The Journal of the Week
Saturday 03 August
Today I woke up in a general feeling of boredom, so I went to Morrisons for supplies. After returning home and eating two vegan burgers, I decided to compound my malaise by watching some daytime television.
Everything I watched seemed to be dominated by hillbillies. I suspect they form a very large portion of the demographic for the target audience for daytime TV, as runnin’ a moonshine still probably isn’t a viable diurnal activity.
I started off enjoying some version of Nascar that looked like a lower-budget rookie version than the real deal. An ad break soon interrupted my viewing enjoyment, so after watching a few of them I changed channel, only to be greeted by a sport I’d never seen before.
The game consisted of two rednecks taking it in turns to throw a beanbag into a hole, which is placed at the top of a board a few feet away. The game is called ‘cornhole’. I failed to see its appeal. I suspect that this is the widespread consensus on cornhole, hence why it hasn’t really caught on outside The South.
After cornhole I switched over to ‘Storage Wars’. The premise of this revolves around yet more hillbillies buying a load of junk, and selling it on for a profit. The production of the programme is so lazy that only a rough estimate of each item’s value is included in the ‘profit’. None of the items actually get sold on the show. This is no surprise, as a plurality of the storage units featured look like they’d been abandoned for a reason. By the time Pawn Stars came on I’d had enough of the TV and switched it off.
To cleanse my mind I decided to go on a walk up the rock to re-embrace nature. On my way round the Med Steps I observed the Lathbury Barracks complex in a state of deconstruction. It seems like the government is taking leaving the EU to heart by re-purposing the corporate white elephant facilities before they can sit long enough become contentious. No Athens 2004 shenanigans here.
Sunday 04 August
Today I watched the Hungarian Grand Prix, which I did not enjoy. I had two hopes for the race: that Mercedes would somehow fail, and that the un-likeable Verstappen would too. For your information, my dislike of Mercedes and Hamilton, eclipses the dislike I harbour for Dutch Max.
Seemingly, I miss all the good races, such as last week’s, the watching of which would’ve answered all of my prayers. Today’s was not very gratifying. Whilst a battle for first is always good (let alone a race-long one), I was hardly enamoured by the participants.
I don’t understand why Red Bull didn’t just put Verstappen on the soft compound straight (or a few laps) after Lewis pitted at the end. Hindsight is always 20/20, though I still think they should’ve counted on Verstappen’s pace on the softs to overtake Lewis, rather than hoping in vain that he would hold out on the ragged hard rubber. Did they not know that Lewis has something called pace?
I also spent some time today thinking about the job I’m going to be taking on tomorrow. It’s only an informal, cash-in hand thing, helping out with a friend’s garden. I do have some gardening experience from the jungle round the back of our current house. It does require an 8 am start though, as I suspect my employer is afraid of me succumbing to the heat of the midday sun. Fortunately, it’s only situated a minute’s walk away.
I think the job will be therapeutic; clearing away old debris, trimming back overgrown weeds, tilling the soil to aerate it, etc., hearkening back to the days of my ancestors, who no doubt tilled the fields of the Outer Hebrides. Upon writing this, I realised that ‘Outer Hebrides’ is an anagram of ‘out here debris’. Somehow, it seems quite appropriate.
Aside from that I started reading a true-crime novel from the 90s called Before He Wakes, by Jerry Bledsoe. I picked it up in Morrisons from a charity bookshelf. It seems strange how so much effort can be put into researching and publishing a book, only for it to end up discarded a few years later.
One of the central themes of the book is marital trouble. This seems to be at the heart of crux of every novel these days, and it seems like back in the 90s it was just as bad. I just don’t see why people don’t just plan for divorces just in case when they get married, or just not get married at all- anything other would be daft in my opinion. Or maybe they just ought to refrain from bringing children into the world so that their lives aught not be compromised by separation? Love causes people to do strange things.
I heard about an effect today, called the Gell-Mann amnesia effect. It describes the phenomenon of an expert –let’s say, in economics- reading a piece in a publication and finding it to be full of errors, only to then read about another field discussed in the publication –e.g. Chinese culture- with the assumption that the latter article must be correct, because he is not an authority in that area, and trusts the journalists (never a good idea).
In light of these two observations, I have coined an effect of my own: the Larry-King amnesia effect- so called after the eponym’s eight marriages. It describes the phenomenon of serial monogamists who think their next marriage will be a success, though forgetting their previous string of broken hearts.
Monday 05 August
Work on the garden commenced at the bright and early hour of 8:40. My tiredness was soon gone as I felt invigorated by the “power” of the “living wood”, as George R. R. Martin describes it. I did not have any philosophical insights in the solitude of the garden, though I did make a biological observation.
I saw a large black bee approach a flower in order to dock at it. As it did so, a smaller bumblebee emerged from behind and rammed into the black one. It did so again, before chasing the black bee away, proceeding to pollinate the flower itself. I took more care after that. Knowing the bees in the area to be aggressive to their own kind, I couldn’t trust what they’d do in a confrontation with a person.I kept my distance after that.
After the job I went home and had lunch, during which I listened to a Bill Gates interview on the radio. He was recounting his famous 2010 Ted talk, in which he released a jar of mosquitoes into the auditorium with the line “there’s no reason only poor people should have the experience”.
Only a few minutes after this, I myself spotted a mosquito in the kitchen. This came as no surprise, as I see them all the time around the house. It would appear to me that there’s an infestation. To make matters worse, they’re the black and white tiger mosquitoes, which carry disease. Apparently you’re meant to call the government whenever you see one and report its location. I fail to see what the point of this is, unless they’re going to promptly send Fabian round with his fly-swat to dispatch the insect. Something tells me that this isn’t very likely.
I then went to Ocean Village (pools) to relax in the Jacuzzi area, continuing to read about Barbara Stager- the main subject of Before He Wakes. Her behaviour seems to be getting stranger and stranger.
My friend introduced me to a series called Loudermilk. I enjoyed it, and plan to watch more. I feel like I can identify with the main character. After watching the first episode, I went home, had a shower, and listened to This is the Place by Noel Gallagher, followed by Nothing Looks the Same in the Light by Wham! to which I ate a grapefruit. Then I went to bed.
Tuesday 06 August
Work on the garden resumed. I saw the bees exhibit the same behaviour as yesterday, this time the bumblebee rammed the larger one five or six times. I wonder if this is a commonly observed phenomenon.
After the gardening I had a nap then headed down to Ocean Village to contemplate life. However, upon my arrival I soon found that I spent more time contemplating the presence of so many annoying children and their parents.
I wanted to use the pool Wi-Fi, meaning that I had to remain in the main area, placing me firmly in the family zone. This meant that I was subjected to some stimulating Llanito conversation, featuring subjects ranging from school timetables to new-borns, ADHD, and of course, affordable housing. I suppose these subjects really come to life when you actually have children.
Eventually I’d had enough, and went up the jacuzzis in the “Quiet Zone”, which turned out to be even worse. Three small girls were occupying a Jacuzzi, and were creating a raucous disturbance by shrieking continually. A lady who’d been sunbathing came over to me asking if the girls were mine, evidently looking for someone to blame. “Do I look old enough to have children?” I asked. “I didn’t want to be judgmental”, she replied.
Yesterday I was having a conversation with a friend, who said his mum had told him that she was was yearning for grandchildren. I light-heartedly replied saying that if I was rich and had the facilities, (i.e. a wife, house etc.) that I would happily have children right now. It seems like things are progressing faster than I anticipated. In other news, Barbara Stager’s had a tubal ligation.
I left for home at about half ten, at which point Gibraltar is firmly the domain of the dog walker. I heard two separate people talking earnestly to their dogs. I’m convinced some dog people actually think that their pets can comprehend them.
When I got home I listened to Daft Punk’s Discovery album, then went to sleep.
Wednesday 07 August
Whilst I was having some almond milk porridge this morning I heard a report on the radio that concerned The Great British Beer Festival. The festival had deemed it necessary to ban beers whose names had misogynistic connotations, such as ‘Dizzy Blonde’ and ‘Village Bike’. A representative from a brewer’s organisation said this was done as part of a “commitment to diversity and inclusivity”. The same rep also said that “We need to do more to encourage female beer drinkers, which are currently only 17 per cent of the population[1]”.
I think that if this representative was concerned with women’s health in any real way, she should be glad that only a small portion of them choose to drink beer, and therefore avoid becoming fat in the process. Long live the sexist craft breweries, and, if they actually do put women off drinking beer, I propose a toast to healthier women everywhere.
If women (or anyone for that matter) are offended by a certain beer brand, they can exercise their rights as a consumer by taking their business elsewhere; the joys of the free market.
As well as this I also heard that in Britain, the number of couples cohabiting is at a record high. It looks like people are starting to get the gist. Maybe the Larry-King amnesia effect is part of a self-regulating cycle- that people become conscious of it and start duly modifying their behaviour? Who knows? Maybe it’s just bad life-planning, as opposed to the hormone-fuelled irrationality of love that’s to blame.
Thursday 08 August
There was no gardening to be done today, so I decided to devote my time to domesticity. My philosophy for cleaning goes like this: I’d rather wait till something becomes quite untidy, then rectify the problem by returning it to a state of perfect cleanliness. I find this to be more enjoyable than a continual series of small, maintenance- based cleans. Indeed, one of those longer, deep cleans is what I did today.
Afterwards I went to Ocean Village. The children were playing a game which involved two teams of boys gathered at each end of the pool. The teams took it in turns to chuck a ball at each other. I couldn’t discern whether or not there were any formalised rules to the game, or whether the enjoyment of the game was derived purely from the atavistic pleasure of throwing something at someone else.
There may be some scientific reasoning for this. A few months ago I listened to an episode of The Joe Rogan Experience, during which Joe was in discussion with William Von Hippel, author of The Social Leap. In it, Von Hippel postulates that the adoption of throwing things by humankind’s early ancestors (Australopithecus) accounted for a doubling in brain size in a relatively short time period.
This is because the coordinated throwing of stones would act as an effective deterrent to predators- I don’t imagine a singular chimp throwing a stone at a lion to be that intimidating, though fifty of them all at the same time probably has a greater effect. Of course this is a massive simplification, though that’s the general gist.
A dramatised, sci-fi interpretation of this process occurs at the start of the 2001: A Space Odyssey novel, by Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke, a book I highly recommend. I don’t think it comes out in the film; I only watched the first twenty minutes and in any case I didn’t really like it.
Eventually, parents started to cart away their children, meaning that the game was no longer viable. The format was changed to a variant of piggy-in-the-middle. Adaptation at its finest!
I then became bored of surreptitiously observing children, and left.
Friday 09 August
Momentous news came today in the form of a letter from the Government of Gibraltar. It turns out that my dad’s application for full citizenship was successful, and that we will now be included on the ‘charter of Gibraltarians’. You can imagine how pleased I am to join with my Gibraltarian brothers and sisters; I feel like I’ve finally integrated into the community.
Back in Bayside I used to put on a character called ‘Johnny Llanito’, through whom I would parody Gibraltarian mannerisms, traits accents etc. I didn’t mean this in an offensive way, and I suppose it was actually quite funny, hence why my friends laughed at it, and why I often kept doing it. Today, though, marks the end of Johnny Llanito as just a character and the beginning of him as a legal reality. Strangely, though, I think I prefer the de-facto version.
I wonder what I ought to do to celebrate the procurement of my red ID card when it finally comes. I’m open to suggestions. However, I suspect that the celebration of its arrival will consist of me promptly returning to the UK. Or, ‘returning to UK’, as I should probably now be saying.
I went to a friend’s house today, and left at about half twelve. I once spoke to someone who was recounting the Gibraltar of his youth. He said that back in the day, it was a massive party town. That a couple of thousand squaddies posted here no doubt helped. According to him, Main Street was full of bars, drinkers and atmosphere. Even on a Friday night, I didn’t get that impression walking home, and I don’t think I ever have in my lifetime.
As I walked back home I saw the moon, which, because of a light mist was casting a halo in the sky around it, giving it a larger-seeming influence than it usually warrants. Its position in the sky put it unusually close to a star, giving the strange impression that the moon has a satellite of its own.
When I got home I checked the result of the first premier league match of the season. Seemingly, the astronomical event is a bad omen. Not like I think that Norwich are the sturdiest of opponents, though the scoreline was still ominous.
Saturday 10 August
Well, there we have it, a rough outline of the events of my week. I might do another one if this is well received. If you’ve gotten this far, I’ll count that as being the case.
Till next time
JM
[1] Read the whole of it here: https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/food-and-drink/sexist-alcohol-drink-names-great-british-beer-festival-2019-camra-a9043676.html
