nigh

The end is nigh.  

William Nigh, early filmmaker

The newspapers haven’t yet been delivered.  It’s a distribution problem.  And like all sorts of things in this complex system in which we live, it is underpinned by largely unsung human labour and when it goes wrong, it goes wrong.  I just like the paper with my coffee, that’s all. 

And whether it’s a fault in the software, the grid,  war or Covid, or even strikes as featured in the French movie “Fulltime” (what a threatening portrait of commute to the city) everything is all right until it isn’t and then we feel – well, I do – terribly vulnerable.

Damn the doomsayers who dominate our media.  

Not only am I tired of bad news, I am tired of it being presented to me so badly.   It took Matthew Syed writing in the Sunday Times last week to offer a thoughtful explanation of why Putin is pursuing the Russian invasion into Ukraine, over and above his Botoxed ambition: the Ukraine has elements he wants to get his hands on.  Russia has all sorts of mineral wealth but it is hard to get at. 

Yes, I am sure I could have found out about this another way but I expect that basic news media will give me a more informed picture than it does. At the moment it is equal parts of Oh God, Nalvalny

and baby gorilla. I regret Mr.Navalny’s death in all sorts of ways, predictable though it sadly was, and I don’t like gorilla. Repeated several days running, as almost everything is, the juxtaposition makes for visual indigestion.         

Terrestrial tv is sub-hysterical, repetitive and seems to have got caught in its own knickertwist ie nobody is looking, colour it more vividly – and they still don’t because much of it fails at the first hurdle – it sounds wrong, it looks wrong, it does not interest.  Which is why I still buy a newspaper.  Yes, it is biased – what isn’t  ? – but it is often better conceived, more informative, more thoughtful  even if irritating than  “ our BBC”.  Not mine it’s not. ITV is patchy and Channel 4 has developed into highspeed hectoring.

But on the way to “nigh”, there are still moments of kindness and consideration and even occasionally, grace.   And you know I notice because I write about them.   The week before  made demands I love to try and meet – goodbye to this one (new job, home country), hello to that one (haven’t seen for ages), new fridge, old friend worried about her daughter and new friend worried about an old friend who is embarked for the second time into a physically and psychologically violent relationship.   Grace for me was to know finally that I shall never be 40 again. Did everything I could but

Joseph Beuys “We cannot do it without roses”

spent.

Anxiety is apparently on the rise among the young: I want to shout “ not just the young”.  It is the price of a uncertain world even if it does have all sorts of things going for it.  Me too, more anxious than at any time since I was in my 20s.

But yesterday in spite of a shopping list, I forgot the milk so queued again behind two women with weekly shops from which I was rescued by Joy (!) who said “Put it on the card”, whisked me through the machine and then went “ Taa – daa !” with outstretched arms.  “You be careful” I said.” If that halo slips, you’ll choke !”

And then two young women in Somali robes moved without a word from me so that I could sit down.  I called “Thank you ! How very nice of you …” echoes of my mother.  And I repeated my thanks when I got off the bus – all of us happy and waving.

And when I got the bus last week, a truly handsome  man (Umslopagaas – see  Rider Haggard) beamed at me from behind the wheel saying “Haven’t seen you for while …” and you think of how many thousands he had seen ?  And without a word the second time we met we just kissed our fingers to each other.

So – nigh – but not yet.