Disturbing news to wake up to this morning of the start of the Russian offensive to conquer the Donbass region of Ukraine with four times as many missile attacks as yesterday. Such overwhelming force, with no concern for civilian casualties or the environment. There's no justification for such destructive brutality, except to perpetuate the lies that keep the Putin regime in power.
In the British parliament today, Boris Johnson has been apologising and making excuses for himself in relation to behaviour by the Downing Street Staff team which contravened public health legislation which government imposed on the nation as a whole. Police investigations leading to the Prime Minister and his colleagues being fined for breaches of lockdown law are outrageous enough in their own right, but more serious that this is the denial to the House of Commons on several occasions by the Prime Minister when challenged that there had been any law-breaking. We think Putin's regime is perpetuated by lies, but is our own leadership any different?
It's argued by some that Johnson's lies don't have such a serious impact, but this turns a blind eye to the fact that as a journalist over twenty years, Johnson propagated lies about the European Commission and the benefits of leaving the EU which undermined democratic decision making in the brexit referendum. Trump's presidency over America was tainted by lies and mis-information throughout. In each case, it's all in the name of gaining and maintaining power and control. How can the world rid itself of such toxic culture? One way or another, the outcome is violence and suffering, perhaps self-destruction. What does it mean now to endure suffering for the sake of truth? Will NATO countries be drawn into war? Will the Russian people rise against their criminal overlords and change the course of their own history as they did before? So many unanswerable questions. I'm perplexed and troubled, fearful for the future.
After breakfast I walked to Pidgeon's chapel of rest to take the funeral service of a local lady who lived her entire seventy five years in the house she was born in. Not uncommon in a village maybe, but quite exceptional in a perpetually changing inner city area today. She was the widow of a professional soldier, one if whose roles had been the care of the Welsh Regimental Mascot, aka the Goat Major. A family members spoke fondly of times when her auntie and uncle had taken baby goat kids home to raise with bottle feeds - a bit different from the school's pet rabbit or hamster - things a mother gets to do!
Callum, the young man who conducted the funeral told me as we were driving home after the committal at the crem how he'd got the job. Luke, his housemate had been a driver for Pidgeon's after losing his job as an EasyJet pilot during a previous economic recession. He encouraged to 'get a life' by quitting life as a bar manager and do something less demanding and more useful. Callum was taken on and then trained by Pidgeon's, and is happy to have real job satisfaction. Luke subsequently returned to piloting. Post-pandemic, he flies for SAS.
I got home in good time to cook our regular favourite fast food lunch - mussels with brown rice, sweet corn and peas. While I was out Clare has been into town to buy a TENS machine from Boots, hoping it will ease the back pain and enable her to reduce the use of analgesics. The pain is still pretty bad, though less intense than it was last week. Neither of us could have imagined it would take such a long time to recover.
After lunch, a walk to the bank to deposit a cheque. It was closed, with no reason given, although there was a notice on the door stating that the branch would be closing down in October this year. I had to get on a bus and go to the remaining branch in the city centre to deposit the cheque instead. I think there will be only three HSBC branches serving Cardiff in future. Admittedly the switch to digital banking has reduced the demand for branch bank services, but that's of no help to people who aren't mobile or have no liking for modern banking ways.
Admittedly one can deposit cheques via the Post Office, which now acts as an agency on behalf of some banks, but Post Offices are busy places, often with long queues to be served. Big banks aren't interested in smaller account holders or serving local interests. Poorer and older people suffer as a result. While new digital banking models are emerging to challenge the market dominated by big institutions, these don't meet local and personal needs. Will a new form of local banking emerge in time I wonder?
When I got back from town, I slept for over an hour again. One way or another I seem to need that extra hour during the day to feel good.
In the evening, after supper a fascinating documentary on Sky Arts about the trade in artefacts stolen from an archaeological site in Sicily - a real detective story! Then on BBC2 Wales an intriguing serial story called 'Life after Life', based on a well received novel of the same name. It works with the 'what if' idea of destiny, and portrays alternative outcomes for the main character, and how the lives of those around her are all interconnected. It takes a while to get used to considering whether you're looking at what might have happened or what actually happened. Odd, but in a way quite entertaining. The portrayal of upper middle class life in the first quarter of the twentieth century is superbly crafted. But, is it of enough interest to watch again next week, or even binge watch the remaining episodes on iPlayer? I'll sleep on it.
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