Here I am, sitting in my bubble, lapping up all the biased confirmation and trying to think. Aha, that’s what I need lots of thought bubbles, so now I’m sat in a bubble with lots of other bubbles bubbling around my bubble and, as soap bubbles do, they coalesce, those lovely geometric interfaces eventually reach a point where they merge, the smaller bubbles don’t pop they just make the original bubble larger. Trouble is the original bubble had a few fairly coherent, if somewhat biased, thoughts and now there’s a veritable babble of thoughts, a babbling bubble of babel if you will.
This is what happens in my brain as I read and listen to so much stuff, how much easier it would be if I just stuck with one simple view, maybe I’ll go and buy an English flag and raise it high today as the letter is given to Mr Tusk, his Christian name is Donald and I suspect he feels a little like me occasionally with my namesake. Actually I’ve taken to collecting flags lately and a quick net perusal shows it’s an established hobby although doesn’t seem to have a name, flagellately perhaps? Anyway I have to think carefully about getting an English flag which says a lot about what flags can mean and represent. Us homo sapiens like to be in gangs and have our gang symbols such as flags, I have fond memories of walking around Sienna during il Palio and loving all the flags of the different areas of the city, I liked the snail, or conchigle, best. What was very noticeable was the difference between flags there and the English flag here and it’s representation and association. Don’t know if it’s me but there appears to be a nationalistic aggression associated with the English flag which is sad, as I would like to add it to my collection but I’m not too happy about having to get a bull terrier with it as I’m frightened of dogs.
But I am sad about us leaving the EU, so I will lower all the flags in our garden.
Yesterday I went to a splendid property in Swanage to pick up Sergei to take him to a hospital appointment, it had been a short notice job arranged the day before. I chuckled as I opened the gate with Perestroica on it. I pressed the unusual dog doorbell, it caused a barking inside. Eventually an elderly man still in his pyjamas (bit like me of late) answered and asked why I was there. I explained that I was to take him to hospital, he asked whether he should change I suggested it would probably be a good idea. We were already running a little late for the 3.15 appointment so would definitely be arriving late with him changing. We left, locked the door and then he remembered he needed a walking stick, apparently it was quicker to walk slowly around the bungalow. Along the way he tripped and as he was falling I caught and held him up “you were a rugby player” said he in his thick Ukrainian accent, “yes” I laughed. As we were getting into the car a delivery man delivered a prescription for him.
We conversed in the car, he was a nuclear scientist and the KGB were after him, now this is different. How do you know I’m not KGB I asked, you do not have the accent replied he in his Ukrainian accent. His wife had died recently of the very aggressive type of Alzheimers, she had died on the same day as their son who died in the Kings Cross tube fire 30 years ago. So sad.
We made the hospital and arrived at the reception about half an hour late although soon found out we were a month early, his appointment was for 28th April.
Keep on keeping on, love Duncan.