Boss of J D Wetherspoon Tim Martin was more than happy to put staff and clientele at risk by forcing sick staff into work under threat of no sick pay.
The same irresponsible attitude, encouraging going to the pub, failure to heed advice on social distancing.
Working in @Waterstones today following the lockdown. No hand sanitiser provided, no wipes, no disinfectant, no reduced shop hours, cash still being accepted. We're being told by head office that gloves and masks are not permitted, meanwhile administrative staff…(cont.)
Waterstone’s are showing the same contempt for staff and customers during coronavirus crisis. No ban on cash, no hand sanitiser, no social distancing. Office staff sent home, staff in book shops forced to carry on working.
Waterstone’s where greed rules ok. There should be hand sanitiser by the door, everyone walking in required to use. Contactless card only. Close early at three every day. This was the norm in Sheffield last week.
Contrast last week with Steam Yard coffee shop in Sheffield. Hand sanitiser by the door, close at three.
Or contrast with fish n chip restaurant Elite on the Bail, restaurant closed takeaway at the back, social distancing, hand sanitiser on offer to use.
Waterstone’s destroyed Ottakar’s. I had hoped James Daunt may improve, but no. Still the rubbish dumped by publishers piled on tables, staff treated badly.
I know how you feel I work in Wilko & they haven't provided us with hand sanitizer I have to ration my own as I can't buy it anywhere & there is no social distancing it's chaos
For everyone’s info @Jessops is treating its staff very similarly. Still open, packed to the rafters with customers buying last-minute Mother’s Day gifts. Staff given no choice but to work.
Why is it always the big corporate chains that treat their staff badly?
Indie coffee shops as always leading the way. Coffee served in takeaway cups, no reusable cups, hand sanitiser by the door.
Talking to an employee of 200 Degrees a small coffee shop chain before they were forced to close, she said refusal to put hand sanitiser by the door, no interest in health and safety of staff or customers.
When the ban on pubs, bars, coffee shops came in, I walked down Lincoln High Street, indie coffee shops closed, Caffe Nero and Starbucks open.
Use contactless card. I prefer cash, cash is anonymous, cards are traced and tracked, inflate profits of banks, but these are not normal times, cash is dirty. Similarly, good coffee is to be appreciated, sit and relax with coffee served in ceramic or glass, but not normal times, takeaway protects staff and customers, minimises contamination.
Support your local indie bookshop
P&G Wells – Winchester
Lindum Books – Lincoln
Blue Bear Bookshop – Farnham
Ideas on Paper – Nottingham
and indie coffee shops
Marmadukes – Sheffield
Steam Yard – Sheffield
The Specialty Coffee Shop – Nottingham
Cartwheel Coffee – Nottingham
Outpost Coffee – Nottingham
Madame Waffle – Lincoln
Coffee Aroma – Lincoln
Krema – Farnham and Guildford
Coffee Lab – Winchester
By no means an exhaustive list.
NEW: Sunday 22 March update of our coronavirus mortality trajectories tracker
• US has recorded 100 deaths *so far* since Saturday — already its highest daily total • UK & US well beyond death tolls when many countries locked down
Tuesday of last week, UK was two weeks behind Italy, one week behind Spain, with one big difference, Italy and Spain already had measures in place before they introduced ever tighter measures. In UK, too little, too late.
“What coronavirus has essentially done … is it has taken these slow moving crises that we have already been experiencing in the United States, and basically pressed fast forward on every single one.” @AOC joins @mehdirhasan on #Deconstructed. https://t.co/blmVgVQ4nA
Note: still no hand sanitiser provided, no wipes, no disinfectant, still no gloves or masks permitted for fear of "alarming the customers". Nothing has changed and I feel like I'm living in La-La-Land.
When Primark, McDonald’s announced they are closing, we know it is game up.
Waterstone’s announced they were closing. But will staff get paid. Staff who were off sick, suspected covid-19, told to take out of their annual leave.
James Daunt the Tim Martin of the book trade. Shops closed but more likely no one on the streets, no one buying books, shops losing money, than consideration for the well being of staff and customers. Plus with shops closed staff on furlough government will pay 80% of their salary
But what does this say of Pepsi Trump? China gave us time, we squandered it. Tuesday of last week UK was two weeks behind Italy, one week behind Spain. With one big difference, both countries had measures in place, and have since tightened those measures. It was sporting bodies which decided to close, led the way. Now it is shops closing, taking the initiative. Still no lockdown of London. Bars and pubs serving drinks.
The crystal merchant knew all there was to know about crystal, from where to buy, the quality, at what price to sell.
He used to be busy, but times had changed, few people climbed the hill, the crystal on display was collecting dust, but after 30 years it was too late to change, crystal was all he knew.
One day, just as he was about to shut up shop to go for his lunch, he saw a boy looking at his display. He had sufficient experience to appraise the boy to know he had no money and was not going to buy anything. He nevertheless delayed closing his shop until the boy walked on.
The boy walked in, offered to clean the dusty crystal on display if the merchant bought his lunch.
The merchant agreed, as the boy was cleaning the crystal two customers walked in.
Over lunch, the merchant told the boy he had no need to clean the crystal, he would have taken him for lunch, it was an obligation in the Koran.
The merchant seeing that he has already sold crystal that day, saw the arrival of the boy as a good omen and asked the boy if he wished to work for him.
The boy agreed, he would work for the day as he wished to raise enough money to travel to the Pyramids in Egypt.
The boy was crestfallen to learn the Pyramids were far away and he would have to work for at least a year to raise the money to travel that far.
He abandoned his dream.
He would work long enough to buy a ticket back home and buy sheep, he was a shepherd and sheep was all he knew.
The boy cleaned the stock, was good with the customers, and businesses once again picked up.
Two months on, the boy asked could he build a cabinet at the bottom of the hill to display the crystal, as this would tempt visitors to climb the hill to the shop.
The merchant was reluctant, business was picking up, the crystal would get broken, and anyway he did not like change.
But he saw the boy was correct and agreed.
One day the boy overheard from those who climbed the hill how tired and thirsty they were and would it not be a nice idea a drink of tea.
The boy suggested to the merchant they should serve tea in crystal.
The merchant was reluctant, more change, and what did he know about tea, but he agreed.
Business again picked up, word got around, tea was being served in crystal. Many of the men said how their wives would love to serve tea in crystal and bought crystal as a gift for their wives.
In less than a year, the boy bid farewell to the crystal merchant, he had saved enough money to buy a ticket, buy 120 sheep, knew about crystal, could speak Arabic, obtain an import licence for Spain.
The crystal merchant reminded him of his dream, that a caravan was about to depart, that he should follow his dream, that was his destiny.
Steep Hill follows the route of an old Roman Road, it used to be lined with shops, many people walking up the hill to the Castle and Cathedral, stopping part way en route to visit one of the many tea shops.
Now there are few visitors, a bus carries visitors to the top of the hill, many shops have closed, when there are holidays the tea and coffee shops are closed, we too deserve a break they say, then reopen when few visitors are around and bemoan their lack of customers.
There are few businesses of quality, little to draw people back.
At the top of the hill there used to be a tea shop, it closed, premises gutted. Now a cheese shop and coffee shop, the cheese shop selling plastic-wrapped adulterated fake cheddar cheese, the coffee shop serving undrinkable coffee.
The story of the crystal merchant and the boy is taken from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. The boy is the shepherd boy Santiago who follows his dreams.
The illustration by Jesús Cisneros from the illustrated Folio Society edition of The Alchemist.
Steep Hill is the tale of a real street in terminal decline.
Waterstone’s across the street no better. Hippie not on display. I did eventually find, spine only, on the bottom shelf next to the floor with new books. A little direct action. When I left, on display on table by the entrance.
I inquired the week published. No one knew what I was talking about. WHSmith not only not in stock, not even shown on their system.
I had hoped to find at Gatwick Airport. Not there either.
Last week, an afternoon of conversation and book signing with Stephen Leighton, author of Coffeeography. He left behind samples of coffee beans from the producers featured in Coffeeography. As I write, wonderful aroma from the coffee samples.
Coffee cupping is to coffee what wine tasting is to wine.
What better way the celebrate the hard work of the producers than a coffee cupping on St Joseph’s Day, St Joseph the patron saint of workers.
The beans were ground, placed in a cupping bowl, hot water poured on, left for four minutes.
A group of half a dozen people, roughly half staff, half customers took it in turn to sample the coffees.
Four coffees, two sessions.
Blind tasting. The origin to be revealed later.
I would have changed how this was carried out.
Grind the coffee, each sample the aroma of the ground beans, pour in the hot water, wait four minutes, one person for each cup, remove the crust, sample the aroma that erupts when the crust removed, then with a sampling spoon, sample each coffee.
Whilst noticing a difference, I did not notice a big difference. I noticed a far bigger difference cupping beans from Los Nogales Project, twelve different samples from the same estate.
Curious. I offer an explanation.
When Stephen Leighton chooses the beans he has in mind what he is looking for, which will select beans of similar profile.
In the evening, guest of my good friends Paulo Coelho and Christina Oiticica, and many other friends, we would be celebrating St Joseph’s Day at some wonderful venue, in a historic town, chosen by Paulo.
It seems only yesterday, we were in Prague.
Sadly not this year.
I wish Paulo, Christina, and our friends who come together from all over the world, Viva St Joseph’s Day.
If you believe a prayer can make a difference, let's pray together tonight Saint Joseph’s Day https://t.co/qe6nRNsXWb
I endorse thoughts of my dear artist friend Dasha Bell:
Our hearts are enlightened with numerous fabulous memories of all the fantastic moments shared at Paulo Coelho and Christina Oiticica St. Joseph Party ! What a magical time, how many dear friends and sensations of love and happiness shared ! Thank you !!!
Congratulations Paulo Coelho, Sunday The Alchemist four hundred and twenty three weeks in New York Times best-seller list, ie eight years and two months.
What a way to start 2017.
Not bad for a book that was first published nearly three decades ago.
Good books spread by word of mouth. Only rubbish needs marketing hype.
Sheperd boy ventures to reach 8 years and 2 months (423 weeks) in the @nytimes bestseller list. Thank you all! pic.twitter.com/MTWtYu1191
Strictly speaking Carmelite Church of Our Lady Victorious in Malá Strana but commonly known as Church of the Infant Jesus for the little infant Jesus wearing a cloak.
The infant Jesus is 16th century. Legend has it that the statue once belonged to Saint Teresa of Avila.
Up a spiral stone staircase, a museum of various cloaks.
When I visited, I was struck by a girl in her twenties, her face was lit up with joy as she looked at the statue.
I caught up with her as she left. She told me she was a student in Prague.
When Brazilian writer Paulo Coelho was unknown, he had yet to write, he travelled Europe. He asked the Infant Jesus to help make his dream come true to become a writer. He noticed the Infant Jesus was wearing a shabby cloak. He promised, that if he became a writer, he would return with a cloak.
Paulo Coelho marks St Joseph’s day with his friends. This year it was at Lobkowicz Palace in Prague Castle. During the morning he visited the church and presented the Infant Jesus with a new cloak.
The Infant Jesus is credited with miracles. Hence the pilgrims.
I was appalled at the disrespect shown by the hordes of visitors to the church. Two women having a very noisy conversation on the stairs leading up to the museum, the noise echoing up and down the staircase. Two women walking down the aisle having a loud conversation. Then bang, crash, a tourist group erupted through the doors, their tour guide, Italian, laughing and shouting. I wish I gone after her and took a picture of her as she left, as she was unfit to be a tour guide. Then it got worse and worse.
I walked out in disgust.
Why do they not bar tour groups?
A shop near the church entrance, but closed when I left.
Across the road, shops selling tourist tat, images, replicas of the Infant Jesus.
St Joseph’s Day Party in Lobkowicz Palace with Paulo Coelho and friends.
Prague Castle and Charles Bridge
If you’re brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello. — Paulo Coelho
Two weeks ago, St Joseph’s Day, a chauffeur driven limousine to Prague Castle to a party in Lobkowicz Palace. A guest of my dear friend Paulo Coelho.
Paulo Coelho has a knack of hosting parties in wonderful iconic locations.
It is strange, how you have an entirely different perspective of the world, if driven around in a limousine. An argument maybe for forcing politicians and their wealthy masters to use public transport at least once a year.
A police checkpoint, car checked, though odd not the passenger, then dropped off outside the German Embassy.
I did not query this. I had instructed my driver to drop me off at which ever entrance to Prague Castle was best for him, and I would find my way on foot to Lobkowicz Palace.
Thus when he said he would drop me off at the Germany Embassy, I did not query it. I assumed it to be located somewhere inside or nearby the castle entrance.
I got out, asked my driver where I was to go.
Luckily I did.
Not where we should be.
He asked me to get back in, ten minutes he assured me.
Off we went, with him tapping into his Sat Nav.
We are lost he told me. I will have use Google Maps.
By now I am perplexed. How can anyone live in Prague and not know how to get to the castle? Am I lost within a Kafka novel? Did not K have problems getting to the castle?
A journey that should have been no more than 15 minutes, took 50 minutes.
He dropped me off at the entrance to Prague Castle.
More security checks. Police and army armed with semi-automatic weapons.
Prague from Prague Castle
Prague from Prague Castle
Stunning views over Prague.
I walked in, luckily it was not far for the palace.
More security.
Was I on the guest list?
Yes, said a voice who confirmed who I was.
waiters bearing drinks
jazz quartet in the corner
frescos on the ceiling
Inside warmly greeted by Christina, guests who I know, waiters with drinks and little titbits to eat, a jazz band playing in a corner.
Trying to take it all in, paintings, frescos on the ceilings, not possible to put anything down anywhere, trying somehow to balance wine, eats, books, camera, phone and take pictures.
Leave books at cloakroom, yes, a good idea.
Paulo chatting with guest
I walked out onto a balcony overlooking the town. A warm greeting from Paulo who was chatting with friends.
Annie a prayer in Greek
Eventually we are called to order for prayers in multiple languages and faiths, people called forward.
To my surprise and shock, my lovely Greek friend Annie is there. I had not seen her and did not know she was there. I have not seen her since we met in Athens three years ago.
Paulo Coelho, whose party it was and whose guests we were, explains why Prague.
Many years ago, when he wanted to be a writer, he had toured Europe.
He had found himself in Prague, in the Church of the Infant Jesus, a church I was to visit a few days later. He asked to become a writer. If he did, he would one day return and give the infant Jesus a new shawl, which he had done that morning.
Whilst in Prague he had walked along the Golden Lane, a street of the alchemists. There was no one there apart from a young man painting, his hands covered with cut off gloves against the cold. Paulo buys a painting, gives the equivalent of a dollar, very little. The young man is overjoyed. He points at Christina. Thinking he wants more money, but no, he offers to paint Christina. Offered money, he refuses to accept it.
Paulo was very moved by this experience, to him it was an epiphany. Here was a man, painting for his art, for love of what he did, not for money.
Thirty years on, Paulo was determined to track this man down. He called upon his friends in Prague, and a miracle, the man was found. But could he prove who he was, did he remember the two gifts Paulo gave him?
Christina and Paulo with street artist
Paulo had pointed him out earlier. He now invited him to join him on the stage.
A very emotional scene, the man was in tears.
Paulo explained he was his guest of honour, would he please stay and eat with us.
Whether he did, I do not know, as I did not see him again.
Paulo told the story the day before at his press conference and has recounted the story on his blog.
Paulo told us this was the 30th St Joseph’s Day Party, a celebration when friends get together and there was nothing more important to him than friendship and his friends. Those who were no longer with us, were with us in spirit.
There was though to be a change. From now on, the party would only be held every other year, not once a year.
Following prayers, we were asked to go in for dinner.
I hugged Annie, and walked into dinner together.
Sadly we could not find a table seated together.
Not to worry said Annie, we have all night after dinner to talk.
I found myself sat at a table with friends, including Paulo and Christina.
Part way through dinner I found myself chatting with William Lobkowicz. We discussed music. He was very interested in what I was suggesting as he wanted something different.
I recommended Pieles, a musical production which I had seen in Puerto de la Cruz at Teatro Timanfaya. He thought stage where we were dining. I said no, it would have to be a small theatre.
The Sixteen added to my mental list. I did not now know at the time, that in Lobkowicz Collection, were held original manuscripts of Handel, Mozart, Haydn and Beethoven.
The Sixteen could play from the manuscripts, either where we dined or St Nicholas Church, a Baroque church in Prague Old Town, depending upon the music. The cathedral in Prague Castle would be too big, they would be lost.
The problem with Prague, as I learnt wandering around, everyone is putting on the same nigh identical tourist trap concerts.
He gave me his card to follow up our discussion, as he had to leave early.
It was only later, I discovered my dining companion was Prince William Lobkowicz, to give him his correct title.
string quartet played whilst we dined
Whilst we ate, a string quartet played.
Dinner over, wine having freely flowed, and more was yet to flow, Paulo called us to order.
He thanked the string quartet.
He then told of Paul McCartney being asked to summarise his music. He said he cannot, it has to be listened to.
Paulo gets asked the same question: Can you summarise your books? He says no, read the books.
At his side, I recognised a girl, though I could not recall why. Paulo introduced her and a guitarist who had appeared, as who had played at his party in Athens.
He then broke into All You Need is Love, with everyone joining in.
He then told everyone to party, the band was playing.
Usually at the end of a party, Paulo and a few of us sit around chatting.
Not to be, Paulo and Christina left early.
Paulo Coelho books signed in Prague
I caught Paulo as he was leaving and he kindly signed my books, presents for friends.
Then the night was over.
We could not order our own transport, due to the tight security, transport had been arranged.
Annie and several of us left around 2-30am. Annie wanted to walk. I said no, we did not know the way and she would get lost. I also knew it would be very cold, and she only had a thin dress and a light jacket.
As we left the palace, army on guard outside armed with semi-automatic weapons.
We piled onto the coach and off we went, with one girl in high spirits demanding music and then inviting me out the next day.
Final drop off, everyone piled off, I said goodbye to Annie and friends, a couple of us stayed on the coach.
Where to next?
I did not mind not being dropped off at my hotel, Old Town Prague would do, and I would find my own way.
The coach was going nowhere. I too got off, to find Annie standing by the roadside all alone shivering.
But for the grace of God the coach did not take me, as otherwise Annie would have been all on her own.
We were lost, we did not have a clue where we were were. We wandered around for an hour or more. We were lost. We were going round and round in circles getting nowhere, but slowly turning to ice. Then I said look. What said Annie? I pointed to a lit up telecoms tower, what I had seen during the day. Assuming it to be the same one, it was located on a hill behind the castle. If we turned with our backs to the tower, we could head to the river. I still had no idea where we were, but at least we could head in the right direction. The only problem was, every road we headed down, was blocked off.
Look, I said again. Annie looked. Exhausted. Cold. The name I said, the name of the hotel, The Alchemist. It was a sign. We both laughed. We knew everything was ok. We know how to read signs
We then met two people. They sort of headed us in the right direction.
Then I realised where we were. It was where I had walked earlier in the day when I crossed Charles Bridge.
From there Annie found her hotel.
Will you be ok?
Yes, cross the bridge, find the Old Town Square, then I can find my way.
I probably sounded more confident than I was, I neglected to tell Annie that although I had walked this route during the day, I had got lost, and that was in daylight, now it was dark.
I promised to send her a message when I was safely home
Charles Bridge early hours of the morning
I crossed the now deserted Charles Bridge with someone following me. Creepy.
I crossed the bridge and was lost. It is one thing being lost with a friend, quite another on your own in a strange city in the early hours of the morning wandering cold, dark and deserted streets.
I wandered around, absolutely no idea where I was.
Eventually a taxi driver stopped, asked was I ok. I said no I was lost. He pointed me in the right direction. I immediately regretted I had not asked him to take me home. I passed another taxi , but he was either picking people up or dropping people off.
I found the Old Town Square. It was very different to daylight, or even night when lit up. It was in darkness. I found my way through the square, then down an alley then finally I knew where I was.
I finally reached my hotel at 4-15am in the early early hours of the morning, very cold and very tired.
Many thanks to Paulo and Christina for hosting the party and inviting me. And thanks for the friendship. And thanks Paulo for your patience and signing the books as you were leaving.
When Paulo announced the party was only going to be every two years, I felt very sad as in my heart I knew there was gong to be no more parties. And so it proved to be.
A couple of days later, a sad e-mail from Paulo thanking his friends, saying there would be no more parties, after thirty this phase of his life was over. He has already decided before the party but at the party decided to compromise by holding every two years, but on reflection to keep to his original decision.
I am sure Paulo we will meet somewhere, but in the meantime my dear friend, take good care of yourself.
I usually write up the party on getting home, the first account published.
I am sorry I did not. I was tired and exhausted, and I had no computer.
I asked the hotel. They kindly went out and bought a computer and delivered it to my room. I returned and found a laptop sitting on my table. Only problem was, it was in Czech. I can handle a Spanish keyboard, but a Czech keyboard with four, sometimes five, characters on each key. Plus it was Windows 10 in Czech.
Now, two weeks later trying to keep everything in chronological order, my write up.
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