20 east

Hot news! Mary Norton, author of “The Borrowers”, must have lived in Poland. Even if only for a while.

I used my lunch hour today to have a clear-out of our piwniczki (plural of piwniczka = small basement storage room). As with everyone’s, our rooms had become so chocked full of crap that it was impossible to open the door without starting an avalanche that Mont Blanc would be proud of. It all starts with the very best of intentions “Let’s save this – just in case”, but the case in question never comes and so the rooms fill with the dross of life until you finally decide you can take it no more. In our case the administration are threatening to (try to) finish the job they started two years ago in stopping water leaking into the room and adjacent parking space and so we need to condense two piwniczki into one piwniczka.

I first made five small mountains in the basement:

1. Christmas decorations – to bring up to the apartment for sorting in readiness for this year’s display.
2. Things to keep in the remaining piwniczka. (summer tyres, barbecue, new suitcases, golf clubs)
3. Things to take to the new office. (this included the dartboard!)
4. Children’s clothes and toys in the hope of finding someone who really needs them.
5. Things to throw out.

Having dealt with 1 -4, I was left staring at the biggest mountain of them all. Here we had; large plastic table and six chairs, two suitcases, DVD player, printer, scary (& cursed) African mask, golf clubs travel bag, old pushchair, my first ever painting on canvas (yes, it was THAT good!), a kind of wobbly & stupid mobile vegetable rack, an artificial Christmas tree and assorted real junk.

There being not enough people around to hold my first ever “basement auction”, I started moving these items round the corner to the trash room. I had moved about half of them when my first punter, one the building maintenance men, enquired if these are all for throwing away. I say “Yes, help yourself.” and he promptly whisks off the table & chairs, the pushchair and I think the DVD & printer also. While these are all moving to the maintenance man’s little hidey-hole, one of the security guards comes down, having been watching on the CCTV system no doubt, and takes the suitcases, the Christmas tree and the vegetable rack back to his place. To continue the ‘borrowing’, one of our nicer neighbours who was on his way to the trash room, notices my painting (which I had been using to block the detector so the barrier stays open) and asks if he could take it because his wife is a painter and she can re-use the canvas! After a moment admiring my painting and chatting over the similarities between it and certain works by van Gough, I let him take it away with a promise of 10% to me if he makes a huge profit on the sale. So, by my reckoning, from the mountain of stuff I started with I’m only left with the real junk, the golf bag and the cursed African Mask. The whole thing took about 5 minutes and I’ll bet you when I go down later some mug will have taken the scary mask as well! Nobody will take the golf bag as nobody plays golf, much to my annoyance.

You might think this is an amazing coincidence, but it’s not. This is Poland, the world’s capital of frugality through recycling!

Religion has always fascinated me. While sitting, standing, sitting, standing, sitting, standing, kneeling, sitting, standing, kneeling, sitting and standing through a very Catholic service at the weekend (associated with babcia’s death), I got to wondering where I personally stood (sat or knelt) these days with regards to acceptance by one or more of the religious clubs available to me.

At a time of my life when someone, most likely a vicar/priest, thought I had reached the “age of reason” I became a ‘confirmed member’ of the Church of England. For a subject as complicated as religion and with religious instruction being so completely biased in favour of the home side, I have to say that any “age of reason” that is set below the age of 40 is complete nonsense. That aside, here I was, a part of the Church of England. A church that as far as my history goes was only created because Henry VIII wanted rid of Catherine of Aragon at the same time that Pope Clement VI was pretty much imprisoned in the Vatican by the troops of Emperor Charles V who was Catherine’s nephew and not about to let Henry get away with it. Getting no satisfaction from the Pope who, it seems, had already bent the rules a bit to allow them to marry in the first place (Catherine having been married once before), Henry just went ape and started passing all kinds of laws that effectively told Rome to stick their religion where the sun doesn’t shine. Henry was now “the only Supreme Head in Earth of the Church of England” and anyone who didn’t like it, or he thought might not like it, lost their head, literally.

The Church of England was therefore, after nearly a thousand years of Papal rule, born-again and went on to become the mother church to what I now discover is termed the “Anglican Communion” that embraces around 77 million members (compared to over 1 billion Catholics) in thirty-eight provinces and six extra-provincial churches all around the globe. They are all independent, each with its own primate and governing structure although they all (to join the club) have to accept the Archbishop of Canterbury as their spiritual head and focus of unity. Strictly symbolic, you understand. In other words, replacing the Pope with another guy who keeps everyone in line but is a lot easier to do business with.

I had thought for most of my life, rather simply, that “If I’m not a Catholic, then I must be a Protestant”. It seems though that this is not strictly true as the Anglican Communion considers itself to be both Catholic & Reformed, at the same time. How’s that for sitting on the fence! It is Reformed because it does not accept Papal authority (thanks to Henry) and has been influenced by Protestant reformers and the subsequent Protestant Reformation. Yet, it is Catholic because it sees itself as a continuation of the original (Catholic) apostolic and medieval churches rather than as a new church and because it has retained more Catholic tradition than other reformed churches. I have a feeling the Pope might disagree with the idea that the Anglican Communion is in any way Catholic, but what do I know! So, for some Anglicans, their church represents a kind of non-Papal Catholicism while for others it represents Protestantism but without the leadership of the likes of Luther, Calvin or Wesley. It is therefore a very English church, one that sits precisely in the middle of nowhere at the centre of all things Christian. Maybe Catholic, maybe Protestant, perhaps something else entirely. Led, in a mild mannered way, by a nice civil servant type of guy who’s not about to upset any apple-carts. No Pope, no Wesley, no nothing much at all really. In the Anglican church, it seems, you can be religious, without having to take it to extremes. Tea and biscuits. Perhaps a nice slice of fruit cake. All the benefits with none of the downsides. The easy route to heaven!

When living in England we never went to church much. In the end, not even at Easter or Christmas. Nobody in my family is what could remotely be called a church-goer and, judging by the number of churches being converted into offices & apartments, we are not alone. I can’t help feeling that the very nature of the Anglican Communion, its ever so middle-of-the-roadness, is a strong factor in this drift away from the church. When you remove real hardship from the majority of the population, when people can enjoy a free and relatively easy life, as is the case in modern Britain, you remove (in my opinion) by far and away the biggest driver for people to gather together in churches and pray to God. The need to find a way, any way, to make things better or, at the very least, to know that you are not alone. When this impetus is removed any religion is going to have to rely on having a strong character, a strong position, to keep people coming back. Those that are not already deeply indoctrinated or spiritually inclined, that is. The Anglican Communion doesn’t really have that kind of pulling power and so its numbers are declining while some of the more overtly characterful religions grow stronger on British soil. ( I have no facts at hand to back that up) Ironically, it may prove to be the growth of these other religions that provides the impetus the Church of England needs.

Where does the Church of England stand anyway in the ranks of global religions? I mean, how are we supposed to take this seriously? The Sunday League status of my church was brought home to me in 1994 when I was fortunate enough to be able to visit Bethlehem and the Church of the Nativity, supposed birthplace of Jesus. It was not the best time to visit because there had been a recent massacre in Hebron and the situation was still tense, to say the least. Bethlehem, an Arab town, was in fact closed to visitors at the time but the guy I was with was well connected with the Israeli military and was able to get us through the blockade for a while. Anyway, more on that later perhaps. What shocked me at the time, naive as I was, was that my religion (Church of England, Anglican) was not represented at this ground zero of holy sites. The Church of the Nativity is run by the Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic and Armenia Apostolic authorities. Surely having a piece of the action at the Church of the Nativity is muchos kudos for any religious organisation? And the Anglicans don’t even have a stall set up in Manger Square!

It won’t surprise you to hear therefore, that as I left the UK I had little or zero affinity with the Church of England, nor with any other organised religion. There must be a word that defines what I do feel but I don’t know what it is. It’s certainly not “religious” or “spiritual” but neither is it “agnostic” nor “atheist”. I believe there is something above, bigger, better, more powerful than me, than any human. It doesn’t have a name but God is the closest we can get. I talk to it sometimes, it doesn’t talk to me but I think it can influence things. I don’t blame it when things are tough, I do sometimes thank it when things go well. It is not public, it is mine, possibly my families. It does not need prayer, or churches, or priests, or anything whatsoever associated with organised religion of any brand. I have no idea what it is or how to describe it but whatever it is, I’m glad it is there.

And so it was with this religious baggage that I came to live in 75% Catholic Central Europe, specifically, 95% Catholic Poland (yet to meet any of the 5%), arguably one of the most religious countries in the Western world outside of Latin America. To make matters more confusing, I married a Catholic and promised someone (God, the Catholic church) that I will bring up my children in the Catholic faith. They have my signature so there’s no getting away from it. If I fail I expect to see someone pointing their finger at my signature as they escort me through the gates of hell or purgatory.

Thoughts on living in a strongly Catholic country will follow another day……….

A céilidh (pronounced “kay-lee”) is a social event with Celtic music & dancing (typically Scottish or Irish).

On Saturday night Marta & I attended the Caledonian Ball at the Hilton Hotel in Warsaw. We had been before about five years ago and thoroughly enjoyed it. This time was no different although the growing size of the event does seem to be changing its character a little. It is now up to more than 500 attendees, which could easily become very impersonal if it were not for the tireless management efforts by those who have always been involved, the same band “Scotia’s Hardy Sons” and a tried and tested formula for the night’s entertainment. All the money raised goes to good causes helping underprivileged children in Poland.

Being a celebration of St Andrews Day, this is a very Scottish céilidh. Lots of men in traditional dress, many of whom didn’t look or sound like that was from where they originally sprung forth so perhaps they just like wearing skirts? There was the usual “walking around” of the guest of honour, the haggis, as well as a powerful rendition of “Ode to a haggis” by someone clearly going for a place in the Scottish chapter of the Royal Shakespeare Company. Plenty of good whisky to accompany the excellent food the Hilton served up (the manager is Scottish and was at the event which probably focuses the staff’s attention). Best of all, for me, was the Scottish Pipe & Drum band all the way from Czestochowa in Poland! I’m not a pipe & drum band expert but to my ears these guys and gals did a fantastic job. I love this kind of music, very stirring stuff!

The regular band didn’t disappoint either. With a blend of slower laments mixed with the faster and fiendishly complicated reels (is that what they are??) they kept the massive dance floor packed for a couple of hours. Everyone tied themselves in knots to the “Flashing White Privates” (must be something to do with the kilts), “Homosexual Gordon” and other Scottish hits! (snigger)

As an Englishman, I always find myself wondering at any such displays of national pride why we appear to be unable to do the same thing with quite the same enthusiasm, if at all. I also wonder if we did hold such an event what on earth would be on the agenda? A rousing chorus of Premier League football chants accompanied by binge-drinking competitions and boxing championships outside while waiting for the taxis I suppose. Very sad. Although it may be untrue and corny to suggest that pipes & drums, kilts, the haggis, whisky and weird poetry is the essence of Scottishness, it does at least all hang together and is recognisable and liked as a display. I really have no idea what would be similarly enjoyed were one to try and encapsulate Englishness??

We’re still recovering from not winning any raffle prizes, despite buying seven of, what we were told were, the winning tickets! Of course, the Steer family deserve a mention for picking up the Scottish Christmas hamper prize (as usual). We tried to start a chant of “It’s a fix!” but nobody else was interested.

We got lucky on the way home in the early hours when the doorman inadvertently gave us someone else’s taxi meaning there was little wait in the cold morning air. Apologies to whoever that was!

All in all, a fun evening.

Coming back to the matter of queue jumping.

An allied peculiarity, and one that may be a factor in the queue jumping question, is the amount of stock held on the retail premises. If you want to buy a sandwich toaster, DVD player or whatever, there is an 88% probability that the one on display is the only one they have. Worse is that this is not restricted to large or expensive goods, it is almost a bad for shoes, clothes, everything. Now, in the UK, this was a good moment to negotiate a discount and feel happy about the whole thing. Here it’s a case of take it at full price or leave it.

The art of negotiating in shops is generally non existent here. It does not matter how much you spend, how many items you buy, how utterly unsellable (damaged even) the thing you want is, if you mention the idea of a discount the sales person will look at you like you’re a four-headed Splargbanger from the planet Venus. It just does not happen, at all, on an informal basis. They will almost certainly have Sales where they will publish various rabats (rabat = discount) being given, but these are always instigated by them and at set times to do so, for example January. I found negotiating in the UK to be actually more fruitful than I thought it could be and in the end was probably ending up with either a discount or some extra goodie thrown-in at least 50% of the time. I miss being able to do that.

In Poland, the price displayed is THE price, end of discussion. I suppose one exception to that is the proliferation in recent years of “loyalty cards”, although this is still a discount given in an organised manner instigated by them. These things are okay and some of the discounts can be quite generous, 5 or 10 %, but it takes all the fun out of shopping and requires you to carry around a lot more plastic than wallets were ever designed for.

Why do they carry so little, or no, stock? I expect some are worried about theft, others perhaps can’t afford to have so much money tied up in stock, others because they change the items they are selling so quickly. Why won’t they negotiate? I’m not sure about this one but I would guess this is because whoever owns the place is not as willing to delegate such powers to Polish sales staff as their UK counterparts clearly are.

You heard it here first folks! (well almost)

As of a few minutes ago – England are OUT of the Euro 2008 football championships after losing 2-3 to Croatia at Wembley and Russia beat Andorra 0-1 at (insert name of Andorran stadium).

Looks like two wins for CEE nations there. Well done!

David “Hollywood” Becks is stranded on 99 caps for his country. McClaren, England (ex) manager will no doubt hear the fat lady singing tomorrow and remember, with a tinge of regret at not having acted upon it, the note I made earlier in here regarding the right choice for England goalkeeper. Ha!

Can I please make one plea to whoever is in charge of the English football team – GET IT SORTED!!!!! You’ve had your fun over the last, errr, seems like 41 years by serving up either teams or managers or both that weren’t fit to wear the shirt (or shell suit). Enough’s enough, okay?

From now on I’m officially withdrawing all support for the English team and will support Poland, Croatia, Czech & Russia who have ALL qualified for Euro 2008 (mostly top of their group) despite having pathetic (by Premier League standards) domestic leagues.

Just in case it’s not the managers fault I’d like to ask the players when it was that they got to be so rich, spoilt, fat, greedy, arrogant and selfish that they can’t be bothered to perform for their country.