Crosstown Traffic
I had breakfast in the sunshine outside the front of our house; the clouds came over and I wore a fleece, but it was no less pleasant for that. I was reading the latest New Scientist. Of late, I’ve seen a lot of stuff online about ‘trust in the media’, much of it too broad, I think. I trust New Scientist‘s weekly analysis and daily emails more than the lobby correspondents who monopolise the mainstream reporting. In a newspaper such as the Guardian, I overwhelmingly trust good local reporters, like Helen Pidd, over most of their roster of opinion columnists.
Screenshot
I posted a while back about what things might be like once this is all over. I quoted Paul Gray who pointed to:
all the things , thought impossible or too hard just a month or so ago, that are now in place, established with pace and urgency
I have a repeat prescription every 56 days and, until now, it was always too difficult, for one reason or another, to have the prescription approved by the practice then picked up at the pharmacist without having to go to the surgery to pick up the signed piece of paper and walk it round to the shop and wait. Guess what? The screenshot to the right is our medical practice’s website now (click to expand).
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I spent the afternoon working out a dark and horrible 17th century backstory for a character’s family history. It probably won’t be used in the work in progress, because, by its nature, it isn’t a story that would be retold by the participants; it is private to them. What I plan to do is deal with the consequences of that story. Susanna Clarke, when writing Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, did that a few times, then published the stories seperately as The Ladies of Grace Adieu. But she’s Susanna Clarke and I’m just a hack.
Anyway, I believe that around 184,000 books are published every year in the UK, which makes it a bit of a mug’s game to try and join in, when you think about it. In the absence of any substantial publishing interest in my writing so far (two published short stories is hardly a glittering career), I was toying with posting a recent short story here on a page of its own if anyone is interested.
Let me know.
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There was some chat on two different groups I’m part of yesterday about increased road traffic. I’d noticed it myself, but then we live reasonably close to a large supermarket.
From up on our hill we can see quite a lot, especially with my binoculars, repurposed from birdwatching. This morning, at least, the edinburgh bypass, which is usually hotching with traffic, was pretty much empty as were the other main roads that I could see. And it was very quiet sitting out front with my coffee this morning.
It occured to me that the time I usually go out for my walk would be round about the time people might be coming off a shift and on their way home. Sure enough, this evening, I made a point of looking more closely and a reasonable number (though not all) of the drivers were either wearing some kind of medical outfit, or a shirt/jumper with an embroidered corporate logo. Given that we use the car to take groceries and stuff to a vulnerable relative, I’m OK with that.
Where I do have a problem is in what I know and acknowledge is quite a selfish sense–I really like the reduced traffic, the quiet and the clean air and am grouchy about things that disturb them.
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Music tonight is for my friend Rachel in New Zealand, who is having fun learning barre chords: John Williams, playing J S Bach’s Prelude from Lute Suite No 4 in E Major
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