Greenwich. Real heat.

We've been in the UK for ten days now, having escaped Calgary ahead of the heat warnings: 30C. But there, in Calgary, we have a cool basement to retreat to. And we then arrived in Britain in time for a more serious heat event: it's 38C outside now, all-time records falling left, right and centre. And no basement handy. The guest suite adjacent to Mum's flat has room to swing a small cat but no drafts all. The bed sheet I sleep on (or try to) is streaked with salt marks. Like the outline of a corpse on the floor of a crime show. I'm currently taking advantage of the air-conditioning in the nearby Costa Coffee. The walk down here was reminiscent on an afternoon wander through a bazaar in Delhi. Except that Delhi is even hotter now than it was the last time I visited five years ago. The planet really is  burning up.

Today is my brother Chris' birthday so we are going out for pizza. Yes. It is hopefully not as crazy as it sounds; there is a nice micro-brewery pub (Salt, formerly The Taproom) in nearby Deptford that is air-conditioned and does an extremely nice pizza.

It's birthday season, having celebrated my mum's 90th a few days ago. My 70th is just over a month away.


Street 'art' on the walk home from The Dog and Bell, this offering portrayed along Ha'penny Hatch.

When the weather allows, Mum takes an afternoon stroll through the garden/grounds of her apartment block. And usually stops for a conversation with a fellow resident, a recently retired accountant or book keeper. Reasonably educated, presumably. Well-traveled and knowledgeable, in and of Europe at least. Opinionated, definitely. He voted for Brexit though I declined to get involved by asking how that worked out; he is, after all, a friend valuable to my mum. His stated reason for leaving Europe? He didn't want to be in an alliance with a corrupt Italy! What about the fucking British Conservative Party, FFS?

A wine buff, he is usually found sitting in the garden with a couple of bottles of wine, a large glass and a cigar. More than happy to pronounce. The NHS is in a mess, apparently, simply because of lazy doctors who are, in addition, retiring too early. I'm not sure whether this opinion comes from The Telegraph or the Express. True, doctors are exhausted and some are choosing retirement rather than continue having their selflessness during COVID abused and taken for granted by the government.

The sound of a band marching past got him put of his chair to watch over the hedge. All black musicians, he told me. Rhythm's one thing they're good at, he said. Typical British casual racism.

Canada is far from perfect, especially my ignorant, extreme-Christian anti-vaxx dominated province of Alberta, but  I'm so glad to have escaped England almost 45 years ago. Too many Little Englanders would slot right in to the Fox News stereotypical lack of critical thinking audience. My brother, Chris, fortunately is not one of these. But my otherwise bright youngest brother who died five years ago was one. I just don't get it. 

If I'd stayed, what would I be?


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