With an emergency run on 4 x 4 gauze squares and medical tape as ears are covered in solidarity of one nicked by a bullet, this might be the week to invest some petty cash in Johnson & Johnson. You never know when the secret service will not be paying as much attention as they should be. Surely another head will fall in the line of duty, though last week’s bullet served a gift onto the locks of the dyed orange one, who now combs his hair into a cunning curl around the wound while one wonders why the bandage remained on for so long. Is there a hole, a missing chunk from the ear lobe? Will this require time out for plastic surgery, or is he too old for that? Age now being an issue placed on another foot.

For the waiting is over. The long weekend that began on Thursday when the American President, Joe Biden, reportedly tested positive for Covid and retreated to his Delaware home where, in close isolation, he prepared his letter to the American people. Published on Sunday, the 21st of July at 1.46pm, saying he would not seek reelection to be the next President of the United States. Age, infirmity and honesty have called him, and he listened. It is no easy thing, accepting who you have become with all that you have done, and want to continue to do, and put aside the dreams of what you still wish you could be. Leaders from around the Western world have, in their own styles, tipped their hats to Joe, breathing a sigh of relief that he has made this monumental decision while nervous about the unfolding of the oncoming political months in America. As of this writing, Kamala Harris has earned enough support from the Democratic delegates to be on the ticket as their democratic nominee in August.

Politicans who could be considered either Presidential nominees or running mates are all endorsing her – saying in one way or another – “I’m right behind you Kamala.” Well, strong women are familiar with that phrase.

But how will it play out in greater America? Is America really ready to put all of its prejudices aside? Kamala Harris is: a woman, a caramel-colored woman of mixed race with a Jewish husband, a lawyer, and from California. Now there will be endless discussions – but maybe it is a time to think, know what we know, what we do not know and, as some say, understand the difference. 

At the same time came the Windows computer melt-down that also began on Thursday. The BBC news chose only to tell us of the doctor and hospital appointments that were cancelled, pharmacies struggling with prescription refills, and of travel disrupted, flights and trains cancelled, and long queues at airports around the world. Many, like Schiphol in Amsterdam, who cancelled over 200 of their flights on Friday – even little Jane Does at home or our community library – all were effected due to the Windows outage. This was all brought together for us with the weather forecaster smiling and chatting along with no tell-tale screen behind her. We were lost as to where the winds, the rain or sunshine were coming from and going to. I asked our daughter Beatrice – who follows such things – to explain, as simply as she could, what happened on Thursday night. She says, “usually this sort of software is teased out, 5% here, 10% there and so on, checking for those glitches and things that go bump in the night – or on your computer. However the company, Crowd Strike, decided to send out the updated software to all Windows computers across the world at once. They have been juggling knives the whole time and dropped one – this time slicing a toe off. Business company IT staff are still working, getting computers one at a time up and running. Though the weekend is over and world politics, wars and sport return to take precedence, people are still trying to get to their doctor or back home, and through this week the effects are still being repaired.  

Thursday also began a long weekend of the British Open Golf Championship played out at the Royal Troon course in Scotland. The rain and the wind raced in from the sea and onto the course beating down the roar of old champions as they tried to rise only to be shut down by younger, faster and tougher players. Tiger Woods drove out at Royal Troon this weekend, beaten by the course, his age and health and it could be hard for him not to say, ‘maybe there will be another time’. We watched holding our breath as Justin Rose, my home-town boy, ‘almost’ won the championship to raise the famed Claret Jug. Will he, can he win one more time?

The truth can be brutal. Novak Djokovic spoke his own just over an hour after his defeat at the Wimbledon Championships, “I was inferior on the court. Carlos was the better player from the beginning till the end. He played every single shot better than I did. Last year I lost an epic five-set match where we went toe to toe. This year it was nothing like that – it was all about him. He was the dominant force on the court and deserved to win”. Gareth Southgate has also resigned from his role as manager of The English Football Association. In his eight years as manager he raised this squad up to be so very close to the best. He too is stepping aside to let another man take the helm.

There was a pause in all this to-ing and fro-ing and on Saturday I find the Farmers’ Market as busy as ever. The school year has ended, but with plans and travels disrupted, many families have not left the city. My first stop is always the French olive bar where barrels of olives, beans, garlics and vine-stuffed leaves tell me there is no need to cook dinner tonight. A small dish of this and that with a baguette from the French bread stall and a glass of wine will be just perfect. Then I visit with Ron who has been sick for the last few months and lost so much weight that his teeth are getting loose. But he has help to set out his honey on the table and a stool to sit on. I know that to pay him by card is the easiest for him, but maybe because the nurse in me is curious I hand him a 20 pound note to see how he manages. He has to think about it and find the £10 note and the £ 3 in coin. He comes up with £ 2 and I stop at that. We talk awhile, he so softly I have to lean in to catch the words fluttering through his teeth, but we manage, seller and customer, continuing our connection, passing a few friendly minutes together. Ron, with the support of his family and the other market vendors may manage the summer months sitting on his stool and selling his honey. But there will come a day when like the Joes, Tigers, Novaks of our lives it will be time for him to close up his stall and watch the people go by.

This has been A Letter From A. Broad. written and Read for you by Muriel Murch 
As always, overseen by beatrice@ murchstudio.com