had no access to the courtyards. However, Ewa and Albina were diving in and out of the clothes shops, while Stefan and I plodded on along Trinity Street towards Kings College, amused by our wives' priorities in their tour of a historic city, The bells of St Marys were peeling and the deadening echo reverberated over the narrow streets cutting short their window shopping and our conversation. The ladies caught up with us and joined us outside what purported to be the most beautiful building in Cambridge, Kings College Chapel. I say "purported" because the majestic perspective of the building was marred by heavy scaffolding, Apparently the leaden rood was being repaired to be replaced by a new structure that would include solar panels. Ecologically sound, perhaps, but architecturally, a travesty. I hope that the new structure would still involve a clear view of the extraordinary medieval fan vaulting which surmounted this inspired structure.

We repaired to a quaint nearby restaurant called the copper kettle and I battled the outside chill with a reassuring warm red lentil soup, while my co-passengers settled for lunchtime brunches. Ewa was delighted with the whole outing and took Albina back to the shops on the way back, whilw Stefan and I continued solving the world's problems, from the imminent sacking of Zahawi, the possible return of Boris to power which Stefan sympathized with, regrdless of the moral cesspit and politival and economic havoc that would cause. At least we agree on the despatch of Leopard and Challenger thanks to Ukraine. But talk of politics in a land riven by strijes with rising interest rates, falling house prices, and a health service "fallen on its face" in Starmer's words was just too depressing. We rejoined the ladies, crossed over the river to enjoy the twee overhanging houses on Magdalen Street, the inner courtyard of Magdalen College, the site of a Polish ceramics shop which dispayed faences from her local city of Lodz, and the made our way to our cars to head home.

It was that journey back that was such a strain to me. Following that good meal I began to feel sleepy, which fact O tried to keep from Albina for as long as I could, before eventually succumbing and parking up at the next road services. It was begin to get dark as we resumed our journey and we continued in a sort of twilight as we dashed down the M11 to hit the street lights of north London and journeyed in halting traffic home. Stefan and Ewa had expected us to go by their house, but we drive straight home, and I unloaded all the remaining paraphenalia from Sandro's house. We sent Sandro a picture of what furniture was still left to be collected by the Emmaus Charity. The rest is down to you, my son.

  

Covid passport updates.

 Fred Olsen Cruises has sent us an update on their requirements. They have described where our taxi is supposed to meet the boat and also listed all the covid restrictions they will require before we arrive and they want computerized evidence of having had the appropriate covid vaccinations and last minute tests. Of course we can do the Lateral Flow Tests one day before the voyage and get that recorded on line. I can also produce a Covid passport showing my five vaccinations, including the 3 required boosters. Albina has had the same jabs, but she has no email account, and so cannot produce a Covid passport. All she will be able to show is a list of her inoculations for the last twenty years, issued by our GP. Hope that will be good enough. They're not going to stop her travelling just because she has no email, are they?

They also want to corral us in on arrival at Southampton to check our covid passes and our UK passports. Then they will retain our passports for the whole 80 days. During our excursions they will show our passports to border officials themselves and in the meantime we are asked to carry photocopies of our passports on our phones and printed on paper. This is more like a secure facility than a relaxing holiday. 

Some an introduction to the concept of eternity. other new titbits in Olsen's letter. For Singapore we will have to complete something called an SG Arrival Card 72 hours prior to arrival at the port. For Vietnam we pay an immigration service fee docked from us by the shipping company. For Hong Kong we will need to wear a mask and have an extra Covid test with our own covid test kits. For Colombia we may need a yellow fever jab. 

Yet they still do not answer simple questions which I sent them, most notably about the correct electric plugs and the amount of suitcases.

I finally wrote up the 10 year history of the Friends of Polish Veterans Association and sent for her comments and grammatical corrections to my colleague Krystyna Dereszewska who was my Treasurer. So another job partly fulfilled.

Also, I received confirmation from the liaison office of London Assembly confirming that the Mayor of London would be pleased to visit the POSK building. In the meantime Wlodek, President of the Federation of Poles, says that the Federation AGM would not take place before I leave for my voyage. I reported that this morning at the POSK Council meeting, so that the Chairman can nominate someone to replace me as POSK representative at the eventual Federation AGM. He thanked me publicly at the Council meeting for arranging the meetings with the MP and now the Mayor of London. It was a monster of a meeting again lasting five and half hours, but not so ill tempered. It included key debates about the future of the ailing Lowiczanka Restaurant in POSK, and also the distribution between long term investment and immediate repairs from the 2 million pound income from the sale of a property inherited by POSK from Frascati Street in Warsaw. Luckily, the earlier bitter debates at the last POSK Council about the children's Syrena Theatre appear now been resolved. But some parents from the Syrena are still sending bitter personal attacks on Zaneta the cultural director. Attending these POSK council meetings is like undergoing an initiation into the concept of eternity. There are moments when you hide your face in your hands with frustration at the endless repetetive regurgitation of the same arguments as each participant wants to have he last word. However, each time I hide my face in despair, my lady colleague sitting next to me keeps prodding me to say "Don't fall asleep". 

A month to go

 A month to go before our trip around the world begins, and my worries are multiplying. While friends and work colleagues express their best wishes and congratulations on our decision to go, and some even voice their jealousy in company memos, I am consumed by a whirlpool of worry and doubt. I still don't know if the journey will be liberating for us, or will it be a prison for 80 days on a ship we cannot leave? Can Albina and I keep up the routine of getting up in the morning, going for breakfast and maintaining necessary daily routines for 12 weeks, while the hours of the day change from day to day? There will always be the temptation for me to go off to breakfast on my own, and Albina to stay behind in bed, unless I stand over her, override her protests, and impress on her the need to get up and share breakfast with me. 

Also other concerns. I know I don't have sea legs for rough weather. Will I be plagued with sea sickness? How many suitcases can we take and where can they be stored on the vessel? On that last question I have sent a enquiry to Fred Olsen but not yet received a reply? I have also asked to find out what plugs are needed in the ship's electric sockets? EU or UK? 

I worry whether we can get all the medicines we will both need to last for, effectively, 3 months, and ensure the supply from both hospital and pharmacy in time to pack them all into appropriate pillboxes before the journey. I worry about the panicky packing before the trip, but, even more, the packing before the end of the voyage. Will we manage to do that in the last 3 days after leaving the Azores and before arrival at Souuthampton? We still need to get our jabs, but how will Albina react to them with her vulnerability to infection? Will I be able to return to work on the first Monday after we disembark at Southampton? Will I remember all the passwords and IT systems on my return, as well as all the varied rules for Arab export certificates of origin and for preparing carnets?

Will I still be able to complete all the outstanding community issues before I leave? I have just managed to write that invitation letter to Sadiq Khan to visit the POSK building in the spring, which I promised the POSK Chairman, but I still have to write a potted histrory of the Friends of Polish Veterans Association for their new website, which I also promised? That was a complex and painful history which I am frankly in the unique position of knowing the whole history, as I was the reluctant chairman of that organization for ten years. Just on Sunday I was roped in to an emergency meeting organized by Polish MP Joanna Fabisiak about how Poland can assist in relieving the acute social problems of the Polish diaspora in the UK and I contributed to the ideas, but I must avoid getting drawn in further. I have just heard of the sudden death of longtime Federation of Poles activist, Helena Miziniak, who died following a tragic accident in her garden? I will need to attend the funeral when I know the date, but I will not be drawn into any further commitments over commemorating her life.

And the biggest concern is the fact that for the first time in our 50 years of marriage, Albina and I will be together for those 80 days, without any interruption or distraction from outside, submitting ourselves to the discipline of the ship and the cramped conditions of what purports to be a luxury cabin with a balcony. Can we still survive that? Can love and common sense carry us through? Will we fight all the time? Will we both connect with other passengers and crew? Or will I be doing that on my own? Will we allow ourselves to enjoy the public facilities and the shows that the vessel's crew organize, or will be like recluses sticking to our cabin, detemined not to spend not a penny more than we have to? Certainly we both have no inention of celebrating any of the Formal Nights with a ludicrous black tie dress code, but I may want to enjoy the music and dancing. Possibly Albina will not participate even in that. I will try and enthuse her every day into going out and enjoying what the ship and the excursions have to offer. But will I be succesful. Most of the time when a party or event with riends crops up she says "Go. Go and enjoy yourself. I'm not up to it." I hope she does not repeat that on the boat. I guess I can harvest my doubts about her participation in advance, but hopefully they will not overwhelm our trip. Perhaps these doubts will become a forgotten nightmare as we enjoy this long luxury cruise that every one else is envying? Heigh ho! We have a holiday to enjoy. Let's get on with it. 

Saturday school nostalgia

 Yet another second trip to Cambridge on Saturday to clear up Sandro and Liisa' bric a brac with their drums and games and needlework and Lord of the Rings castle settings and lamps and countless bits of  clothing, all now lined up in our internal corridor, as Albina had finished sticking various earlier boxes into every nook and cranny in our spare bedroom. Each journey is a trial as Albina plagues me with comments about not travelling too fast (i.e. more than 50mph), veering off the centre of my lane and not going into fifth fast enough. It's a trial for her as well, as she is not good at sitting down in one position for more than an hour. Each time we forget to get her a soft cushion to sit on during the journey. Packing the stuff from their living room into the car is actually fun, as i plan where else I can fit thing that seem impossible to fit. Uloading it at all at our flat is less amusing as I carry the stuff through 2 safety locked fire doors and a lift we share with 20 other families. On this occasion I used the lift 9 times. Also on this occasion, the car was showing signs of distress. As soon as I turned the ignition key,  an icon flashed at me from the dashboard, showing excessive pressure on our tyres. So we travelled with that handicap, wondering at any stage of the 2 hour journey whether our overloaded mechanical beast of burden would break down and require RAC assistance. All that to endure for our lovely children. What particularly worried me as I was loading the car, was Albina rummaging around the house looking for additional goods to take, including wooden stools and table lamps. I knew that meant that next weekend we would have to do the same trip a third (and last!) time. 

On the Friday night I had attended a commemorative event, including a concert, to mark the 70th anniversary of the Polish Education Society (PMS) in the UK, hosted by the Polish Embassy. They're the organization that plans the curriculum, organizes regular teacher conferences, manages the mass insurance, and facilitates the need to comply with government rules on criminality checks for teachers at most of the 130 or so Polish Saturday schools throughout the country. I have cooperated with them many times in the past lobbying on three different occasions to protect either the Polish A level or O level (later GCSE), which is a major feature of Polish Saturday schools for older children. I enjoyed those lobbying sessions getting my Labour MP friends to intervene successfully on behalf of their Polish constituents. 

A feeding frenzy followed after the concert and last speech, as the participants dived downstairs to enjoy some beef stew and pierogi, to share with a glass of prosecco. I chatted to the Ambassador and he said how he could envisage me still as a child in short trousers attending one of these Polish schools. This was true of so many of my contemporaries present at the reception, who still play key roles in Polish organizations. I confirmed that I had indeed been a "willing guinea pig" for the PMS teaching programme exactly 70 years ago. That seemed to surprise His Excellency, as he thought I was still in my 60s. I actually used to enjoy these classes, just as to show off my knowledge of Polish history and geography. I thanked the Ambassador for his comments on Belarus, where the Lukashenka government is auctioning off the confiscated property of the local Polish Education Society in Grodno. He seemed concerned that Western opinion was going soft on Lukashenka as they were trying to wean him off supporting a second invasion of Ukraine from the north. Wrong message. Trouble with Lukashenka is that, like his pal Putin, he only understands tough talk and sanction threats, not the soft soap treatment.  

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth

Albina has said yes! I have now made my contract with Authorhouse about the possibility of commiting to print some of the comments in my "private" blog, while galivanting around the world. I shall be keeping my blog in English, as it is the language I am most comfortable with. Much to the disappointment of Regina from the Union of Polish Writers, I should add. She was hoping to include my texts in a coming edition of the Union of Writers biannual book sized periodical. It is true that I have written over 400 articles in Polish, many of them published in book form. However, writing in that language, the language of my parents and my pre-school childhood, is still a struggle. I have to surround myself with dictionaries and check and recheck my vocabulary. Even then I still make grammatical errors which friends occasionally can put right before publication, but often there is no time for that correction to be made. I then have to rely on my magazine editors or book publishers to do that for me. 3 years ago Regina recommended me for a book prize on my last Polish book, but the jury turned my nomination down because the publication had allowed too many grammatical errors and spelling mistakes to remain. Thank you for that, Oficyna Kucharski in Torun. But it is not just a question of grammatical errors. It is also a question of my Byzantine style of sentence construction and my lack of awareness of new Polish colloquialisms. Hardly surprising really, as I have never lived in Poland, except for occasional tourist outings or academic visits, and have no point of reference to Polish television or films, or day to day idioms. My metaphors would be based on my English environment and on prewar Polish themes and language which we imbibed in Polish Saturday schools or in scout camps. The Polish texts I wrote would be perfectly understandable to others born in the UK, but would sound oddly stilted and anachronistic to a true native of Poland, especially from Communist Poland. And the strangest thing of all was that we would be drilled as children into avoiding English words and phrases, and now we find that the modern Polish language is littered with English phrases and idioms that we would have been ashamed to use. So English it is for my blog.

Godd for Albina. She recently showed off her technical skill when she repaired the top drawer in my desk after the front panel was disconnected, and she constructed the new metal clothes valet stand that I had ordered for the bedroom to replace the one which got broken. In our marriage, my job is to do all the reading and writing, including even writing Christmas cards and reading product manuals, and Albina is in charge of any technical or aesthetic endeavour. She will fix a loose floorboard as long as her arthritic hands can hold the nail and the hammer, she will rearrange our flower pots every week or  smooth out the wrinkles of the throw on our settee, and I will look after the internet. Albina does not even have an email address and all her financial issues are sent to my email, not hers. The Labour Party even complained that we have quoted the same email for my Party membership and Albina's Unite membership and demanded we have separate emails (which I ignored). On the other hand the only email she could quote in order to have access to any information on her cell phone is mine, as she has none of her own. Consequently, she has constant access to all my emails, but luckily she can never be bothered to read them. She might just occasionally spot the odd heading especially if it concerns some Polish organization or female person she disapproves of, so I have to have my explanations ready. Not much opportunity there for any strange or questionable outside interests. Perhaps just as well.

Albina also helped me out financially in ordering a new pair of glasses after my visit to Specsavers this morning. My post-operation test confirmed the dramatic improvement in my eyesight, but it will still need to be enhanced by a new pair of glasses which should be ready now by February 1st. Still in time for our voyage then. All this in tat for tat for my purchasing her expensive hearing aid. 

Another potential worry was the possible loss of a strategic top tooth in the centre of my mouth that had taken the full weight of my fall outside the office in Ashford some months ago, when I had to wear that wrist brace, and was otherwise heavily bruised. I was sensitive to any added pressure on that tooth and it had become increasingly wobbly in the last couple of weeks. Would I possibly lose it? And be found walking round embassy receptions or tropical excursions with a gaping hole amidst my molars? It would make, even someone with my thick sin, feel self conscious and vulnerable. Yet if I had the tooth removed now, then would the dentist find time to replace with a new bridge encompassing all my upper teeth? Or would I have to consider acquiring a whole row of new impants? All within the space of the next five weeks! Again, Albina offered to cover any costs. So, after Specsavers, I popped over to the dentist. Lord be praised! He thought the tooth would hold for quite a few months yet, unless I was involved in another accident. The tooth can stay. So no need for all that worry. I am ship shape and all systems go for the big adventure, after all. 

To publish, or not to publish

 

I have started running this blog journal in late July as a build up to the biggest adventure of our lives. Should my thoughts be private? I genuinely want to share our experience of this, for us, unique and  extraordinary holiday, both as a travelogue and as a record of how we survive it together as a couple, as we have never been so close to each other for so long before. We are used to my disappearing off to work or to community activities, while she basically stays at home and looks after our large and spacious flat in Brentford, to which she gives as much devotion and attention as she did previously to our recently destroyed beautiful house in Ealing. Even our super king size bed is spacious and embellished with an in built television at the foot of our bed. We actually have to stretch our arms and look for each other as we lie together in this huge space. Truly luxury. But now we are going to spend 80 days together in a small cramped cabin with only a double bed together, possibly fighting again over our movable bed cover. That in itself will be an adventure.

Having said all that, if I am to share this adventure with the public, I need a publisher. My connection with the publishing world is largely Polish and they would be no use for an English text. Even though I have contacted an Anglo-French literary agent I knew socially, I did not get any response. However, I contacted a self-publishing firm, Authorhouse, who published "Hello, I'm Your Polish Neighbour" for me twelve years ago. They initially made me an offer, which needs to be responded to quickly, otherwise it will be £600 more expensive. After spending a massive amount of my personal savings to help purchase Albina's expensive hearing aid, I shall have to get Albina's support to pay the publisher's fee and I know that Albina rather likes privacy and is not so keen on this journal. Let us hope I can convince her. After all, she knows I like to write, and it will be our joint adventure, after all.

We are still sorting out the tricky after effects of Sandro's sudden departure. On Sunday, we travelled again to Cambridge and filled the car with various possessions, including the beautiful Polish mountaineers' chess set I bought him years ago, and also many of Liisa's books, clothes and furnishings, so again our car was fully packed and I had to travel with my rear view blocked. Albina hates these journeys as she gets uncomfortable sitting anywhere for longer than half an hour and each journey takes at least two hours one way. But it is a necessary task and we will have to go again next Saturday, after coordinating it with friends and with the Emmaeus charity. Heigh ho! You are a parent for life, even if you have direct influence on your child for only the first twenty years. After that they know best, and you are brought in to the equation only when they need you.  

Unpacking those goods in Brentford and carrying everything in at least 9 lift journeys into our flat was also a back breaking experience which we will aslo have to repeat next weekend. Albina cannot do any heavy lifting, or raise her arms above her shoulders, or grip anything with her arthritic hands, so the carrying is down to me. But she has managed with her usual flair to pack these intrusive additions to our flat tidily and discreetly, with only the heavier boxes lining our corridor. I do not know how she will manage the next invasion but she hopes that some of this will be collected by Sandro and Liisa in their occasional visits to England, and some of the rest we can distribute to friends. 

The Economist on the German Reparations for Poland issue

                A picture of President Duda meeting President Steinmeier

 Following an article in The Economist the previous week about the abortive attempt by Kaczynski and his acolytes in the Polish government to demand wartime reparations from Germany, I wrote the following letter to the editor of The Economist.

Dear Editor,

In relation to your description of Polish strongman Jaroslaw Kaczynski "Frenemies on the Oder" (07.01.23), it is a sad thing that a good case for raising again the issue of proper German reparations to Poland, undermined previously by Soviet intervention, has been hampered this time by the counterproductive loudhailer diplomacy of Mr Kaczynski and his government. Initially the 1.3trn euro claim was intended as a failed pre-electoral tactic against the Polish "unpatriotic" liberal opposition, who actually endorsed the principle of reparations and even asked why a similar claim was not being made against Russia. The Polish leader's lack of "polish", made worse by his ignorance of any Western foreign language, should not be a reason for not trying to heal the intense buried national trauma, with its 6 million dead, that previous Polish governments had neglected. I would  hope that, despite the negative German reply, the opportunity would not be lost, by this, or a future Polish government, to remake the case for reparations on a more financially realistic basis, aimed as an information campaign for newer German generations to encourage more cultural exchange and further investment in Poland's economy and in its defence. 

Yours faithfully

Wiktor Moszczynski

Needless to say, they did not find space to print my letter in the magazine which came out today, but I did receive the following helpful response from the Economist's German correspondent:

Dear Mr Mosczczynski

Many thanks for your letter, which was forwarded to me as the author of the article in question. 

I agree with you completely. It is tragic that Poland's perfectly legitimate grievances should be so counter-productively expressed. I suspect plenty of Germans would be open to some sort of dialogue on the whole tangled issue of reparations. But when demands are presented as threats, the obvious German response is to roll up in a ball. The biggest fear in Berlin is not of "angry Poles" but of giving ammunition to Germany's own right wing loonies.

In any case, I have recommended that your thoughtful letter should be published.

All the best

Max Rodenbeck

Flown the nest

 I had had a bad night on Tuesday because of my anxiety over Albina. . She was still in hospital, feeling weakened by her biopsy and subsequent loss of blood. In the mean time Sandro and Liisa only arrived at Boston Manor station very late last night, that is almost at midnight. The amount of luggage that had lugged with them barely fitted into my car after they both got in.

Next morning, still anxious, I went to work, having swapped my usual Tuedsay with a colleague who was going to be away on Wednesday. I knew that even if Albina would be allowed to go home that day, it would only be in the evening when I could collect her and she would not have been spending her son's last day in England with him for as long as she had wanted. 

Yet when I did collect she was chirpy and energetic, still capable of berating me because she had to walk at least five minutes in the driving wind to reach the spot where I had parked the car. Sandro and Liisa were at a gong away party somewhere in South London with their many friends from university and beyond. Again they had to be collected from Brentford station also very late, way past 10pm. However, the four of us were together and chatting for at least an hour. We discussed the details of our hiring a van to remove their excess goods still left uncollected at their Cambridge address and we now had details of the charity, Emmaeus, that had promised to collect much of their furniture. They have shifted a lot of the details of their move to us but as we're the parents, what can we do but help out? We talked about their future plans, but carefully avoiding any questions about marriage or children (taboo subjects), as we know these questions upset them. I suppose it's none of our business. If you have a child, you dedicate about twenty years of your life to bring them up and educating them, and after that you only have a look in, or a say, only if they want you too. On a need to know basis. And if they are in Finalnd and the children, if any, are educated there, then we would not even have any connection with them, which would upset Albina greatly. We also showed them brochures of our great trip, giving them a glimpse of what awaits us, and perhaps making them just a little jealous? 

Thursday morning Albina and Liisa took a taxi while Sandro and I took the car, crammed to the gunnels (whatever that is) with six heavy suitcases. We needed two trolleys to wheel the suitcases the long distance from the car terminal to the Finnair desk at Terminal 3. After that we had a really relaxing breakfast in the terminal and saw them off with no tears and a just a quick photo before their flight.

After 32 years Sandro, our one and only, has not just fled the nest; he has fled the forest. Judging by the current state of the UK, he and Liisa have left in the nick of time.

Taj Mahal booked

 

Today, I have finally managed ro nail down the final land tour booking that had eluded me until now, a three day trip from Mumbai to Delhi and Agra, ending with a flight to Kochi to rejoin the ship. This outing, of course, includes the Taj Mahal. For some reason this and even other even more expensive tours in India had not been made available along with the others, when first booked them in December. Unfortunately, Albina does not feel up to it, as it involves a long bus journey and a day wondering the dusty streets of Agra under a hot sun. Of course I can understand that. At a large number of destinations on the route, in order to travel together, we have deliberately chosen the less adventurous tours, where there is not so much walking in the hot sun and not so many stairs. In other places, we have split up, with Albina taking the softer options or staying on the boat, while leaving th dusty long trails to me. That includes my trip to Cairo from Port Said, the visit to Karnak temple and the submarine adventure in Maui, in Hawaii. Other options to book still remain and we have been reminded that sometimes local excursions booked in the port on arrival could be cheaper than the prebooked ones. 

However, the fact that we will not visit the Taj Mahal as a couple, is genuinely sad. What better place than this temple to love to reaffirm our 50 year marriage? When there, I shall have to send her a selfie picture by phone. At that time she will be travelling around the waterways of Goa, so she won't feel too deprived of happy sensations. We have now covered each stopping point with at least one excursion, except for Brindisi, the second day in Singapore, and Acapulco, that last because we will be meeting our old friends Jack and Lyn.

I have just booked our three necessary vaccinations with a clinic in Brentford for February 2nd. That clears another obstacle before we travel.

Also at lunchtime a courier arrived with our passports, each one now displaying an Indian visa, bearing our glum looking photos. The visas are valid for a year. Another job done. 

Albina is having another biopsy again. This is potentially quite scary as her creatinine levels have been rising steadily in the last couple of weeks following the removal of her two redundant kidneys earlier this year. I dropped her at Hammersmith Hospital early this morning and hope to collect her later in the day. I trust that the results will not impinge on our holiday trip. However, she has rung me to say she is very very weak and losing blood in her urine. They are keeping her further for an infusion and for further observation.

All this is happening as I also await news from Sandro and Liisa who are finally leaving their house in Cambridge today and will be on their way down to London by train. I am due to collect them this evening from Boston Manor station with three heavy suitcases. Who wil I be collecting first? Sandro and Lissa? Or Albina?

 

   

Walking dry-eyed behind the coffin

 

Albina and I drove up today to see Sandro in Cambridge, deliver some empty suitcases and collect packed suitcases and some longer term storage that he will leave in the UK for now. Their ground floor sitting room was filled from room to room with packed cartons ready for the freight transport which will collect the goods on Tuesday. We had a quick meal in a local pub and left them to it with continuing the packing. Sandro wants me to liaise with local charities and with Cambridge City Council to collect the goods he and Liisa will be forced to leave in Cambridge, when they move permanently to Finland this coming week. On Tuesday, after their goods are collected, that are coming down to London by train (which will NOT be on strike that day) to spend the last couple of days with us.

On the way back we drove through the driving rain by way of the M11 and the North Circular. The route was lined with stricken cars on the hard shoulder, heavy spray from passing lorries and huge puddles sometimes right across the carriageway. The noise was so loud I did not even hear the news bulletins until I got home. Then I realised one of my worst fears had been borne out. Bolsonaro's angry mobs had invaded the Congress building in Brasilia, the Supreme Court and had even surrounded the presidential palace. Luckily Lula was in Sao Paulo and immediately condemned the attack promising to punish the perpetrator. Other governments had spoken up in defence of democracy in Brazil, including Jake Sullivan, the US security adviser. Bolsonaro is following Trump's policy of denial, slash and burn. I understand he is currently in the USA but you can be sure it will not be Biden he will be visiting. On which side will Trump appear, and on which side Xi and Putin?

Am desperately trying to forget about poor Harry who is noe even beginning to question how his mother died. But Albina remains glued to the subject and also scornful of Harry. Harry has described his guilt at the fact that he could not cry for his mother after she was killed. He described how he, still only 12 years old,  had to keep a sombre dry-eyed face as he shook the moist hands of the public, even though they had just been wiping away their tears for a woman they did not know, but who was everything to Harry. A genuinely poignant reflection. However, Albina was not impressed. She did not know her father and she lost her beautiful young mother, when she was only seven years old. She too was made to walk immediately behind the coffin dry-eyed. Unlike Harry she walked through the snow to the burial plot completely alone, She was followed at a distance by her squabbling family, but without any young friend or relative  to whom she could confide or even hug. She too built up a thick skin for herself as she battled alone and friendless to survive at the hands of her fractious family. Resentful she may have been, but certainly she had no sense of guilt about not shedding a tear. That would only have made her vulnerable.

The Smolensk tragedy revisited.

 Fred Olsen have just sent us an additional programme of the special black tie events that will taking place on board every week during the cruise, and also the special theme nights, such as the Egyptian night when we sail through the Suez Canal, the Indian night as we sail from Kerala, or the Carnival night as we sail through the Panama Canal. Sounds exotic, but I am aware that Albina is unlikely to attend any of these, and I must confess that black tie events are not my scene, either. Perhaps I will attend one or two on my own, with her permission.

Also I have just been on a visit to the Moorfields Centre in Ealing Hospital and they have concluded that my two eye operations have been succesful. It only behoves on me now to go to Specsavers to get a new eye test and then order a new pair of glasses for the voyage, with the assistance of Albina of course. There is no way that such an important task as choosing my own glasses, could be left to me alone. She is responsible for my outer appearance, namely what I wear, what shoes and underwear I need and what glasses I wear. The only choice I have left is the colour and shape of my hat. After all, she is the one that has to look at me, not myself. In any case, she has ordered an eye test for the same date as me, on January 18th., so we shall sail through this ordeal together.

In the meantime I am bombarded by news from the outside world.  Prince Harry has gone completely loopy. In his new book with the suggestive title, "Spare" he has come up with embarassing private revelations about himself and his family which is like a written version of Britney Spears running naked and despairingly cutting off her hair. Embarassed young commentators accosted by a journalist on the streets of Windsor, who would normally have been considered sympathetic to Harry, have said that his narrative should have been kept private, and should be an internal family matter. Harry talks of the most trivial incidents, like a near punch up with his brother, jokes with his father about his parenthood, arguments over Meghan's bridesmaids dresses, or how he was seduced by an older lady at back of a pub and had his bottom spanked, all items one would hesitate to include even as anecdotes in a jovial biography, let alone a serious account of the royal family. Perhaps he expects us to reel back with horror at the injustice of it all, as he rakes in his milions from the book and continues his lavish life style. . Then on top of that triviliaty, he claims to have killed 25 members of the Taliban, a revelation which normally no modern soldier would ever give, and describes them only as chess pieces in a conflict. For the first time in my life I found myself agreeing with a Taliban spokesman who criticized this statement about a chess piece and stated that every one of those he killed had a family. His own army mates have expresses horror and dismay at such a statement and it could even lead to some clerical body issuing a fatwa. That will complete his personal security more than ever, while he screams from the rooftops about preserving his family's privacy and safety. The book is just a car crash. 

Free advice to the royals. Do not respond. This book has imploded on itself and its author, and it wounds Harry fatally. Also please don't issue any more anonymous palace responses such as the one claiming that his behaviour hastened the death of the Queen, and was "like a machete in the back" to the royal family. That's also a hysterical statement and will only justify the need for a further wounded response from Harry. By all means, express sorrow and sympathy for your son , Your Majesty, but do not correct anything, as you are facing the ravings of a madman, regardless of how true his staements are.  

In the meantime Sunak and Starmer have issued their respective new year statements of intent, devoid luckily of any bombast, but somewhat lacking in presenting any vision as well, or likely to solve any of the immediate problems facing everyone in this country. At least the UK is no longer governed by mad people and rogues, even though the current lot do not seem to be in control of events. Regrettably, Sunak is still in no position yet to finding a way to end the strike nightmare, and Starmer is not in a position to help him. The dying agony of this government continues, but so does the agony of so many hungry pensioners and young families, not knowing where to turn, and seeing no immediate light at the end of this long tunnel.

Of course, Putin's Orthodox New Year truce remains a hoax and a piece of Russian PR, aimed not at the West, but at the Russians themselves, as Putin cements ever closer the Russian state and the Russian Orthodox Church in their joint crusade to slay the Ukrainian monster and restore an imperial Russia. It is only as expected, while the endless bombardment of Ukrainian power sources goes on. Experts are beginning to expect this war to continue throughout the rest of this year.

Also fascinating statistics, based on the 2021 Census results, which show that less than one percent of adults over 16 has an issue with their own gender that they was born with, and just 3% do not consider themselves to be heterosexual. There is, however, one fly in the ointment in this analysis. It seems 7% of the adult population failed to respond to an optional question on their sexual orientation. That leaves the staistics quite unreliable. So the issues of LGTBQ remain important as a measure of our tolerance and understanding, but they only impact on the daily life of a relatively small minority in the UK. Gone are the wild claims that upto a quarter of the population are gay. By all means enjoy the Gay Pride marches but be aware that they represent only a small and loud minority. People with disabilities are a much larger and a more important and a more deserving minority  to protect.

Finally, I have been sent a long report on You Tube based on a tedious one hour analysis by the independent TVN station in Poland, which undermines the conclusions of the Macierewicz Commission about President Kaczynski and 94 other Polish leaders being victims of a bomb on thir plane in 2010. The conclusion was that in the fog at Smolensk, the plane crew misread their instruments and hit some raised ground after losing the tip of its wing against a tree. The deconstruction of the Commission's conclusions was so thorough, but so tedious, that I fell asleep watching it, so it must be true! Just joking. I will listen to it again tomorrow, when I come back from Cambridge. However, this report has led to yet another attempt by the PiS government to remove TVN's licence to broadcast, although their viewing figures now challenge the official main state TVP channel. I am desperate to see that corrupt malevolent Polish government removed.

Welcome to India

 Finally on January 5th Albina and I managed to lodge our visa applications successfully at the Indian Visa Centre in Hounslow. We arrived again in this gigantic parking area for visa and passport applicantes, other employees of the 7 storey Vista Centre and for second hand car traders, who use the site to display their offerings. Most of the cars seem to be parked here pemanently as I have seen the same ones on each of my three visits to this site. Actually paying the parking fee is very confusing as different signposts display different notices offering different telephone numbers to ring. It actually took me four phone calls and fifteen minutes to actually pay the parking fee. I deliberately left Albina in the car until I had completed that transaction as her fretting impatience would have been unbearable. Luckily when I returned to the car she had been busy chatting to her Warsaw cousin on the phone and had not noticed the length of time it took.

Back we went to the building entrance, only to find that the four lifts to the first floor, and probably to every other floor in this massive building, was not working. That is pretty scandalous for such a building with so much contact with the public. I had to help a grumbling Albina mount the staircase to the first floor, one painful step after another. Then there was a short queue to obtain the numbered ticket to reach the right window where we could lodge our applications until we finally entered a long crowded hall completely filled to the gunnels with Indian families sitting or standing and awaiting their turn. We found some seats near, but not next, to each other, as waiting applicants obligingly removed their bags from them. On checking our numbers and the ones displayed on the electronic notice monitor, we realised we still had a long wait ahead of us. There were around 20 windows, of which some 10 were open and staffed by consular officials. We watched as indvidual applicants and whole families awaited their turn and then approached their allocated windows when their numbers were called. Some took only a few minutes to have their documents checked and approved, others took longer or had to withdraw their applications after much discussion, though I saw few incidents of any flash of bad temper or louder arguments. Presumably they were aware that any argument with these officials would be futile, and probably counterproductive.

The overwhelming numbers of applicants were British citizens of Indian origin. They included families with little children, some with three generations present, while others were individual men, possibly businessmen or money earners in the UK visiting their families in India. I have to say that the chidren, though obviously bored out of their minds, were mostly quiet and well behaved, which was a welcome change from a British waiting room. There were some white British or Europeans like us there, perhaps a tenth of those present, and these were mostly middle aged women. In front of us was an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair with a younger middle aged couple, and I wondered how he had come up that forbidding staircase. While many applicants left after surviving their ordeal at the window, their seats were soon taken up by new arrivals, so the place remained full. 

After a 2 hour wait it was finally our turn. We presented our application forms and our passports, as well as a copy of the email advising us of the application date. The young bearded official gave a facecheck to the applications and asked for photocopies of our passports. I gave him a copy of the two passports together but he shook his head. He needed each passport photocopied seperately on A4 paper. Also it transpired that he need a second copy of the invitation email, even though both our names and passport numbers appeared on the one page. That was not good. However, he checked the applications thoroughly, comparing the information on there to the information on our passports. Then he took payment for the visas, a total of £295.14 for the two of us, and asked me to arrange the extra photocopies of the passports and the invitation email, in the meantime handing me back our passports. Then he summoned the next applicants to his window. I rushed to the far end of the waiting room where they had a photocopier, but I needed a 50p coin for each of the three photocopies and there was no change available. So Albina descended down to the cafe at the bottom and I wandered into one of the private visa application agencies below the ground floor, asking if I could use their photocopier. Finally they did that for me at a £1 per copy. I rushed back upstairs and caught the guy at our window just as he had finished with the next applicants. He took back the passports and the extra copies, nodded, and said "You can go now." Apparently the passports will be returned to us by mail sometime in the next 10 days.

As I descended back to the cafe I came across the couple with the sick old man in the wheelchair. The man carred the wheelchair and his wife attempted to help the old man painfully, very painfully, down the steps. I was still encumbered by my documents but soon others rushed forward to help them down the two sets of steps to the ground floor past the redundant lifts. That was a miserable testimony to the inhumanity of those running this centre, and a salute to those who rushed forward to help the family.

At least the visa nightmare is over and tomorrow I have to nail that booking for the Taj Mahal, which has still not been made available. A true first taste of India.  

Plunging into 2023

 2023. This year, we both agreed, should be our year. The year Albina and I spend together, preparing for and experiencing the journey of a lifetime, which we want to to enjoy together while we are still capable of  enjoying and and capable of affording it. It is a huge dent in our reserve funds emanating from the sale of our beautiful house in Inglis Road, Ealing, but it is an expenidture we both authorized to each other as a one off. 

Well from that point of view we did not start well, as we celebrated the New year seperately. But at least that was by mutual consent. We were invited by friends who ran a funeral business to a party which inlcluded our friends Kasia and Agnieszka, among others. They were all keen to see us come. The party was in Basingstoke, which for me was an awkward place to get to by public transport (train from Brentford to Clapham Junction using my Freedom Pass, then a train from the Junction to Basingstoke by South West Rail after purchasing a ticket at the point where I changed trains). Agnieszka at least offered me a lift back by her friends' car. However, Albina opted not to go as she now wants to avoid all parties or social functions. Having failed to get het to change her mind, I offered to stay with her, but she insisted that I go to the party "as you will obviously enjoy it". 

In Catholic Poland New Years Eve is referred to as St Silvester's Day, and in the afternoon we had invited Stefan and Ewa for a tea and cakes, and we invited them to take some of the plants we had inherited from Liisa, including the potted bay tree. Once they had departed I had a full meal to ensure that I would not be drinking at the party on an empty stomach. Then, armed with a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolates, and burdened, at Albina's insistence, by a pair of slippers and pyjamas, I set off for Brentford station to catch the first train. The incessant rain of that day had finally stopped. 

I had reached Clapham Juntion, that extaordinary Victorian transport montrosity, where the railway lines emanating from London's many rival southern train terminals were squeezed into a broad gap and intercrossed, before being let loose on to the near, far and distant corners of Southern England, as well as to their historic gateways to France and the Empire. The Victorian empire builders were so proud of this jumbled concoction of platforms created just south of the Thames by the XIXth century private railway entrepreneurs, that they used it as a symbol for their Anglocentric world view, so that they felt no hesitation in dubbing Singapore rather patronisingly as the "Clapham Junction of the Orient".  That said, the broad gap I mentioned from the northernmost platform leading from Windsor and Weybridge, and including my line from Brentford, to the ticket office at the southern exit to the station, is traversed  by an angled bridge which it takes 10 minutes to cross, followed by another five minute walk back after buying a tickey in order to reach the platform for Basingstoke and Southampton trains. Just changing trains there is an adventure in itself, provided you know where you are going.

I was picked up at Basingstoke station by the wife (a strapping young male) of the funeral director and joined the revellers at the house, only to find that there was a richly prepared food buffet on offer, including choice meats, pasta salads and bigos (a very meaty and cabadgey Polish hunters' stew), to absorb any alcoholic intake from the continuous rounds of neat, as well as concocted, shots on offer. Despite my earlier meal, I joined the others as we ate and drank and partied and chatted, against a medley of Polish and English songs. At the midnight hour, we exchanged calls to our absent loved ones (Albina did not even bother to answer, and Sandro was brief and terse) and by one o'clock, bloated and genuinely tired, I was ready to go to bed. The other revellers were were all much younger then me, in their 40's and 50's, and I was all of 76, so the mixture of two heavy meals, vodka shots, beer and a large gin and tonic was enough for me. I was given a room to sleep in, changed into my pjs and soon I was fast asleep. They partied on regardless. 

I woke around 8 in the morning, got dressed, and found the sitting room and kitchen deserted, except for one of the female guests aleep on an extended sofa. Because of this lady's sleeping presence, I could not switch on the downstairs TV, but neither could I use my phone as I had forgotten to bring my cable, and I could not initially leave the house as we were all locked in. Consequently, I was forced in the end  to wake one of the hosts upstairs to let me out of the house, for my New Year morning walk. I managed to wish "Happy New Year" to the few blinkered passers by I met as I wandered around this remote residential street in a bleak Basingstoke suburb, until I finally found a newsagent where I could rejoin civilization by buying The Observer and (for Albina) her obligatory, Mail on Sunday. I noticed in the shop that only people of my age buy or read newspapers now, but I still hang on to them as the last vestige of an educated generation that enriched their knowledge and understanding of the world by a daily supply of information from various sources on equally varied subjects, presented in print form on  paper broadsheets which had the advantage of permanence, as you could keep a copy as long as you wanted to. Anyone below the age of 50 seem to draw their information and link to the outside world purely from their phone. 

 When I got back to the house the hosts and the remaing guests were up and we were again subjected to a rich breakfast which left me replete and drowsy, so that I slept for the whole journey back in Agnieszka's borrowed car. By 2 o'clock I had got back home to wish a Happy New Year to Albina, as we settled down to watch some films on television.

While we rest, the rockets continue to fall on the power station in Ukrainian cities leaving the families and elderly freezing in the cold and dark, North Korea and Iran supply arms to Russia, the wars continue in Somalia and Yemen, the cruel repression in Iran continues, womens' freedoms go further backwards in Afghanistan, Taiwan remains under threat, China's health system implodes as unrestricted and unmonitored covid spreads, while Bolsonaro glowers, encouraging his many supporters to refuse recognizing Lula as the new president, just as he is being inaugurated today. Pope Benedict XVI lies in state in St Peters Church, with the secret of his extraordinary abdication still unsettled; Pele's coffin has been transferred to his home stadium in Santos; while  borders open up between Venezuela and Colombia. Does that mean more democracy at last in Venezuela, or less democracy in Colombia with their left-wing president? Keep your fingers crossed on that. A third of the world is in recession at present. This includes the UK, as 10% inflation is likely to continue at least until the middle of the year, while rents and mortgages are likely to remain high and house prices to remain depressed for a good deal longer. Local NHS trusts are regularly declaring critical incidents as they cope with patients stuck in corridors with covid, flu and heart conditions and 7 million languish on hospital waiting lists. The president of the Royal College of Emergency Medicine has warned that emergency care delays are killing up to 500 patients a week. Last year more than 17,000 retail sites shut up shop. The strikes continue unabated. Sunak will have his hands full trying to retain support in the midst of this economic gloom, while families, who have muddled along until now, really begin to suffer now as they register now with their local food bank and their "keep warm centre". Suank still lacks the support of some of his more ideologically driven Brexiteer Tories, and they may still demand his downfall if inflation, the strikes and the 46,000 or so boat crossing migrants a year continue over the Channel. Who knows? Maybe the long awaited Age of Starmer may begin in 2023, rather than the following year, as he seeks a vote of no confidence against a divided government.

So anything positive to look forward to this year? Lula saving the Amazon forest? The PiS dominance overcome at last at the next election in Poland? Donald Trump indicted? Will the Scarborough walrus remain? Perhaps. But above all there is the sheer pleasure of watching Iga Swiatek winning another match in the United Cup and steadying herslf for the Australian Open. She is not only a brilliant player in terms of strength, agility and athleticism, but she has a high tennis IQ, can land the ball wherever she wants in the courts, whether with a forehand, backhand, lob or drop shot. She has mental strength too. I think the last is the biggest reason for her consistency. You never see her have tantrums, or have the hangdog look of defeatism when thing go wrong for her temporarily. She battles on with all those skills, a true tennis cyborg. She still feels uncertain on grass, and did not do too well at Wimbledon, but she should be able to overcome that. She is way behind in terms of earning power among female tennis players, but way ahead in terms of tennis match points, and, unlike her rivals, the vast percentage of her income comes purely from her tennis victories. She does not rely on vast PR machines and advertising income. Funnily enough, in England, she is virtually unknown to the general public, who see only the one off  female tennis tournament wonder, Emma Radicanu, staggering from one defeat to the next. True tennis buffs know Iga well. I look forward to her bringing me and my fellow Polish countrymen joy for many years to come.