Thought Picnic: Casting pearls of friendship before swine of misery

Reaching out in the plague

During this pandemic considering how alone and lonely some people could be, I reached out to some friends to maintain the bond of friendship and to offer support, not because I was in a perfect situation, but I realised how mutually beneficial it could be to me and them.

Most of my friends engaged and even introduced activities that helped weather the lockdown even if all we did never made up for the absence of companionship for some and the distance between partners in an existing relationship. We ploughed on in the hope that eventually, the plague will lift, and we can begin to see each other again.

The unpredictability of friendships

Generally, I do not make friends that easily, most of the friends, I have known for decades and that does not mean I do not have the time for new friendships, the opportunities abound but it is almost like a frog kissing exercise and if you ever believed the story of the prince that was turned into a frog then kissed to turn into a handsome eligible bachelor prince, you will probably kiss every frog you see.

You really cannot determine what will make friends of people from their first encounter, even if there are mutual interests, there is much more to establishing interests than basic commonalities. I have friends I cannot for the life of me understand how we could ever have been friends and yet we thrive together in respect, affection, concern, and love. It is a mysterious thing and I do not care from the postulations written about friendships, there are qualities of interdependence that would make them work.

A friendship may never grow

There are cases where I have decided not to continue friendships that they could be links to memories in the past that I would rather forget. There are friendships I have just terminated because the emotional abuse usually borne of issues in that person’s life has been projected on me, that I have run out of the patience to endure it any longer.

I am sure there are people who were once friends who now think nothing of me, that is their prerogative, I guess eventually I get the hint if I have not been directly informed that the friendship is being discontinued. Though, in one instance I do remember one friendship that had prospect but never took hold, much as I liked the person there was a lot I learnt of them that suggested they had rarely been acquainted with kindness in friendship, they had a form of misery they needed to share that I was not predisposed to.

Treasure your pearls of friendship

Strenuously, I tried to help bring this person to appreciate a side of humanity I felt could free one to enjoy life, I was met with an unpersuadable spirit first and then my own openhearted entreaties were being drained into the blackhole of their not know which side their bread was buttered on, I was casting my pearls of friendship to be trampled on by swine of misery. I hoped and I persevered, but I was getting nowhere.

They were not interested and I guess eventually as I read somewhere, “reality is the most tenacious influencer I know.”* The reality I lived and experienced meant even I had to understand we were not friends however much I hoped we could be and whilst I doubt we would become enemies, it was time for me to invest in what was working and whatever else might have a prospect. The end.

* Andrew Sullivan in Substack. [Rejecting the jab: why has the US vaccine roll-out ‘hit a wall’?]

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XL

A river scolded

River Medlock, a 10-mile long river that rises is Oldham, through the centre of Manchester before it runs into the River Irwell was after a moment of natural exuberance tamed by the Victorians, culverted and restrained through the cities of Salford and Manchester. It idly flows almost bereft of its menacing history when it took the dead out of their graves in Philips Park Cemetery in the mid-19^th Century.

Blog - Walks through the cycle of life

On my walks, I write in my notepad with script that is neither shorthand nor legible, I just have to remember my scrawl as a collection of thoughts to transcribe into my eventual blog. A sight indeed not learnt from the rigour of handwriting lessons I took in primary school.

A sample of handwriting from my notepad whilst I am walking.

It’s going down

Two high-performance Porsche cars and a Range Rover parked in a secluded and abandoned garage on Old Ashton Road, three men by the building engaged in a discussion and through the air, I heard the words ‘pay’ and ‘money’.

I surmise, something is going down and I doubt it is legal, else they would have met in a restaurant, I would think. A thought crosses my mind to take a picture of the cars and their licence plate numbers, but I resisted the urge to court trouble. Who knows what else they might be up to and you really do not want to be the collateral damage?

I walk on by trying for forget what I saw and setting my eyes on the goal to just get my steps in whilst I discover another part of Manchester that was always there, but I never dared to visit.

Samuel Windsor is closing down

Update (8^th March 2022): I visited the new Samuel Windsor website this afternoon and from what I can gather, it would appear our old login details were not carried across into the new ownership and management of the company, and whilst I was offered the option to change my password, it did not seem the right time to do so.

As far as I can see, they only have footwear on display, and I have seen no indication of whether or when clothes would become part of their repertoire. As the prices of things are going up due to inflation or any other factors, I can see a markup of £10 to £15 on what we used to pay for some of the shoes if my memory serves me right.

For now, the new Samuel Windsor is not the place where we used to shop for everything, maybe there is a process in play, but I will continue to provide updates on developments with the company and any other insight, can be posted in the comments below the blog.

To address, the comment that the shoes were made in India rather than what I believed to be in the UK, I have read in their FAQs that the shoes are indeed manufactured in India.

Update (31^st October 2021): I had a comment posted on the 30^th of October 2021 by Anthony Gardiner that Samuel Windsor will be returning under new ownership. The website says as much but we do not have a date as to when the service would return. I just hope the new owners carry on and build on the legacy of the erstwhile owners as I have not been able to find a good replacement for Samuel Windsor. This is really welcome news.

Screengrab from the Samuel Windsor website, taken 31/10/2021.

Successfully delivered somewhere

I was tossing and turning in bed trying to have a nap whilst possibly listening to a radio podcast and having the unfortunate distraction of mobile telephony with its permanent connection to the world when I saw an email arrive in my inbox informing me that, “Hermes (a courier/delivery/logistics company) has successfully delivered your Samuel Windsor parcel.”

I am at home, but the courier did not bother to ring my bell, the parcel was left in our mailroom where an intersexual pilferer of little social grace who has had to be forcefully ejected from our village plied her maleficent trade.

They even sent me a picture of where the parcel was left to the elements of thievery that we hope have been humanely extirpated from our midst. Whilst I would have thought a successful delivery were one where the recipient had verifiably received the goods, especially if they are present to collect the parcel.

Men’s shoes and clothing catalogue

Samuel Windsor, I discovered when their catalogue came with my The Week magazine some 6 years ago, I started with the shoes of exquisite workmanship at an outstandingly affordable prices and thought I have 6 unworn pairs, I have so far ordered 19 pairs, out of which some have been for Brian.

After the shoes, I ordered suits that fitted, jackets, trousers, shorts, socks, and accessories. They became my stockists of menswear, all done online apart from the appalling use of a less than satisfactory courier services of DX Delivery Services and Tracking that just could not seem to complete the task in one go, every time apart from when they delivered to my office.

Samuel Windsor is closing shop after 18 years, the owners are apparently retiring and there is a closing-down sale which inspired my last order that I put through some 5 weeks ago but because of the volume of orders, only arrived today.

Pretty damn good shoes

I am saddened by the exit of Samuel Windsor from the marketplace because I do not know who will be replacing them with regards to our sartorial needs. For the past two years, I have been ordering for Brian and I, we share the same trouser size and even shirt size, not the jacket size though as he is two sizes smaller with the same length of arms that are rarely in stock. We also can get the same shoes; he goes for size 9½, and I am size 12.

I would never have thought catalogue shopping could be classy, sophisticated, and quite affordable along with the breadth of choices we have. Testament to the quality of the shoes was when I had a shoe shiner at the domestic terminal of O R Tambo International Airport, Johannesburg comment on the quality and workmanship of my shoes. He would know and I was proud to say they were handmade in the UK.

There is a likelihood I might put in a final order, getting Brian to choose anything is hard enough, I just usually hope my choices pass the muster.

RSS Mischief I - Yikes! A snake

Idle hands and fiery minds

I had a box of matches, and I was ready for mischief in one of those sinister acts of naughtiness invisibly perpetrated out of boredom and a sense of adventure in secondary school. I went to Remo Secondary School (RSS), Sagamu, Ogun State, the Class of 1981.

Much as I do not retain enduring friendships or associations with alumni from my secondary school, it does not suggest that my time there was not memorable. We were up to a lot of stuff, some probably unprintable because that could span the spectrum of the dastardly to just downright criminal. The tall prepubescent innocent-looking boy with a funny accent cannot be responsible for many things and there were things we did not do.

The long bamboo grasses

The annual inter-house sports day had us combing the dense jungle around the school for thick bamboo grass shoots like trunks and palm fronds to build the schoolhouse gazebos at the back of the sports field, that was part of the competition along with the field and track games for which in total points my schoolhouse, Adedoyin came last for 3 years.

Not far from my dormitory was a large bamboo grass bush that rarely yielded much but had grown from the cutting and extraction of bamboo stalks over the years. That we were rarely fearful of the possibility of dangerous elapine species lurking in bushes was probably one of innocence rather than bravery or daring.

Light it up and walk by

The grass beckoning to an arsonist’s urge in me was like tinder begging for the role of cinder and irresistibly, a lit match flew out of my hand to the inflammable grass, starting with a smouldering without rising into a conflagration, as I walked by my deed, it appeared it was going to be a slow burn. This was sometime around 5:00 PM.

After lights out, there was some commotion, someone had stepped out from the dormitory hall probably to take a leak and saw a snake, he raised alarm and a tumult resulted, sticks and clubs to hand they chased after the homeless reptile and send it to snake heaven. The principal, Mrs Adebambo, unaware of what caused the fracas came out of her home and nabbed some of the boys with the view to suspending them the next day.

Preserved from punishment

I was not part of the melee, how could any of that have been as a result of what I had done earlier even as it did occur to me that it might have been my deft handiwork?

The morning came and as the principal was about to unleash her fury, she was presented with yellowish-green cobra laid out in front of the staffroom. That was the end of her intentions; the snake was picked up by our motorbike riding Irish biology teacher and preserved in a large bottle of formaldehyde as an object of study, interest, and fascination.

Now, I dread the thought of what could have been if that snake had bitten anyone and at the same time one had indirectly acquired a biological objet d’art for the school.

A red hat in Paris

My heart in Paris

Paris, a city I know like the back of my hand and have not had the opportunity to visit since November 2018. Now, I do transit through Charles de Gaulle Airport, but that is another story. The truth is I miss Paris, the café culture, and my seat on the first floor of Café Beaubourg watching onto the front of the Georges Pompidou Centre, that I have never visited, as the world goes by.

That view I have cherished for 21 years, a place of memories and much else, for some friends have departed or fallen apart, and this apart from those from whom one receives no alerts of conversation or communication anymore.

A walk of life

Stepping out of Café Beaubourg after brunch, I bear left onto Rue Saint-Merri, cross Rue Saint-Martin which as certain times host venues of excitable pleasures with strangers and then I am at a milliner’s where every colour of hat exists to challenge your daring. That is where I eventually decided, the day after on a red pork-pie hat.

I put the hat I was wearing in the bag and stepped out with this callout of brilliance that elicited commentary every few steps I took, I was looking good and feeling just as good too. Then on to Boulevard de Sebastopol past Place du Chatelet, down the ramp to the north side of the Seine and a walk westwards towards Pont Neuf where I found a seat to observe the river traffic, take in the winter sun and some photographs too.

You can’t have not

One of such photographs became the source of a compliment, my outfit with the red hat according to him, he loved, and I looked really cool. I acknowledged and asked if he was doing well too. He was preparing for the day and out of interest asked where the picture was taken which gave life to my knowledge of Paris.

To my concealed shock, he had never visited Paris nor been around Europe though he planned to do a bit of travel before he was 50. Now, I can understand people planning for adventures and exploration at a later point in life, taking it as a given. For instance, he had another 12 years to fulfil those desires, if we are sure of things, times, and terms.

The time for travel is now

I have learnt, the only time we have is the moment called now, the past is gone, the future uncertain, so we are left asking the question, what are we doing with the now? It is where I suddenly get philosophical because it is necessary to have things in perspective.

Any time you get to do travel, do it, do not wait for a time you might think is convenient. I am 55 and thankfully 12 years after cancer which at prognosis only gave me 5 weeks to live if my physiology could not tolerate the treatment. Before that illness, I thought myself inviolable and invincible.

Banish the spectre of regret

Whilst not trying to sound morbid, the time we have for anything is now and what we must not waste the now on is to set ourselves up for a future of regrets at what we could have done. It is the same thinking I had at the end of 2018 when at one point I was undecided about going on holiday to South Africa until I caught myself thinking, if I did not travel, I might well regret it.

I did travel and I met Brian with whom I hope someday to visit Paris and see the sights that have enthralled me. Too many people have options and opportunities before them, but they, out of the embarrassment of choices and an inkling of self-worth set themselves on for the prospects and possibilities ignoring what is at hand. I hope they can reset their course before no option is available, those opportunities are lost and the possibilities they dared to dream of shatter into shards of regret.

No prophet would come into your indecision, but you will hear some voices and some advice as good as prophecy, now for the discernment to make that move and make it count.

Paris by the Seine - February 2017

A blog that needs me?

A lonely blog

Daily, I think of thee, O Blog,
Maybe, another basket of words to flog,
I strain and prevaricate in this hard slog,
Each thought touched yet not ready to tog,
I let things lie like a sleeping dog,
Then another day passes like I’ve lost the bug,
Not for long would I be caught in a fog,
The blog still remains my best catalogue.

Opinion: The modern-day cult of Moloch

We are not entirely immune

“Don’t give any of your children to be burned in sacrifice to the god Molech—an act of sheer blasphemy of your God. I am God.” [BibleGateway: Leviticus 18:21 (The Message)] Molech is also spelt Moloch or Molek.

I have watched with horror the war, conflicts, and atrocity wielded with political rage on the issue of wearing masks, mask mandates, and other kinds of protection and prevention from contracting the Coronavirus especially in schools, in America and elsewhere.

I do not intend to postulate, but I would start from a basic premise. If you do not have natural or acquired immunity against the Coronavirus, you do not want to risk contracting it. Whilst the odds of succumbing to the COVID-19 disease with symptoms requiring hospital admission and the threat to life are somewhat minimal if you have no underlying conditions, the risk is not removed. Healthy people have died, very healthy children have died.

Protections help prevention

Now, until we had vaccines, the only way we managed the spread of the Coronavirus was through government-imposed lockdowns and restrictions along with mask mandates, social distancing, crowd control, and healthy preventions as avoiding enclosed places and limiting our interaction with people outside our immediate households.

For those who are vaccinated, the risk of contracting the disease is reduced, but the possibility of being a vector of transmission without presenting symptoms is there. Where a pandemic is in play, the responsibility is both personal and communal to hold the effects of the pandemic at bay and until the pandemic is eradicated and that does not seem to be in the near term, we still need to consider some preventative and protection measures for our sakes and those of others, some of who might well be vulnerable.

Children are vulnerable

As immunisation is still under review for administering to children in many domains because of side effects that could be life-threatening, children remain part of the vulnerable cohort if exposed to the Coronavirus and when exposed to it in the school environment might be vectors of transmission to their social and home communities. That should be in consideration and reasonably so.

To posit the argument for some protections when returning to the school environment as it is obvious that there are many strains and variants of the Coronavirus with highly transmissible rates in the community should never be up for debate, it should be one of the most agreeable actions to adopt except where clear medical exemptions require otherwise.

I am just perplexed

The politicisation of the mask mandates with parents vehemently protesting their children wearing masks in school settings where their children are meeting with others and whilst the same children no natural or acquired immunity to the Coronavirus is at first baffling if not irresponsible. It is madness of the order of utter befuddlement.

You begin to wonder if the people against the vaccination and other protections against viruses including the Coronavirus have not become like the worshippers of Moloch, the Canaanite deity amongst whom were involved in child sacrifice and allowing their children to pass through the fire, in religious antiquity.

For how is it not cultist child sacrifice if you're ready to expose your child to a virus that kills when there are some means even if imperfect to protect them just on ideological grounds?

How many of the children of any situation, community, city, state, or country have to die before politicians let go of the atrociously irresponsible for basic science and public health to matter?

I'm just dumbfounded, how many more child sacrifices before the god of obstinacy and ignorant ideology would be told, no more?

('Moloch' has been figuratively used in reference to a person or a thing which demands or requires a very costly sacrifice.) [Wikipedia: Moloch] It is my view that protesting the wearing of masks by children in school where it could protect them and prevent them contracting the Coronavirus is demanding a very costly sacrifice, the sacrifice of the children. That must be unacceptable in any healthy society.