Twitteretter

I went out in town yesterday, food shopping, one of the few activities available in UK during the just finished second lockdown. The streets were full, to the brim. People everywhere, long queues to enter the shops and cafés. This is not surprising, considering that yesterday was the first Saturday after the end of the lockdown and therefore the first full day of unrestricted consumer freedom. I was surprised, however, by my reaction to it. Seeing these agglomerations made me uneasy. My love of buzzing streets and activity flurries seems to have been replaced by a mild case of enochlophobia, not consciously elicited by my rational mind, but primally subconscious. This is just temporary, I expect. But it highlights how quickly we, humans, adapt. How rapidly our expectation and understanding of what is normal changes. This, of course, works both ways. I expect that, after a few weeks of resumed activity, normality will be restored to my perception in line to its restoration to society...

On reading some of my Twitteretters, some friends have described me as an idealist. This, by the way, was not meant negatively, and I did not take it that way. I do in fact take it as a compliment. You see, there is a connotation in many people’s thinking that idealism is not realistic, that wishing for an ideal society (in the context of this specific discussion, idealism can of course be deployed in many other areas) is nice but ultimately futile for unfeasible. This is a line peddled by those with less lofty aims. If idealism can be discarded as well intentioned but useless, it is acceptable to not be an idealist, and be instead individualistic, egotistic or just realistic, someone who likes and wants to maintain the status quo. The thing is, the only condition needed for idealism to become eminently achievable would be for the great majority to believe. If we did, we would achieve whichever Utopia we choose to seek. You may say I am a dreamer, but I am not the only one. Join us Len...

There is a bookshop in my hometown of Santiago called ‘Follas Novas’ (New Pages). It has a huge amount of books, every conceivable space is full of them. They keep inventory in the store computer, and also in Jose Antonio’s, the owner, head. He can pinpoint the location of any of the many thousand books immediately and with unfailing precision. It is like a tiny local Amazon, with less stock and slightly faster fulfilment. The latter may be an advantage, but small and likely to reduce further once drones can be used for deliveries. And this is a problem. ‘Follas Novas’ will probably disappear, because it becomes irrelevant as a retail option or because Jose Antonio, its soul, retires, whichever comes first. This will leave a void in the town, but only a few will notice. It makes me think that these local bookshops must mutate to survive, as Darwin or Dawkins would tell you. They must become a space which offers what Amazon cannot, combining shopping with experience in a new way. Ideas?...

Have you ever listened to a teenage boy while he is playing in an online console party? If you have not, you should. It is an experience. If you don’t have one, borrow him from a friend who does. It’s hard to know whether the one sided chat you are privy to is better or worse than the complete dialogue. Incompleteness does deprive it of context, which may well be a blessing. Although it’s hard to imagine how the whole could be worse than the part. When listening to it, you marvel at how humans can have changed so much so quickly. What’s happened since you were their age, and eminently normal? And then you remember the Ramones, the punk movement, those steel toed Doc Martens, techno and the oversized shoulder pads… You remember your parents, regarding you with a mix of marvel and aversion, sometimes even helpless bewilderment. Wondering how humans could have possibly changed so quickly since they were teenagers, and eminently normal. Is this the price of maturity? Is it indeed maturity?...