Category: Uncategorised

[I think all graphics in this post will expand if you click or double click on them.]

I thought that self-portrait would be a sensible way to start this little post.  OK, I don’t really do sensible do I?!

Talking of not really doing sensible, I’ve just wasted several hours, not for the first time, trying get a better way of putting GPS recorded tracks into WordPress blog posts … and failed again!  I will try to pass on without cursing too loudly.

Back on the 23rd of June I had scoped out the trip up to the saddle between my valley and the Champagny valley  (Cerise and I go exploring).  On that occasion my concern was whether the route over the saddle in the big ridge between the Aime area and the Champagny valley would be blocked with snow and I was wondering if I should tell CA that we couldn’t meet if that had been the case.  That seems bizarre now after nearly a month of roasting sun has blasted the snow away except where it is much, much higher than that.

[I’m using “CA” and “CA+1” as I quite often do here, after discussion with each person, as a bit of anonymisation/pseudonymisation to protect the innocent, and particularly those with clinical jobs.]

The saddle is where the track changes from the challenging red climbing gradient through a white moment to the blue descent!  Back in June, I had gone a little over the top but as I’d established that the way was visibly clear from there downwards, I had turned back.  That meant that I hadn’t realised just how pebbly and challengingly steep the rest of the downhill from there was.  I’m used to that area with skis on my feet when it’s covered with piste basher bashed snow so when I had last been on it it was easy blue or at worst slightly reddish skiing.  Oh boy it’s different on the track on a mountain bike: definite red and I was pretty glad I got down to Champagny in one piece and without Cerise and I parting company anywhere!  Here’s the profile: grey is the elevation and red my heart rate.

The whole journey took about 80 minutes.  It’s amusing to me to see how my heart rate dropped dramatically as soon as I was no longer slogging uphill. Back at the time it felt as if it stayed pretty high with the concentration on the track and with not a little anxiety.  In fact, there’s a slight reduction through the descent isn’t there?   (Those peaks are brief uphill bits.)  I wonder if the slight drop in HR really was me getting used to downhill rough track moutain biking?!

OK, that’s all the geeky stuff, probably reflects my anxieties about mortality, morbidity and generally about ageing.  Here’s the view back from the first stop (the first point at which my HR drops in that plot).

The small bunch of ski apartments in the foreground is part of a collection called “Plagne Villages” and Aime 2000, my Alpine home now, is that strange ridged building breaking the skyline in the distance.  Here’s the view la bit later, a bit below the saddle and looking down into Champagny.  At that point I was just getting into the downhill (and pausing to appreciate that it was going to be a be lot more what cyclists call “technical”).  It was to get a lot steeper lower down!

I made it down and basked in the roasting sun waiting for CA+1 to arrive.  We spent the next few hours having a very leisurely meal in a local restaurant and catching up and largely succeeding in not talking about work.  Cycling was a good topic of conversation, as CA’s +1 is a keen cyclist but also because they and I would each watch different ends of the 12th stage of the Tour de France the next day.  However, one topic that emerged was whether I was, or should be, lonely, up here. I’ve got to ponder that haven’t I?

Isolation/loneliness

This pondering had started when I met up with another great ex-colleague on the anti-Trump march last week.  She too is now close friend like CA, and we’d been colleagues in Nottingham.  She had challenged me about isolation and loneliness clearly a bit puzzled by, or concerned for, me.

Until that challenge I hadn’t really thought much about it and last Wednesday meeting my first (near) visitors seemed a good time to chew it a bit more.  My main response, for now, is simply “Well, it’s pretty isolated up here of course, but I’m not lonely, no.”  I am qualifying that by adding that perhaps it’s much too early to judge.  I had exactly two weeks up here from 10.vi.18 to 24.vi.18 when being here was very new and there seemed much to do to get set up to live here.  Since then I’ve only had four more days up here, and now it’s the summer season so there are many holidaymakers around, though a fraction of the numbers up here in the ski season.  Also there are now all the shop and restaurant staff who come in for July and August to make the area a resort again.  And, of course, I’ve now spent about four hours of my four days in this lovely meeting with CA+1!

However, there is a question to address isn’t there.  Undoubtedly, it’s a pretty isolated life up here, and there is a sort of isolation even now when people around me are people I don’t really know, and perhaps particularly when you don’t make a very good job of understanding, or speaking in, their language.  I think I felt slightly more alone, but still not lonely, down in Aime on Thursday surrounded by French (and at least two Brits I heard) watching the Tour de France go by.  There are a few people who work up here whom I guess I’ve known for 14 years but, though I’m fond of them, language and our very different worlds mean I feel frustrated not to be able to talk more easily and about anything I or they might want to. However, we’re not close.  The only ones who will be here after everything shuts down again at the end of August are les gardiens and I think that they and I are OK to keep fairly amicable with each other but very separate. I suspect that’ oes with the job for them: be friendly to people when there’s a need to interact, e.g. when one accosted me this morning to tell me some letters had arrived from Orange.fr, but otherwise don’t get involved.

So in terms of physical proximity and conversation, this is a pretty isolated way of life here, and from the end of August it will be even more so.  I’ll be going back home and to Llantwit to see my parents for bit of time in September but then the first real stint of isolation will start, probably twelve weeks broken only by a couple days for a work trip to Barcelona.  At the moment I have no sense that I’ll go stir crazy, I’m actually looking forward to it I think!

Of course, in our current world, there are many ways in which I’m still in converations with many people that don’t need physical proximity.  Those include this blog of course.  Howver, I don’t think my comfort being alone up here is just about having all those though I do think it would be much, much harder without them.  I’ll come back to thinking more about those connections and communication channels in the next weeks and months.  However, I know that part of what my friends are exploring is something crucial about physical proximity in communication.

Anyway, putting cyberconnections to one side for now, the challenge on the march, and faced with CA’s tactful but clear amused sympathy with those earlier questions about missing people and loneliness was clearly that this makes me seem a bit weird!  That’s a bit uncomfortable and has forced me to confront this issue!

One way of looking at this is that I think I’ve always been someone quite happy to minimise contact with other humans; I’ve always been happy to be in the country with a “natural environment” and birds as company.  I put that “natural environment” in quotes as, at least in most of Europe, there’s nowhere that isn’t shaped by humans whether that shaping is recent or ancient.  I think I realised this at around ten years old and it’s important and I think it’s pertinent to how I experience being up here.

That seemed so important that I had to check my facts, and the moment of clear recognition that pretty much all the British landscape is at least cosmetically touched by humans, and much is only as it is because of centuries, millennia, of human impacts.  It turns out that I must have been 13 as to me the moment of revelation was from a book.  That I must have been at least 13 makes sense as I have a clear memory of reading the book that changed my view for ever that is definitley in the bedroom I had when we lived in Leamington Spa and we moved there when I was 11.  The book was The making of the English landscape by W.G. Hoskins and it was published in 1970.  It feels a bit odd now to find that must only have crystallised things I’d known much earlier, I’m clear that saw the “natural environment” as shaped by human actions well before 13, I’d say before 10.  Pondering this now I think the sense of how humans engraved themselves, ourselves, for good and ill, on the land goes way back.  I can remember a work colleague of Dad’s telling us how the oak trees on the farm I spent so many hours, days wandering across as a child between 6 and 11 were centuries old.  That wasn’t explicitly about human intervention but I think I already sensed how humans had adapted hedgerows to the trees and probably removed so many trees that weren’t useful or wanted where they were.

Why does this matter?  When I’m not up here quite a bit of my time is spent working alone at a keyboard: not so different from here.  However, back “down there”, there are also busy times when I’m in “normal” connectedness with other people.  In those times, like everyone else, I’m immersed in the currency, the immediacy of the interactions.  The time frame can be in split seconds (try waiting too long, or intervening too soon, in a psychotherapy group that has gone near the “light blue touchpaper” moment of near criticality.  You need to get the carbon control rods of the right, comment in to prevent an explosion, but do it too often, too soon, the group never does any useful work: mistiming by less than a second can be disastrous yet playing safe too much simply wastes everyone’s time.  That urgency is perhaps particularly true of group work but certainly can be there in or family, couple and even in individual sessions, though my sense was that there was generally slightly more time to play with there.

Even in a lovely, really heartwarming, social contact, such as this first meeting with old friends coming into (the edge of) my new life, is focused in the minutes and hours of the overlap, we’re in “short time”.  Those minutes and hours are precious and, as on this occasion, over fast.  The topics do stretch the time window: CA and I first met early in 2008 I think, and we worked together, including facilitating groups together at times, for six to seven years, until late 2014.  We have stayed in touch, as I have with a number of colleagues from that post, ever sinced despite my being only fairly rarely in Nottingham now.  We do talk about the whole of our lives so I guess the frame of conversation can go back up to 40 to 50 years.  Of course we talk forward too, think onwards, and have children, so I guess some of that forward reach goes even a bit further than our likely life expectancies, but looking backwards and forwards involves a rapid shading of things out of focus; they become sketchy just as resolution at the edges of our field of vision falls off.  That quality of focus falls off more rapidly looking forwards than backwards as it must and I guess my reflections above about the Hoskins book illustrate that loss of accuracy and definition as I look back.  However, all these interactions are quite “current”, their total span is well under a century.

I think this is oddly pertinent to being up here.  I’m not sure how best to explain this, and I think I’m about to leave off wrestling with these questions here for today, but something that stops me being lonely here, or, so far,seems to do so, is about feeling a space, time and quite literally a vision in every direction, that goes back into geological prehistory, that makes my own life just a detail, like any one flower on the meadows up here.

Looking out the window at the superb view here I know are there are scratches on the landscape that can’t necessarily see, or that I can’t identify, that go back to human prehistory.  They were inscribed on what nature offered back when our species was already shaping things dramatically in order to survive, but when we had yet to use written language.  Then there are at least a couple of millennia (the Romans were mining silver and other minerals here) of historical markers, both the really obvious buildings but also things like where there trees and where there aren’t, where there are odd changes dents in the pasture and the walls of fields.  There’s something in the shift of perspective from short to long time that was a motivation for my 2016 pelerinage, and started this blog.  That motivation, promising myself the cycle ride back when I was 18-21, seems to me to be something about acknowledging being part of a stream of humanity with all the glorious, and all the truly, truly terrible things that we do and about juxtaposing them against, say, Mont Blanc towering over us, almost, but not quite unmarked by us.

I’m intrigued, now as I’m writing, in this very self-centred way, about meeting CA+1, that this seems to be about managing a location in time, as well as managing distance from others.  I spent a lot of yesterday and today creating the calendar on this site and hence the wherewithal for the site and this blog to have a more intricate historical weave.  I suspect it wasn’t an accident that these reflections about isolation have turned to time and that part of what the work creating the calendar did for me was to relieve writing here of some pressures for immediacy, some urgency, that they had for me before.

I guess it’s a pretty fundamental human power and responsibility to manage our location in time and in relationships; now I find myself, kicked onwards by the Brexit madness, with time in a sort of agnostic’s retreat, to work on that!

Let’s finish with some ‘photos.  Click or double click on the image to get full screen.  Yes, I think the display is pretty unattractive but it’s all I’ve managed to achieve so far!

[Best_Wordpress_Gallery id=”10″ gal_title=”Meeting CA+1 in Champagny: the ride!”]

 

I’m back up in Aime2000 (probably “A2k” here in the future).  I arrived, via a visit to an impressive service for people with addictive or impulse control problems in Lyon on Monday, up here Tuesday evening.  Wednesday included a lovely meeting with CA, former colleague in Nottingham and her partner in Champagny; Thursday I shot down the mountain hairpins to be in Aime well before 10.00 to watch the Tour de France shoot through … then I crawled back up all those hairpins; Friday, as I feared, I didn’t get the landline and broadband fixed; yesterday was mostly sorting things out to be back to work properly by Monday; same today.

There’s so much there that merited blog posts in just seven days and the three weeks before that were also full on with the SPR meeting in Amsterdam, a few days back with the family in London, the EPCA conference in Edinburgh, a few days with my parents in Wales, back to London to see the family again briefly, join the anti-Trump march, catch three exhibitions and then the trip to Lyon and back here.  I have a least ten things that I’ve wanted to blog about in that time but, and this has always been my problem with blogging, when things are full on there is much to blog about but there’s no time, but when things settle I don’t write them.

Part of the problem is, of course, that even when I’m not scuttling around and seeing things, I’m still more or less desperately trying to catch up with a backlog of work and more personal communications than the blog route supports.  |However, another issue is that there feels to be a tension between the immediacy of focus that seems typical of blogging (“specious present” anyone?!) with the clarity that what I’m wanting to write about still is now firmly in the past.  For a long time I’ve found the calendar on the right (on a full screen) of the blog posts rather limited as you can’t jump around in it and it only shows posts.

So, finally, I used some time yesterday and today to choose and install a calendar plugin on the site. It’s a horrible long URL:

https://www.psyctc.org/pelerinage2016/ecwd_calendar/calendar/

but it’s there in the top menu of all the pages on the site now as CE diary. One big advantage of this is that I can put events into the diary and crosslink them to calendar.  One of those coming up in a minute.  What I’m hoping to do over the next weeks and months is to protect a bit of time every week to blog not just about the present but about events from the past, and link them into that calendar.  One thing this will help me do is reprise the ride that started all this two years ago.  Better late than never and perhaps an opportunity to broaden out from the excessive immediacy of most of my blogging so far? We’ll see.

Yes, it’s been more travelling and none of it went to schedule.  It started fairly well with me up at about 05.00 on Monday the 25th.  By 06.35 the view looked like this.

I was off on Cerise and rapidly aware that my hands were going to freeze as I shot down the mountain road with all its hairpins, dropping through that layer of cloud, into the valley you can see below it.

For the first 5 to 10km I was doing that thing of alternating a hand in my armpit to stop them getting painfully cold but by 10km it was astonishing to find that already that wasn’t necessary and by the time I reached the town down there, not long after 07.00 it was already really warm there.  Altitude really does affect ambient temperature; I think the rule of thumb is about 1°C for every vertical 100m so I guess I gained about 16°C from the apartment to the valley.

Cerise and I waited happily in the increasingly frankly hot sun for Damien, kind partner of Aurélie to arrive and haul Cerise away for safekeeping while I’m away.

Aurélie works in the letting agency we use (Alp’agence  www.alpagence.fr for the French or http://www.alpagence.com/en/agency/ gives some history in English).  He was early and lovely and Cerise went off in the back of his pickup.  That had all been great but from then on things were fraught.  My 10.55 train just disappeared off the board with no comment or warning.  The station in Aime turns out to have been closed though the trains still stop.  That meant there was no-one to ask, and finding out information from the internet on my ‘phone was not easy.  In the end I did make it back home, shortly before midnight instead of early evening, but the journey back had two steps and no-one able to confirm I would make it until I got to the ticket office in Gare du Nord in Paris and got my final ticket changed. Fortunately, both the ticket agents were friendly, believed me about the first train and changed my tickets without charging me. 

The following day I was off to Amsterdam for the Society for Psychotherapy Research conference there (http://www.sprconference.com/).  I was taking no risks and got to Luton Airport really early … so I was trapped there for four and a half hours while EasyJet seemed to have lost interest in us and kept asking us to look at their app to find out what was happening.  That was particularly unhelpful as most of the time the airport wifi didn’t work and, bizarrely, neither did my 3G.  Not good!

Wednesday to Saturday was pretty full on at the conference and I’m still digesting that.  Hm, talking of digesting, here are some daft ‘photos in the spirit of my 2016 pelerinage.

That crèpe in Chambéry was after the first ticket agent had been lovely and fixed my next step, but warned me she couldn’t promise the next agent would be so sympathetic and that she couldn’t do me a ticket for the whole way back.  The crèpe was  very welcome but the cold water was even better as  I had been roasting in Aime for the better part of five hours before the 12.55 train did arrive and get me that crucial first step of the way home, by which time it started to look less than 50:50 that I’d make it.

This, below, was my first evening in Amsterdam.

OK, that’s enough digesting food and I need to get back to work (and we’ve got some extended family health challenges at the moment so, with work and a backlog here while I waited for my ISP to shift this blog and the containing site (https://www.psyctc.org/) to a new server, I’m a bit backed up.

I do need to digest the conference but but that’ll have to wait.  Meanwhile, I thought I’d share three birds (well, three species, about six individual birds) who gave me a huge lift out there.

Oystercatchers at the university, having a snack between lectures.

You’ll have to click on that to see them but there they are: three oystercatchers.  They were stabbing deeply into the grass to get their food, worms?  Insects? I am so used to only seeing them on sea beaches I was stunned to see them there.  Even more so when they went to the same first lectures as me.

What do you mean you don’t believe me?  This is Amsterdam, the Free University, this is the Netherlands where everyone speaks perfect English.  Of course the oystercatchers at the Free University go to lectures!

This was the cormorant just before I met the oystercatchers.

Again, you’ll have to click on it to see him (or her) on that strange sculpture, in front of that even stranger advert.  No, s|he didn’t come to lectures, s|he was just hanging out.

And this was my best avian friend who stayed down the road about 1km from the university, waiting for frogs and other edibles to come into stabbing reach and rather mistrustfully allowing me to get fairly close.  On the third day I started to feel we were friends, well, familiar acquaintances.

Actually, I’ll finish here with two more ‘photos and a short story.  When I finally arrived in Amsterdam after EasyJet found the plane they’d lost and got us away, I had missed the chance to get to a museum or exhibition and was tired and frustrated at having been cooped up for so long and unable to Email or blog.  So I was walking the couple of km from Amsterdam Zuid station to my hotel and I was grumpy about my travel woes of those two days and limping a bit as my heels still haven’t completely recovered from the famous walk down the mountain.  Then I passed this and cheered up.

I was taking ‘photos with my ‘phone, as is my wont, when a lady with beautifully coiffured white hair and I’d guess about ten years older than me came up to me and I suddenly felt intrusive.  She asked (yes, straight into perfect English) if I’d been taking ‘photos.  I said I had and asked if that was OK.  She still looked a bit surprised but was emphatic that it was fine but asked why.  I was a bit nonplussed and then realised why and answered that I’d seen them and thought “You’re definitely in the Netherlands now Chris!” and explained that I thought it a quirky and generous thing that I thought some people in the Netherlands did well.  She looked very pleased and we went our separate ways.  Enough for now!

That was a good diversion but I need a stocktake and I think I should finish it today.  OK, the list from where I’d gotten to before I hopped off for a ride was as follows.

1. Get French residency by Brexit date 29.iii.19.
2. Get on towards French citizenship and EU rights for nuclear family.
3. Political statement about Brexit particularly but perhaps more generally.
4. Pleasure of living a bit over half the year in France.
5. Particular pleasures, for now, of living in Aime2000.
6. Calmer life enabling me to finish (including some start and finish) work aspirations.
7. A better balanced life (hm, the way I wrote that last time around was diagnosably conflicted and incoherent.

So, how’s it going?

1. On course and at the moment I think that, though it’s going to be isolated a lot of the time, it’s really doable.
2. On the evidence of just two weeks I could see me extending this for five years and getting dual nationality/citizenship. Heaven knows what will have happened to UK and EU politics by then but I want to do this.
3. Well it’s a pretty weird protest isn’t it? And it meant I wasn’t in the thousands marching in London today as I would have been had I been home (yes, London and the UK is still “home” but, as when I used to spend half my week in Nottingham I think this will become “French home” or “Aime home” and London may become “London home”).  At times on the Pelerinage 2016 cycle ride that started this my blog was a chance to speak out about so much I had bottled when still employed by the NHS; it may not be brave, but I think something of a ruminating, but angrily, thread is the public part of this protest.  Onward!
4. Pleasure of living in France: tick!
5. Pleasure of living at 2000m in the French Alps: tick! Well, actually, those are a bit weird because this life up here is hardly ticking #4 though today was a glorious reminder of just what’s so good under #5: black redstart and wagtails immediately the wheels leave the building and clean air and country to revel in that very instant.  In London the pollution is horrible and I’d have to cycle further than my entire trip today before I hit real countryside. (Yes, I know London’s parks are wonderful and hooray for them, but it’s not the same.)  However, I think that I’ll need to think more about #4. I am getting solid doses of French TV, mostly just washing over me as a background noise.  When I come back in July I will start more seriously on my French and on reading and watching more about France (and Europe).
6. Obviously there’s no magic up here that makes work happen at super speed, and if I shoot off for a few hours cycling or spend time on ‘photos and blogging then I may end up with no more work time than I do in London.  However, I do think things are steadier: cautious and early tick!
7. OK.  I’m conflicted and ambivalent about this whole “work/life balance” thing but today was good. Very, very early and cautious tick!

Enough for now: recheck in August some time Chris.

 

Now that was good!  I did test the route to the left and the answer is that it will be not only meteorologically possible to meet up with my friends,  but it will be physiologically possible.  To be honest, I only went a short way over the saddle and into the head of the Champagny valley, it was clear there would be no further problems, just a lot of hard cycling back up, had I continued so this was only some 470m of net climb, the full round trip will be about 1,800m but I can spread it over an easy couple of hours out to meet them with this sort of net 470m up then about 1,400m down. Then some good hours with them and perhaps a couple of beers or some wine (strictly medical, for the anaesthesia) before reversing those figures over I would guess three to four hours.  I was out today for a bit under two hours but much of that was me stopping to take ‘photos.  Twice, for short distances, I decided that the combination of 14% or more upward gradient with very loose gravelly track meant that pushing Cerise was safer than cycling her but apart from those, and they were off the beaten track, playing around with rough tracks and a bit of grassland on the way back.  It’ll be fine in July.  (Actually, I’m tempting fate, now I’ve said that it’ll probably rain torentially or even snow, it does do that in July up here.)

I’ll see if I can pull some of the less disappointing ‘photos into something later but for now, here is what the garmin, which decided to behave, recorded.  (And this is where the zoomable image, courtesy of the WP Featherlight plugin really comes in useful if you want to get the detail.)

My route out is the top one, all but the very first bit was on road although by the point of going over the saddle (at about the little blip in the single track) the road was worse than anything in London: true dirt track and I was amused that the two cars I encountered were taking it much more gingerly than I was.  Where the two journeys split coming back I opted for something that was no longer road for much of the way, tractor track probably covers it.  This was really only the second bit of fairly real mountain biking I’ve ever done (one trip on a holiday in Greece some years ago was the only other). Cerise with her full suspension, ridiculously low bottom gear, treble chainring, pretty reasonable hydraulic disc brakes and her big and medium knobbly tyres is perfect for this.  OK, she and I are going to be friends and I think that may clinch her name somehow.

As the Garmin was behaving, here are some plots.

That vertical marker is a bit of an accident arising from my screen grabbing software and the garmin plot flirting with each other.  I’ll see if I can learn how to stop them doing that.

Yes, that’s pretty much was it felt like: a drop from here to Plagne Centre then a pretty steady climb to the ridge ten down a bit then back up a bit faster than I had done the last bit the other way, then a much faster descent the way I had come, then the decision to go the different route and another climb and delayed descent and a fairly level sweep round above Plagne Centre back to Aime2000.

Heart rate hit 161 maximum, like this.

And the speed plot underlines the stopping and starting (hm, typo I corrected there of “staring” was almost right!)

The sun was intense for much of the way but there was a period during which cloud covered it and I was glad to have opted for two thin layers, not one.  I was amused that this plot of the temperture the Garmin recorded caught that.

Peak at 27°C but down to 14°C in that period when the cloud came over.  Here, as I love graphs, are elevation, heart rate and speed showing rather clearly the drops in HR with the stops!

OK, enough data silliness.  It’s clearly time Cerise got to take a bow and for you to be properly introduced.  Cerise meet anyone out there reading this, anyone out there bemusedly reading this, meet Cerise.

YES!  The carpet in the corridor really is ghastly isn’t it?  Cerise’s colour scheme almost goes with it.  Hm.

Hm, that’s a better floor.  That’s her having a well earned rest.  NO!  I’m not so daft about bikes that she sleeps in the bunk bed.  And no again: we have separate bedrooms!

 

In two days I’ll be hopping on Cerise to belt down the mountain road hairpins and catch the train from Aime to bring this first pathfinding snippet of semigration to an end.  Oh, sorry, you don’t know Cerise, I never was very good at proper social introduction stuff.  She’s my semigration bike.  I’m not 100% sure that’s going to be her permanent name, I’m not 100% sure of her gender but leaning to female for reasons I’m utterly unable to explain.  Hey, who wants to be crassly binary and gender rigid these days?  Anyway, seeing her ‘photo the family said she was pink, hence the name and it’s sort of stuck for me despite the fact that she’s actually a slightly odd orange.  I’ll introduce you properly at some later date when I’m back up here and she and I know each other better.

I left the UK two weeks ago today and a lot has happened so it seems time for a stocktake and I think I should start by reminding myself why I’m here:

1. I am hoping to get French residency and that it will generalise to the young ones giving them a small protection against the restrictions Brexit puts on their options.  One way or another we’ll probably know about that around the end of March 2019 when there will either be a negotiated separation or, perhaps looking increasingly likely, a default exit with no agreements  … or even, but this seems to look increasingly politically unlikely, the UK has a rush of sanity and we don’t leave.
2. I am hoping that it will start something more solid for all of us in the nuclear family giving all full EU citizenship rights. I am increasingly clear that’s the secure thing to aim for and the only sensible route to that which seems fairly clear whatever happens with Brexit is for me to keep semigration going and do everything else necessary for French citizenship and hence full EU citizen rights … which would, barring some other tragic and radical political madness, involve five years semigrant residency and some other things.
3. Making a statement, a bizarre one maybe, of my personal, and my family’s shared, anger about Brexit and petty nationalisms of all sort.
4. Having the pleasure of living in France for over half the year.
5. At the moment, the particular pleasures of being over 2000m up in the northern French Alps.
6. Perhaps thereby having a less busy or mad life and achieving more of the work things I want to achieve before I pop my clogs.
7. Perhaps thereby having a less busy or mad life and, despite #6, having a more balanced and pleasurable life while I am still around (see #4 and #5 above particularly, but also #3 I think!)

OK. That’s quite a list.  But a quick visual diversion.

They’re both taken from the vast balcony area that our appartment shares with three others up here.  The one on the left was taken on the 11th in the evening and the one on the right, clearly not quite from the same point on the edge of the balcony and an hour ago.

At last, I have something I’ve wanted for a long time for this blog: you can click on those and get them full screen in a “gallery” or “lightbox” and can flick between the one and the other to get an even better, or at least bigger, sense of the huge change that’s happened in the 11 days between the two.

The snow is disappearing at an impressive rate with the run of blisteringly hot days we’ve had here, following the first radically cloud shrouded and pretty cold days I had.  Part of the reason for showing this is pragmatic: I now think that snow won’t prevent me cycling up and over the ridge in distance (on the extreme left of those ‘photos) to meet friends from Nottingham over in the Champagny valley.  The most direct route would be over a saddle just out of those shots to the left.#

 

 

That route would take me up that inverted Y (that’s from the 13th) which looked still skiable when I arrived. Now it’s a mix of snow, gravel and rock and at this rate it would probably be walkable in reasonable walking shoes by Monday.  That’s a pretty steep climb there so in fact I will be taking a longer route off the left and not visible from Aime2000 here but I’m sure that by the 18th of July, when we’re hoping to meet up, both routes will be clear for cycling, if challenging for the quads.

I’m sure of the meteorological feasibility of our meeting there now which I wasn’t a couple of days ago.  That does beg the question of the physiological feasibility, particularly given how little Cerise and I know each other and as most of the route (all if you follow Google’s recommendations) is off road.  Today or tomorrow, I may, hm, I think I must, make time to slog over either to the foot of that red run, or over, further, to the gentler blue round the back of the ridge.

Hm, here’s what Google maps makes of the cycling options.

Again, you should be able to click on that to see it in a bit more detail, or to go to it directly and be able to zoom around and have fun with it courtesy of Google: click here!

Hm.  I know what’s going to happen here, if I go back to the stocktake, or start working, I’m not going to do that and it’s beautiful out.  OK, stocktake 1(a) terminates here!

One of my plans for my semigrant life was to have a bike up here and one that could go off road fairly happily but wasn’t so heavy that I wouldn’t be able to cycle up from the valley.  I had been saying for a decade or so that the climb is the height of Snowdon so I was clear that any mountain bike had better not be too heavy.  Between the last two posts, on Monday before getting the taxi up here, I’d gone into Decathlon and opted for a full suspension mountain bike as it felt it would be much better for the off road and wasn’t much heavier than that “stiff tail” half suspension equivalent.  I ordered some other things and agreed that I’d be back yesterday.

So shortly after eight I set off to leg it down the mountain.  My garmin seems to have given up on me (very frustrating and I can’t say I recommend them as it has done this a number of times, now perhaps terminally and losing any data from yesterday).  This is Google to rescue.

I’ve amended one of Google’s suggested routes down to get a fairly accurate reflection of my actual route.  I like the map as it shows the ski lifts.  If you click here I  think you’ll get that map and can zoom in and pan around and switch it to satellite/aerial photo mode.

I’m intrigued to see that the stretch to Montalbert, the lowermost bit of the ski domain below me here was about half the total distance, both the horizontal distance and the vertical drop.  When I got back up here yesterday and before looking at the map again I would have said that it was only about a quarter of the trek.  I guess I was already getting tired by the time I got ther, also, from there on all tree and cloud cover had gone and it was roasting and hard on the feet as it was on metalled roads not footpaths and meadows.

Here’s the view of Aime2000 behind me probably 400m into the descent.

In the ski season to us that’s “golf”, a blue run down to the top of a number of other runs and a lift back up.  Looking the other way yesterday I had this:

Mont Blanc was poking through and that cloud beneath it looked bizarrely like “Starship Enterprise” (no, I’m not a trekkie!)

Well it really was a hard walk down: 1,485m of descent in 15.9km, i.e. 9.3% mean gradient.  Around halfway, by Montalbert, or talking with a lovely elderly lady in Longefoy who greeted me warmly and advised me to take a more scenic (though longer) route, I was telling myself that maybe one day I should do some of the camino on foot rather than on a bike.  By the bottom I was just putting one foot in front of the other, had blisters on my heels and ominous soreness in the little knee extensor muscle tensor fascia lata at the top of both thighs.  I guess I don’t walk much in my London life.  I was doubting whether I could do the cycle back up, let alone walk long distances again in my life!

I went straight back to the lovely Restaurant l’Atelier (see “The semigration has finally started: transition“) and had a lovely lunch with two beers, two coffees, and an alcoholic, ultracalorific pudding to both anaesthetise me, stimulate and fuel me and stifled thoughts that such a concoction was probably what led to Tom Simpson’s tragic death in the Tour de France in 1967.  (Actually, as was not unusual then, he had taken a lot more that you certainly wouldn’t get in the Restaurant l’Atelier, though not the designer drugs that blighted the noughties and earlier this decade even, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_Tom_Simpson.)

I limped down to Decathlon, got the bike and other things I needed, and a few more things from the huge E.Leclerc hyperarket next door, and I was off on the long climb back very relieved to discover, as I’d hoped, that you don’t use tensor fascia lata cycling nor do you put any weight on your heels.

Some among you (what do I mean “you”? do I need a “you”, yes, I think I do but no pressure). OK, the hawkeyed, geekily knowledgeable, and probably also good at metric/imperial conversion, may have noticed that earlier I said “the height of Snowdon” and then “1,485m of descent” and may have smelled a rat.  (Hm, not sure about the metaphor there but I’m tired from all this: let it be Chris!)

Yes, Snowdon us officially 3,560ft (I had always had 3,300 in my head: more rats) and yes, that’s 1,085m and, rats, 1,485m is quite a lot more than that, nearly 50% more as you can see.  The taxi driver had said “1,400m” on Monday and a niggling feeling had set in then but, as there was no way I could shrink it, I’d put that out of mind.  Interestingly, I can’t get google to draw my cycle ride back up by asking for cycling routes as it creates a number of, to my mind rather implausible looking off road routes and there was no way I was trying that with a moderate weight on my back and the then state of my legs.  If I ask for a car route I do get it.

I was doing the blue route (must find that white one some time, might be an interesting challenge on the bike!)  Well, as you can imagine, it’s pretty much 1,485m as I had failed to find any way to shrink it.)  It only took me seven stints with rests in between!  The Garmin has finally deigned to wake up and collaborate though it’s completely lost the data from the walk down, it has got the first two stints of cycling up (it was on the second stop that it died: feeble, if I could keep going it most certainly should have).

I don’t suppose that’s readable but it shows I did only 3.67km before I had to stop, I’d climbed 231m, burned 260 calories of that lunch (it thinks) and all at a humiliating speed of 5.9kph (yes, that’s kph, not even mph).  It had taken me 37 minutes and you can see from the green elevation map that the climb had been pretty steady 6.3% gradient: that was going to get quite a lot worse higher up where the kilometre markers reeled off the distance, height and the gradient, which never dropped below 7% after that and topped out at a nasty 10%.  At that point it was already clear that it was going to be a long, slow afternoon!  However, I am intrigued when I look at the next bit of the garmin output where I’d reminded it it was supposed to be picking up heart rate.

So another very steady gradient, this time only 27 minutes in which time I’d covered a mere 2.34km, burned another 335 calories and only climbed another 199m but with an average gradient now of 8.5%.  It’s the heart rate that amuses me:

The blue is the speed and it lies, I didn’t really stop completely until the end but by the look of it at times I was moving so slowly that the garmin couldn’t tell the difference (I think that’s another garmin error actually, it shouldn’t be that insensitive).  The grey is temperature, still going up, and the red is my heart rate and there you can see that I took a little while to remember to stop the garmin recording. It peaks at 164bpm with a mean of 157bpm.  Hm. No wonder I was having to stop.  After that the garmin gave out but I did keep going though with at least four more stops, nearly a litre of orange juice, and a couple of glucose/fructose tablets to counter the burning off of available calories.

That’s a very tired but relieved me and the, as yet unnamed, bike in the lift that gets you into Aime2000.

So obsessional, so martyrish and sad, so what?! Good questions, fair points!

Well it really did reconnect me with doing my first pelerinage/camino about two years ago, and starting this blog.  I remember thinking on that ride “A cyclist [human] is a machine to convert food to distance” (partly to excuse how much nice food I was eating).  I have just gone back and looked at some of my blog posts from those early days and see how few were about the cycling and how many were more political or reflective.  That’s work, and work on myself, I hope to get back to more in my isolation up here. For now, I think I needed to mark yesterday as a key point in the semigration.  Now it’s not so much “have bike: can convert food to distance”, it’s “have bike: independent again; maybe do more thinking as well as some cycling around”.

Well it’s Thursday (14th July 2018 for the record) and I arrived up here on Monday.  Time for an assessment of things.  This was my first sight of Aime2000 from the taxi (50 Euros, though a lovely driver!) coming up from Aime.

(I am working on how to insert ‘photos of various sizes here: I will improve on this but no joy so far.)

I hope you can see something there and you’re probably wondering why such an obviously awful shot is doing here.  Well that zigzag slightly left of centre on the skyline is Aime2000.

That’s blown it up a bit.  I hope you agree it’s an iconic silhouette!  The driver dropped me off at the main entrance where we found these sad remnants from the skiing season, well, clearly from the Christmas end of the skiing season.  I think he was a bit worried that I might find the place a ghost time with everything as dead as those trees and I confess I was slightly rattled.  However, the first set of lifts were working and I and all my luggage were soon up from that level to the G deck that runs the full length of the enormous building.  Everything was silent and the usual lifts up from there to our level (L) weren’t working but I realised that they wouldn’t be, only the goods lift would be … and fortunately it was.  Lugging that lot up five floors would have been lethal.

So I made good use of that life up and down to the “cave” (cellar, actually just level D where we have a storage cupboard for our things to hide in when we’re subletting the appartment) and I moved what I needed from there and unpacked my luggage.

Whoops, rather an embarrassing ratio of alcohol and alcohol related things from the cave to the perishables I’d brought up from the valley!

I headed out to find the local Spar supermarket.  Closed.  Oops. Google maps assured me that the one another mile or so on and a few more hundred metres back up to on a level with Aime2000 would be open.  No. Actually it closed in April at the end of the ski season apparently and won’t open I think until the next ski season starts just before Christmas.  Oops, suddenly that fridge wasn’t looking so funny.  I legged it back down to the first Spar … aha, big relief, it opens at 16.30 until 19.30 (and 07.30 to 12.30).

On that first round trip everything was green but speckled with yellow patches.

Bird life included a full house I think of swifts (common or alpine?), swallows, house and sand martins (or are they crag martins?), wagtails, larks, goldfinches, choughs and something with a blue flash a bit bigger than a thrush that was keeping well away from me.  Hm, my continental/French ornithology is very rusty and must remember to take my binoculars even if going to Spar.

Me in the first lift with edibles (that backpack is full to the top!).

What was striking walking around was how much snow was still here from Easter and the ski season. This is meltwater pouring out of one of the conduits below Plagne Centre.  Yes the grey below me is the pebbly mess at the edge of the road by my feet but that dark mass is unmelted snow covered with grot.  That’s one of the places where the vital local snowploughs dump snow off the road in the snow season and you can see that it takes a lot of dirt and grot with it and as the huge mass of snow melts slowly as things warm up it looks like that.  A whole new experience for me: loads of black snow!

Here’s a more beautiful view from a bit further back up the road between Aime2000 and Plagne Centre (and the Spar that does open!)

You can just make out something on the rock ridge to the left that is the top of the telecabine lift up there and there are some visible constructions  on the relatively gently rising ridge to the right that are the top ends of ski lifts.  It looks to me as if there’s enough snow left in the red run that comes down the saddle between the two ridges for me to leg it up there with my skis and have probably 800m of run. It looks as if the top bits of the black run to right below those right hand constructions is also still thick with snow.

I’m sure the snow surface is completely impossible for skiing now but it looks as if its sufficient snow that might be hard to walk without snow shoes. Maybe some time next week I’ll dig mine out from the cave, sling them on my back and go up there to find out.  Not sure how far up there I’ll be able to get on the mountain bike so it’s a good few hours hike without wheels … but the bike is a story for tomorrow.

From that evening and about 30 minutes ago (18.15ish for the record) the clouds settled in.

In fact, for most of the last 48 hours not even that building below me was visible.

Why 18.15?  Because that’s when, writing this, I looked up and saw that Mont Blanc had finally become visible: the first time in four days.  I think that’s the longest I’ve ever been up here without being able to see it/him/her.  However, partly as I must get back to work and not go through the rigmarole involved in getting pictures off camera and ‘phone and up to the site.  A proper celebration of Mont Blanc here is for another day.  Meanwhile, I go back to work and continue acclimatising.

 

 

Today (Tuesday 12th of June 2018!) I woke up at 2000m and it seems about time I got another post up here to mark the event, it’s been a long time coming.

I arrived up here yesterday having had a lovely send off from J & S in St. Pancras before boarding the chunnel train for Paris. That went OK though I realised that I had really loaded myself up.  Things started to go a bit off piste with the transition from Paris Gare de Nord to Paris Gare de Lyon. Getting off the train was slow owning to the sheer pressure of people and all our luggage and although the connection only involves one intermediate stop, the train took for ever to come and I missed my booked departure by about five minutes.  SNCF were relentless despite it having been frankly impossible to have made the transition any quicker and hence, in my view, their booking error: it had to be a new ticket (ouch) and a three hour delay for the next train and a bus instead of a train for the last stage from Chambery to Aime. Their Email says that was down to meteorology and certainly neighbouring parts of France were having horrific storms with sufficient rain falling in an hour or so to cause severe flooding.  For amusement, here’s are some ‘photos which hardly convey the beauty of the Lac de Bourget that we shot past shortly before Chambery.

And here is quintessentially French railway architecture of the station in Aime.

I opted to stay the night in Aime which is the main village/town of the commune and over a 1000m below my destination.  The next morning I decided to stay two nights when I discovered that Decathlon, which I wanted to visit to get a pushbike for my stay here, is closed on Sundays.  So I stayed two nights in the lovely Hotel Palanbo.  J and I stayed there for a few nights back in summer 2003 when we made a flying (actually, driving) visit here and put the offer on the appartment I’m in now.  Lovely little hotel with wonderfully friendly and relaxed staff, great simple breakfast and excellent wifi/internet! Sunday was greyish with the sun mostly struggling to get through low cloud but, as well as trying to get as much done with the internet while I had it, I had time to find Decathlon but more aesthetically, to revisit the wonderful basilica church and the Tour Montmayeur: a 15th C defensive tower.

That’s the Tour Montmayeur poking up above the surrounding houses and now, a rather grey skip around the lovely basilica.

That’s approach to the west end also showing how much snow there is still on the high slopes.  That view shows that the priorities for the basilica were that it be defensible as well as a place of worship: not a lot of window or door as a proportion of the wall area.

Moving to my left, here’s the north face of the nave.  It’s called a basilica but I think the structure is a hybrid between simple basilica form and the cruciform standard that was largely to replace that.  Does the name here refer to the architectural form or something else, something about the status of the church within the Catholic hierarchy of the area?  I’d do some sleuthing but I am now on 3/4G internet only and need to ration myself very strictly until I can get a landline in and broadband.

I’m pretty sure that those have always been blind arcades, not windows at ground level.  There was a black redstart clearly nesting in a niche in the tower. I’ve always had an affection from them as I seem to remember a childhood book, whose name I’m not sure of now, started with the child at it’s centre, falling and I think breaking his arm climbing in bombed ruins in London shortly after WWII trying to get closer to a black redstart.  I’d never heard of them when I read the book but resonated with the risk taking, or really with the ambition that drove it.

Here’s the beautiful (to my mind) East end with its apse and two little chapels.

I’m a sucker for this sort of simple architecture.  My guts say the apse was added at least a hundred years after the nave and tower.  My fingers are itching to go sleuthing but I must resist!

Detail high on the tower.

Simple but still so effective with the light recessing of both the whole window and the arches.

Sunday evening I found the Restaurant l’Atelier (hm, Google has it as “L’atelier”, I’m sure the French would capitalise it differently, again, must resist more sleuthing!)  Wonderful small restaurant, two friendly blokes have been running it for four years now and, though I like the usual Savoie/Tarentaise food with its typical peasant stress on calories and on locally available protein (here beef and cheese), this was different.

Up here yesterday and today I’m in a very different world.  It’s stunning to me how much snow simply hasn’t melted from the end of the ski season at Easter.  This was the most they’ve had here for 30 years.  If I were mad enough I think I could get my skis and ski boots out from the cave (storage cupboard in the basement) and walk up about another 800m and I think I could have hundreds of metres of one of the high red runs to myself.  I suspect that the surface of the snow is horrible and I’m not tempted but when I’ve got the bike I will cycle up there to look at it.  From here it looks as if pretty much everything up on the highest point in the domaine would be skiable.

When the sun’s out it’s lovely, when it’s not, it’s pretty cold still and this internet rationing is a challenge but I’m here and the hermitic life adaptation had started.  More on that in the next day or two, then back to more about Malta if I can find the Mbytes that’ll need!

I’m writing this in Luca airport in Malta at the end of a fascinating, but not always easy, week.  I arrived last Wednesday so it’s been eight days I’ve been here.  (Aapparently the colloquial phrase for a week in Maltese/Malti is “eight days” or something invoking “eight”).  I knew there would be two days of work, and there are always two more that are largely lost to the travelling. So I’d left myself four more to have some time to just be a sightseer.  That was four times what I usually allow myself on my work trips and not infrequently I don’t allow myself any rubbernecking time.  I guess that is the first cage I’m thinking about sitting here: normally I feel that I’m too far behind with things I’ve said I’ll do for/with various people to justify the extra time (and perhaps there’s something about any extra costs too).

Malta is an amazing place, and I hope this won’t people off visiting, but it’s been a mixed experience for me and at times I’ve felt caged here.  Some of that was about discovering that I wouldn’t realistically be able to mix much work the rubbernecking in those four days.  That came about through my location: I had pretty much caged myself without intending to!

I had booked myself into an airBnB to keep costs down.  That was a first for me and I think my inexperience both with airBnB, and with the geography and facilities of Malta didn’t help.  I booked into a lovely looking place in Zebbug. (There should be a dot on top of that “g” but my software currently doesn’t have that.  I think it’s pronounced “Zebbuj”, with the stress on the “bb”.)  Zebbug, , is near the middle of the main island, Malta itself, and looked sufficiently near to where I’d be working, Attard, that if need be I thought I could walk there.  I’ve just rechecked and it really is only 4km.  However, my colleague warned me the roads were not fun for walking (and she rated them lethal for anyone daft enough to hire a pushbike … and the death of a cyclist the first day I was here did seem to support that).

She was right about the walking, certainly if one took the main road.  I hadn’t really taken in what 37° heat, coupled, perhaps oddly, with quite high humidity (the island is small and the Mediterranean has a lot of warm water with which to nearly saturate the air) and high dust levels mean.  They don’t make attractive walking conditions for sure, particularly not if you should turn up looking like a moderately respectable academic asking for input on the CORE-OM translation with no pay for the volunteers!

In fact Marija gave me lifts to and from Mount Carmel Hospital both days we worked there so that was no problem.  Driving isn’t always easy on the island so it probably did help that I had chosen a place near the hospital and not far off her own direct route.

So I found myself feeling a bit caged not able to walk far, nor cycle.  However, there were other caged feelings.  Starting with this within minutes of getting up the first morning in the airBnB.

I know that’s a terrible ‘photo, shot on my ‘phone, through a window in the house, with the sun blasting down onto the plastic sheet above the cage but that really is two adult barn owls.  Inside, in the kitchen there was also a budgie in a pretty small cage, about a quarter of the size of the one that contained my grandparents’ budgie when I was a very young kid, some 60 years ago. Back then I suspect caged birds were more common in homes in the UK.  It’s funny how much the sight of two beautiful barn owls in a cage hit me.  It’s been one of those moments when I realise how deep some beliefs go in my psyche, somehow in my body too.

It was a couple of days later before I mentioned this to my host, who is a lovely man. He tells me he lets them fly free from the roof of the house and that they come back.  He has had them both from very young (weeks/months old) and both are under two years old.  I believe him completely and that shakes some of my convictions that they simply shouldn’t be caged, but it doesn’t remove those feelings.  I’m sure he doesn’t let the budgie fly free, my guts say that it wouldn’t return, but I have no logic for that.

So I found myself reflecting on just how central some ideas about freedom sit in my “core construct system”.  The idea of the “core construct system” is from Personal Construct Psychology (PCP) and is about those beliefs so central to who I am that they’re hard to change, sometimes hard even to notice.  For sure, this isn’t about something I haven’t noticed: the last few years for me have been a very conscious process of revolt against feeling caged by bureaucracies of one sort or another. Since leaving the NHS and the cycle ride that started this blog, I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting that my beliefs about allowing people to make their own decisions disabled me in the roles I’d come to occupy.  I’ve also been railing (reflecting doesn’t cover it!) about a culture that seems increasingly to trumpet about freedom while more and more restricting it, particularly for all but the wealthy or obscenely wealthy.

But back to last Thursday morning, those birds really hit me and ironically they sort of caged me.  The only place to work was a table downstairs near both the owls (in a light well behind a locked door from me) but near the budgie.  I desperately wanted to blog, and to do some work, but my room had a huge double bed with no real space for me to put the laptop on a surface and my legs under it.  I rapidly discovered that working with it on my lap, sitting on the bed was both uncomfortable after a while, and damn hot in an already very hot environment. Downstairs was the only option. However, I found I simply couldn’t stay down there: the not very strong, but inescapable smell of the birds, mostly of the budgie I’m sure, was nauseating to me.  I’m sure that was mainly some Pavlovian association of a disgust at their containment, with an admittedly not attractive, but not gross, smell.

The result is that this is my first blog post in a week in which I really hoped I’d do two or three and have had enough amazing sights and experiences, and felt connected to the reading I’d been doing about Malta, to have supported at least one post a day.  However, I couldn’t post from a laptop on my thighs, not when I’d used about 30 minutes in that position to do the main Email screening and quick replies that seem the minimum per day.

So here I am in Luca airport feeling released.  I fantasize that the feeling is the one those owls do when they spread their wings and fly above Zebbug.  I know that’s projective and crass anthropomorphism: who can know what the owls think or feel?   Clearly it can have little in common with my thinking about freedom.  Who am I too, to judge my host for his caged birds?  The frames that create meaning for us are always cultural and caged birds are common here.  I saw a good number of birds, all finches: chaffinches, bullfinches, goldfinches and greenfinches; being carried around in tiny cages, usually by men I would guess in the age range 45 to 70. At first I thought they were selling them but I think they were actually just taking them out for some freedom, of sorts.

The title here “Frames and cages” pays homage to Tony Ryle’s 1975 book “Frames and Cages: The Repertory Grid Approach to Human Understanding”.  Repertory grids, and personal construct theory, or personal construct psychology that I mentioned above, had a huge impact on me when I first discovered them, which would have been in 1980.  I met up with Tony, probably in 1986, and I did the analyses of grids that led to a paper with him (“Some meanings of body and self in eating-disordered and comparison subjects”) which came out in 1991.  I had the geeky skills to run the programme, INGRID, that was then hosted on the University of London mainframe, that crunched the grids, and the further geekiness to transfer the output to SPSS on the St. George’s Medical School minicomputer, to analyse the grids.  Maybe I should re-read the paper.  I’m not sure I’d like it but it was probably ahead the game back then.

Tony died, at 89, in 2016.  There are obituaries in the Guardian (https://www.theguardian.com/society/2016/nov/15/anthony-ryle-obituary, with a lovely ‘photo of him; sadly, I don’t think I have any of my own) and on the ACAT (Association for Cognitive Analytic Therapy, a therapy Tony pretty much created by melding some psychoanalytic ideas and PCP), https://www.acat.me.uk/page/tonys+biography  . I’m shocked to find that the obituaries in the British Medical Journal (at https://www.bmj.com/content/355/bmj.i6011.full) and even one on the ACAT site (https://www.acat.me.uk/reformulation.php?issue_id=52&article_id=502) are locked so that non-members can’t get to them.  I don’t think Tony would have approved of that, in fact, I’m pretty sure he’d agree with me that no self-respecting journal or membership organisation should be so desperate as to lock obituaries from public access.

There I go, railing about cages, paywalls and restrictions on freedom.  Hm, I think this theme is going to run and run here.  Enough for now.  For all there were challenges, I will post more about how much that is remarkable is here to see in Malta, and how much more that is almost unbelievable, is there in its history and prehistory.