December 2023

So, I’ve been beating myself up over what to write about in this, the last blog of 2023. There’s plenty to go at: Lies, damned lies and the Tories addiction to them; the PPE scandals that are slowly unravelling; a Home Secretary that thinks spiking women’s drinks sits somewhere on the hilarious scale; the utter misery of the way that refugees and asylum seekers are treated despite everyone’s cute response to Little Amal as she toured the country not too recently, or the absolute mayhem that the Covid enquiry is exposing while we all did our best and lost loved ones while the powers that be thought it all a great hoot and partied throughout. There’s the worry that we might be plagued by Trump again, wars that should never have happened, the slow but inevitable and predictable unravelling of Brexit and all the nonsense that it stood for, the associated rise in xenophobia and intolerance and the state’s clamping down on peaceful protest. And now we’re all being told that we’re drinking far too much and that it’s leading to an increase in Dementia.

I was tempted to run with the idea of assisted dying and the incredible and moving account of Diana Rigg‘s last days by her daughter, Rachel Sterling, in the Guardian. Totally convincing stuff that you can’t help but agree with until you read the counter-argument about how this could affect vulnerable people. But all of this is pretty negative stuff and, like I mentioned, we are all drinking too much so it would be irresponsible of me to add to the problem.

That leaves only one option and that is to talk about positive stuff.

And that is where writer’s block kicks in big time.

That photo up at the top shows Olhos de Água on the left, a rather special little fishing port on the Algarve, and Praia de Falesia on the right, quite possibly one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. The middle bit is a chunk of rock that we managed to navigate around, on foot, for  the first time ever, at low tide.

Olhos de Água translates, more or less, to ‘eyes of water’ which alludes to the freshwater springs that appear on the beach at low tide. We’ve been going for years but this is the first time that we have ever witnessed the ‘eyes’, ‘olhos’, for ourselves. Spent quite a lot of time trying to figure out how to get a video on here as WordPress won’t accept MP4s and the like so, after a bit of Googling, I managed to convert the file to a GIF. Seems okay to me. Not sure who the shadow is that passes by near the end as I’m clearly standing still with the camera. I didn’t notice anyone walking behind me so maybe there’s something spooky going on there. The ghost of some ancient mariner perhaps. Or maybe someone just ambled past and I wasn’t paying attention. I guess I’ll never know.

Praia de Falesia is undoubtedly my most photographed beach. We rock up here at least once a year. We had to miss 2021 due to Covid and lockdowns but we got there in 2020 by the skin of our teeth. This photo, however, is special as it shows both the port and the beach in the same shot. We must have spent years missing low tide.

Further to our experience in Olhos port or village or whatever the hell it is, the beach front is maintained and updated frequently by various pieces of artwork. One of the latest is a rather beautiful sculpture of a woman made from washers. Yeah, washers. I doubt there’s any irony in there although there might be a bit of iron. Anyway, I was sitting on the wall overlooking the beach and the mediterranean sea when a small child started to climb up onto this sculpture. It’s almost life-size but I suspect just a little smaller. The child was a little girl, maybe three or four years old, and she was completely taken with this ‘washer woman’. She climbed onto the stone plinth on which the woman sits and started to cuddle her. She wrapped her arms around the statue’s neck and shoulders and body. She held her closely, very, very closely, and then pulled away and kissed the statue on the lips. Her mum was being very patient with her but clearly wanted to move on. She attempted to pull the child away but she clung on to the statue. She hugged her more and started kissing her more. Obviously, I have no idea what is going on in the child’s head but she recognised the statue as a human and felt deep affection for her. I was beyond moved. It seemed to illustrate everything that is wrong with us as a species. This innocent child was quite happy to bond with something that looked human but simply could not be human. She embraced those washers and those fine, fine pieces of welding in a way that made my heart melt (I know, cliché). I had my camera with me and had been taking pictures of the beach and the bars and the people milling up and down and all I had to do was raise it slightly and I could have captured the moment that the child had created for us in all her innocence. Except I couldn’t, could I? I couldn’t just take photographs of a young child expressing love and affection towards this inanimate object. I’m a sixty something year old white male and that would have been out of order (in my mind).  I considered asking her mother if I could have permission to capture the moment but that sounded even more weird in my head. How can a young child bond to something that looks like a female adult but is clearly not a real female adult? She felt no reason to not show affection to this statue and yet many people, across the globe, cannot see the actual humanity in living, breathing flesh simply because it looks just a little bit different to themselves. There are so many people, especially in the country that I live, who cannot tolerate brown, black, even slightly darker humans than themselves to the point that they want them removed from sight, banned, flown somewhere far away where they can no longer be seen or heard, and yet this little girl showed nothing but love towards a shiny, metal, human woman made from washers.

Do you know what? I wish I’d taken that bloody picture.

In an effort to maintain positive thoughts, I thought I’d turn my attention to the new year. There isn’t really a significant change that takes place between December 31st and January 1st. This year it’s just Sunday to Monday, next year it will be Tuesday to Wednesday. But it’s hard not to attach significance to a New Year. Over the last couple of years, definitely since I had major surgery in June 2022, my fitness levels have tanked. I’m two stone overweight and drinking too much. There’s no obvious physical or even measurable medical effects apparent according to the tons of blood tests I have each year, but I suffer from lack of energy and lack of motivation. But sitting on my arse drinking gin can’t be helping. So why not treat this time as a marker for change? It’s as good as anything and, it has to be acknowledged, there are astronomical significances in this date as it is the time when the earth is closest to the sun. I learned recently that this is called Perihelion. Also, our own place on the planet moves into a new phase as the light begins to increase on a daily basis and, more light equates, in my mind, to more energy and more positivity. So, emotionally, psychologically and probably some other ‘ally’ it is a good time to embark on new regimes. It’s also a time to reflect on what is good in life. Even though the nights are still dark and the temperature is not entirely conducive with a relaxing drink outside (unless you take yourself off to that picture at the top) there are still good things to dwell upon: Family, health (mine appears to be relatively steady), friends, wildlife and wildflowers: it won’t be long before we get those snowdrops and crocuses and daffodils. It’s a time of regrowth and rebirth.

Having said that, I’m not saying to ignore the terrible things that are happening around the world. Just accept that you can do very little about them apart from protest, post on social media, argue with friends and family or just shout and scream at the TV. You will continue to do those things (if you care) but I’m just suggesting that you take a little time out and enjoy yourself. Those people in the world that are suffering want only to do this themselves. They want their lives to go back to normal and indulge in warmth and love like we lucky ones can. So do it. Maybe say a little prayer, or have a quiet thought, or maybe even write some of your feelings down. Compose a poem. Whatever, but embrace this time of renewal and fresh start (even if it is imaginary).

Obviously, I have no real or useful answers.

But if we could all just be a bit more like that little girl with the washer woman then maybe the world will become a safer and better place.

I know, naive, wishful thinking.

So, Happy New Year. With a bit of luck, in the not too distant future, we’ll see these criminals that have been running the country (badly) humiliated and consigned to history for as long as is possible. I’m not claiming the alternative will be perfect, but at least they might not have their mitts permanently in the till and handing our dosh out to all their mates.

 Anyway, I’ll see you in January.