I spoke too soon. I gloried in the ship’s pool being mine alone each morning then everything changed. I’ve not had the pool to myself since. There has been the charming Scandinavian lady who has at least four different bathing costumes and the couple who share the centre lane in an effort to keep out of our way. And there have been others. The one who gets to the pool first has the priority. It’s usually me. However the lesson learned has been of the danger in speaking too soon and of making the assumption that the current pattern will continue.

One of the joys of this cruise has been reading ‘Spring Cannot be Cancelled’ by David Hockney and Martin Gayford. Much of the book is from their correspondence and recordings of their conversations along with reproductions of paintings and much else besides.

David Hockney, “Isn’t that what you need: people who can see things from different points of view? For most of my life there was a city called Leningrad; now it’s called St Petersburg. Leningrad it turned out, was just a blip, but we all thought it was here to stay. That’s why I was always against communism: people telling you that you should sacrifice the prestent for the future because it’s going to be terrific. But how do they know it’s going to be terrific? Nobody knows. You have to live in the here and now. It’s the now that’s eternal.”

The swimming pool on this cruise ship Explora 1 is 15 meters long, much longer than the pool on Seabourn’s Encore. Each morning on the cruise so far I have had the pool totally to myself. This morning as I swam my 500 meters I pondered the differences between the two pools and the two cruise lines. The only conclusion I came to was that being able to travel this way on a ship of fewer than 900 guests is wonderful! Why bother to compare. Enjoy the pool, enjoy the cruise!

The Plastic Mac

On Thursday I went to church by bus as it was raining. I can’t manage a walking stick and an umbrella so I have a lightweight plastic macintosh with a hood which keeps me reasonably dry for the walk through the park from the bus stop to St Agnes.

After the service a friend commented on how useful the raincoat must be. I agreed and said that I thought I must look like a demented pixie.

“Yes you do!” She said.

I repeated this interchange to the man at the supermarket.

He said, “You look marvellous!”

The next day I told my church-going friend what had happened to which she replied, “But which of us was telling the truth.”

I know I don’t look marvellous in the plastic mac with a hood.

The Worn Path

Thirty years ago when I fist came to Kennington there were no worn paths across the grass of Kennington Park. People walked on the sealed pathways round the sides of the park.

Now there are several paths through the grass worn by people preferring to take the shortest route rather than the sealed paths.

The problem has been ‘solved’ in the small park, formerly St Mary Newington’s churchyard, at Elephant and Castle by putting a raised tarmac path diagonally across the park ruining the whole aspect of he park.

However I am old enough to remember a time when travelling around Europe there were signs at almost every park or square stating ‘Do Not Walk on the Grass’. In the appropriate language of course. At least here we can enjoy walking on the grass as well as walk across it.

On Saturdays I generally walk to the market and take the bus home but this time decided to go both ways by bus. On the way, as I moved to my seat, I passed a young woman on her mobile telephone talking at the top of her voice. I gave her a speaking look. It had no effect.  She got off at the next stop.

A man then got on and he began a call at the top of his voice. I didn’t dare give him a look. At the stop before Oval an older person climbed aboard talking loudly on her phone. She glared at the man, each of them still talking loudly. Then began a volume confrontation with furious glances.

The next stop was the market. I almost chose to stay on the bus to see who won but resisted the temptation.

All this within four stops on a London bus. No one spoke on a mobile phone on my return journey.

The title of Iain McGilchrist’s Lecture may have put off some from listening to it on You Tube. The word ‘Religion’ deters some in the same way it attracts others. If anything is strongly recommended for me to read or watch, especially if I am told if will be ‘good’ for me, it has the reverse to the intended effect.

The title of McGilchrist’s book, published by Yale University Press, ‘The Master and his Emissary’ will again put off some.

But for those who manage to get beyond the titles and into the stuff of McGilchrist’s research and thinking about the differing functions of the right and left sides off the brain there are, I think, fascinating discoveries to be made.