As I write, we are coming to the end of a lazy weekend. The plumbers return tomorrow, starting another week of building work, so we thought to take it easy and enjoy the silence. We could have taken a trip somewhere but the weather wasn’t very nice. It seemed pleasant just to stay at home and relax.
On Saturday we went out for breakfast and then returned home. Like any well fed cats, we lolled around doing nothing much until hunger prompted further action around 6:30 pm. Intermittently we listened to the radio, plinked away on the computer keyboard and watched DVDs. Then we went out to supper and returned home to finish off the second and final series of Life on Mars.
Today was more or less a repetition of yesterday with added shopping: a quick spin through Sainsbury’s to pick up a few necessities. I learned how to program presets into the central heating: press “Set” when you go out and it turns down the heat; press “Set” again when you come in and it turns up the heat again. Remember, this is all new to us who have survived thus far with a single gas fire.
The series Life on Mars intrigued me. Tigger loves her films but I tend to watch ’em and forget ’em. There are two series that I enjoyed, however. The first was Mapp and Lucia and the second Life on Mars. I expect you have seen it as everyone seems to have done so. There is something rather surreal about it as you do not know the truth of the protagonist’s situation until the end. Is Sam Tyler dreaming in a coma, has he really travelled back in time, is he schizophrenic, or what? I think it is up to the viewer to decide. If the 1973 world is but a dream, it seems more real than the rather alien looking 2006 to which our hero briefly returns.
The story and its conflicting time-worlds invites one (well, me, at any rate) to reflect on the nature of our own “reality”. Our own time-world seems solid and real to us but how real is it? Could I be living in some sort of dream in which my own mind is the sole reality and everything else but a figment of it? I don’t think so but I cannot prove this. If even Descartes’ famous cogito ergo sum has been punctured and found to be less than solid, what hope have the rest of us of finding a basis for our theories of reality? Someone I know suffers frequent hallucinations which he asserts to be as real as the things we both see. How then can I be confident that the world I know is not also an illusion?
All we can do, I think, is to live as if our world were real and to face it with honesty and integrity and, if the word is not over-used, with love.
Yesterday, at the restaurant, I noticed that the chef-owner wore an intriguing silver bracelet. At first sight the motif appeared to be Ancient Egyptian but when I asked him about it he said it was Iranian, something to do with Darius the Great. I admired it and told him how much I like silver. He smiled and said “Next time I go home, I will bring you one.” Such moments are like finding gems in the dust.