It's the end of October. The clocks have changed. I travel home from work immersed in darkness and with my weary myopic eyes dazzled with the headlights of incoming traffic. Again I have to cross that vile little humpback railway bridge near Ashford, as I plunge my car into the narrow blackness between the blinding blaze of luminesensce emerging to my right and the menacing brick wall of the bridge on my left. I shut my eyes to protect me from the glare, and leap forward in blind faith. I assume the driver of the car opposite does the same. And somehow each night we miss each other in the dark. Until one day...?
I had been hoping that my second cataract operation on my left eye would have taken place long before the early evening shadows of November and December. At the end of November I have been allocated a date for the operation and have warned my company about it. I am counting on having my left eye more long-sighted, after which I will be able to adjust to a different pair of glasses. The present ones have been totally unsuitable since my first operation on March 23rd, when my right eye was suddenly able to read printed matter and even a computer screen without the need of spectacles. This was a revelation. But the downside is that I am only wearing glasses, either when driving, or walking in the street, or watching a television screen. Then I have to take it off when I want to read anything. Once I take my glasses off and lay them down, I often forget about them. Now I find myself leaving the office, and suddenly running back for my forgotten glasses, or taking them off to read a newspaper on the bus or in the cafe, and forgetting which pocket I put them in. I am constantly losing them, and Albina is now resigned to seeing me waste many minutes of my time at home, asking myself aloud, "So did I leave my glasses here? Or perhaps in the study?" I took them off at an art exhibition once and then had the reception porter running after me as I was leaving the building, asking me "Are these your glasses, sir?" That is as much a nightmare as driving in the dark before my next visual adjustment. Even so, the dark months continue at least until the beginning of February, when I will finally be able to return home in blessed daytime. And by then the world circumnavigation would be imminent.
Talking of which, I have now completed and printed our 7 page application forms for Chinese visas. We will need them for that one day we will spend in Shanghai. We will have to bring the forms to the Chinese Consulate in London in the first or second week of January, as we cannot lodge it too early. As for the Indian visa, the form is also complete along with our photos and I have booked a visit at Indian visa centre in Hounslow on December 14th. By that time too we will have applied online for our Egyptian visa, but we cannot even prepare the visa application until the first week of December. The effort required to obtain these visas completely dwarves the minimal time we will be spending in those 3 countries, Egypt for 2 days, India for 3 days, China for one day.
Albina has contact me. She is now in Kolobrzeg at spa, enjoying seaside walks in the lovely autumn sunshine on the Baltic coast. She seems quite happy and relaxed. Let's hope that this mood carries through until her return.
Keeping my fingers crossed over Brazil. More than that, I am desperately worried. Initial results showed only the minutest victory for Lula (the Brazilian Walesa). 50.9% may be an acceptable victory in a European country, but votes are still being counted. It is much too early and Bolsonaro will not concede defeat. A victory with 60% for Lula might cause Bolsonaro to concede, but nothing less, especially if Trump backs him. He might decide to end the argument with a coup. Then goodbye Brazilian democracy, goodbye the rainforests, the fauna and the indigenous tribes being massacred by the beef ranchers, the tree fellers and the rubber barons.
Still had time on Sunday to see a production of Halka, a Polish opera, at the POSK theatre. The background and decorations, as well as some of the directing, was amateurish, but I must not carp, as the singers wre excellent, especially the singer playing the title role. The Poles love this miserable melodrama and treat it as if it was the national opera piece. I just find the drama overegged. there are too few dramatic scenes, the action progresses at a snail's pace, and there is not one bit of humour in it. Every tragedy has to give us a chance to laugh, to mock basic human frailties, to bring the characters down to a human level, to whom we can relate, but "Halka" still leaves you feeling like you're consumig an overbaked loaf of bread.
Also, Wlodek, the Federation of Poles Chairman, finally sent out that letter to Rishi Sunak which I had composed for him. I circulatedit to the Polish and UK press.
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