Odds, Sods and Bits & Bobs

It's been a good week for British football. First up Liverpool played Barcelona, UEFA's favourite team that is expected to win the Champions League every season and boasts some of the best players in the world, led of course by Lionel Messi, considered by some the best player ever. In the first leg, in Barcelona, Liverpool had been humbled 3-0 (and it could have been more). Missing two of their best players through injury for the return leg at Anfield, no-one gave them a chance. But on a special Anfield night – perhaps THE most special, they trounced Barca 4-0 to go through and reach their second successive CL final. Barca had their chances, several in fact, but Liverpool weathered the storm to win. The atmosphere was delirious as their fans continued to serenade them long after the final whistle. Wonderful stuff.

Fast forward a day to Amsterdam, and a vibrant young Ajax side faced Spurs. Ajax took into the match a slender one goal lead, so it was expected to be tight, and anybody's game. By half time, Ajax had added another two, controlled much of the play and at 3-0 looked home and dry. A year or two ago, they would have been, but this Spurs side is different, older and wiser now, despite not having signed a player for 18 months as they focused on financing a brand spanking new 60,000 capacity stadium at a cost of getting on for a billion. They came out, made a couple of changes and bang – the unreal happened. Lucas Moura, their last signing all that time ago, and in and out of the side ever since, branded an expensive misfit, took centre stage and netted his second hat trick of the season (both within the last couple of weeks). The third, that sent Spurs through to their first Final, came deep into added time – 5 minutes had been added, a late substitution gave another 30 seconds – and in those extra extra seconds Spurs scored. Cue tears all round – from shattered Ajax players who had been so close to a first Final in 30 years, and from ecstatic Spurs staff and players. The manager Mauricio Pocchettino was interviewed on live tv, tears still pouring down his face. If anything, even more wonderful than Liverpool's epic.

Fast forward another 24 hours to the Europa League semi finals. A much derided competition, at least in England, but nonetheless one worth winning. Arsenal and Chelsea, London clubs who are serial winners and serial CL qualifiers (through the Premier League top 4) were playing. Both were in good positions from their first leg matches, and duly dispatched their opponents, although Chelsea needed penalties to beat Eintracht Frankfurt on their own turf. So we have an all- London final to look forward to – to be played in - er – Azerbaijan. Unless, of course, UEFA uses a bit of common sense and moves the game closer to home (which is highly unlikely).

But history has been written – no country has ever provided the four finalists for their premier competitions. Predictions? Well, I would like to see Spurs win the Champions League (they are my second club after all) and Arsenal win the Europa. Yes, I know Spurs fans hate Arsenal (or Woolwich Wanderers as we prefer to call them) and I'm no different, but I can't help feeling that both trophies residing for a year in North London, at clubs with such long standing animosity, would take that rivalry to an even higher level (if that's possible). It will also mean Spurs extend their bragging rights even more, as the Arse have never won the CL.

And next season will be epic!

If only our politicians could emulate our football teams, but no, the Brexit shitshow drags on. Britain was scheduled to leave the EU on 29 March, but with breathtaking incompetence and self interest, the Tory Party (hereinafter termed the Nasty Party) were unable to get the required legislation through Parliament. So a couple of days before that deadline, Theresa May begged the remaining EU leaders (the EU27) for an extension, and finally, after two years of broken promises, agreed to enter into discussions with opposition parties (primarily the Labour Party) to try and reach a consensus and get the exit deal finalised. Then they all buggered off for an ill-deserved Easter break

.

The extension has led to further complications. As part of it, the EU27 made it crystal clear that should we fail to pass the Brexit bill, then we would have to take part in the EU Parliamentary Election on 23 May, or be kicked out without a deal in place – the “Hard Brexit” that so many misinformed people and dogmatic Brexiteer zealots across all parties actually want, no matter the harm it will do to the country for years to come. But all has been quiet in Westminster, no real dramas, and cross-party talks have limped on.

Until last weekend. Mrs. May leaked details of the proposals under discussion, in a self penned article in the Sunday Times, despite previously insisting that the discussions must be held in secret until an acceptable compromise was reached and signed off – terms which the Opposition parties both accepted and adhered to. Labour was understandably furious, accused her of showing bad faith, stating they no longer trusted her an inch and called for her resignation while agreeing to stand by their side of the bargain and continue the discussions. Amid that furore, and in a typical Nasty Party tactic, the PM's Deputy announced quietly that as agreement had not been reached we would therefore take part in the Euro elections after all – a full two months after the Government had promised, times without number, the country would have left the Union.

So we have now the additional comedy of parties scrambling to find candidates to participate in an electoral process that nobody actually wants, to take positions as MEPs for what could conceivably be only a few weeks, at a cost of millions of pounds. In addition, the electorate will be expected to vote in a process they had been promised three years ago they would never have to take part in again. You really couldn't make it up.

I would be very surprised if the Nasty Party (and for that matter Labour) do not suffer a bloodbath as a country (at least those who can be bothered to vote) turn to alternatives no matter how unappealing they might be. In the local council elections last week, the Nasty Party and Labour both suffered heavy defeats (in the Nasty Party's case the worst for 30-odd years), with the LibDems and Greens the main beneficiaries. I suspect they will do even worse in the Euros. About the only person happy with this state of affairs is the odious Nigel Farage, whose new Brexit Party (no prizes for guessing what their policies, such as they are, might be all about) fully expect to gain most votes and most seats, enabling them to “make the people's voice heard loud and clear in Brussels”. I'm sure the EU27 are deeply impressed at that prospect!

In the long run, it's possible some good may come of all this. If the Nasty Party and Labour do take extreme kickings, then May and perhaps Corbyn will be forced from office. The problem then would be who takes up the reins. There is a real risk a Brexit zealot like Jacob Rees-Mogg or (God forbid!) Boris Johnson might take over the Nasty Party, in which case expect a hard Brexit by the end of the summer. Unless the the LibDems and the Greens, the new pro-Remain Change UK (aka the Independent Group) that broke away from the two main parties, do well enough to enable them to form a Remain coalition of some kind to force at least a second referendum – an idea that is anathema to most of the Nasty Party and Farage supporting Brexiteers but gaining traction everywhere else. If this happens, I expect the people will now vote to Remain in the EU. I might be wrong of course, I'm not a political analyst, but it seems clear that now the ramifications of leaving are becoming clearer by the day, an Exit is becoming less attractive. We will see.

But it does seem clear that Britain's political landscape is shifting away from the old first past the post, winner take all system that has led us to this mess, towards a more fragmented system with more smaller parties demanding a say. I suspect the result of all this will be a move, probably at the next Election (whenever that might be!), towards a more consensual coalition government system that is common throughout Europe, but that the events of the last 10 years have shown we really don't do very well. But if the divisions in society are ever to be healed and this whole Brexit mess to be resolved (either way, In or Out) then we, as a nation, are going to have learn it pretty quickly.

Interesting times.

But summer is just around the corner, so let's try to forget all this crap and enjoy ourselves. I'm sitting in the cottage at my działka writing this and waiting for the light drizzle to stop so that I can get back to my gardening. It's like a big allotment and covers I think 400 square metres (it's actually two plots, one is ours and the other my sister-in-law's with the dividing fence pulled down), laid to grass with fourapple tress and a couple of walnut trees, all productive, a patio area outside the little cottage and flower beds around three sides. The fences need a bit of attention, to improve the privacy a bit, and there are some issues with running water that need addressing so we can install a toilet, but all in all it's great, and I love it.

When the sun comes out it's a bit of a sun trap, and an excellent place to relax and catch a few rays. We can string a hammock between two of the apple trees and we have an old wicker sofa with soft and deep cushions to relax in, and of a course a picnic table to seat six, comfortable chairs and a couple of barbecues (one an electric hot plate, the other a battered old coal one that came with the plot). In summer we're here most weekends, eating, drinking and enjoying ourselves, and as it's part of a sizeable estate of similar plots it can get quite lively with friends visiting and chatting to the neighbours and so on. But during the week, the place is largely empty – as people are working – so for me now it's a bit of bolt hole.

All writers need somewhere to work, somewhere quiet to concentrate and get the ideas down and polished. Mostly, I've done my writing at desks in hotel rooms across the world, or in whatever office I happen to be based at any given time. At home, typically it's been perching the laptop uncomfortably on my knees, sprawled out on my bed with the door closed. I've used coffee shops too, at airports and shopping malls. None of these are ideal.

But the garden shed is a popular solution. Tom Sharpe wrote some of the funniest books I've ever read in an old shed at the bottom of his garden. C.S.Lewis wrote much of the Chronicles of Narnia in similar conditions, and J.K.Rowling famously penned much of the first couple of Harry Potter yarns in coffee bars around Edinburgh, as a single mum with baby asleep in the pushchair. David Cameron, the fool who kicked off the entire Brexit farce with that ill-conceived and poorly executed Referendum before walking away from the mess he had created the very next day, is currently holed up in an expensively modernised gypsy caravan in his back garden scribbling his memoirs for a seven figure advance. I sincerely hope nobody buys the bloody thing and he's forced to return the money.

So my cottage is kind of ideal for me. It's within easy reach of home, quiet (apart from regular departures and arrivals at Warsaw airport a couple of hundred metres away – you soon get used to it!), has electric light and power and behind where I'm sitting two bookcases that contain most of my library in case I get fed up or bored or blocked and need a break. It's not quite the study I always longed for (and frankly still do!) but it's good enough.

Plots like this are actually very common around Europe I've noticed. There are several similar estates scattered around Warsaw, and I understand every city in the country has them too. It's a great idea – people are hard wired I think to want a plot of land, no matter how big or small, and in most cities, certainly here in Warsaw, apartment complexes far outweigh the number of houses, so the balcony replaces the garden. Not good enough for most people, although admittedly much easier to maintain. I'm happy to own both.

People of course grow flowers and in many cases fruit and vegetables, like my dad did on the little allotment that he had back in my home town of Edenbridge in my 1950s childhood. His allotment has gone, like all of them, sold for building land and now replaced by a couple of housing estates. I think most of the people who live in my old road, and certainly those that live on the estates, are unaware the allotments ever existed, but as my dad rebuilt his life after spending four or five years fighting the Japanese in the jungles of Burma, his provided an oasis of calm to forget those horrors and heal mind and body – and provided the best fruit and veg I have ever eaten.

I've also seen działkas in Holland and in Germany, close to the railway lines in and out of Amsterdam and Frankfurt and Cologne. The one there was particularly notable – it was the third I had spotted on my way through the city approaching the Hauptbahnhof, and comprised perhaps six plots of similar size to mine, all sandwiched in the small area that comprised the triangular junction where three busy mainlines merged perhaps a kilometre from the station. I'm not sure how people got in and out of the plots (there did not appear to be any access roads), but there were sun loungers propped against walls, people pruning flowers and bedding plants, in shorts and vests and floppy sunhats, seemingly oblivious to the intercity expresses rumbling away on the other side of their boundary fences.

I remember something similar on the outskirts of Frankfurt, many years ago. It was a hot July day and we had finished work a little early, so with some free time I decided to pay a quick visit to the spa town of Bad Homburg, a 30 minute S-bahn ride north of the city. The train was heading out of town and quite close to the city limits, as we passed an estate similar to the one I'm on now. As we passed one particular plot, right beside the tracks and slowing to come into another station, I saw through the window a family enjoying their particular plot. The husband was using a hand mower to cut the grass, the wife a hosepipe to water the plants along one side of the garden, and two kids, perhaps five or six years old, a boy and girl, fair haired and probably blue eyed, splashing happily in a small inflatable paddling pool. It was the quintessential German Aryan family. And all were happily naked. They waved cheerily to the passengers on the train as we passed by, and by and large were ignored. I was probably the only one who responded, and I politely waved back. It was my introduction to the German Freikorpkultur (FKK) movement, naturism as we Brits call it, Clothing Optional to the Americans.  It's a lifestyle that is clearly spreading worldwide, and perhaps now has lost its niche status and become mainstream, with dedicated resorts and beaches pretty much everywhere.   

I confess I found it then quite natural and appealing. I still do.