Part 74 – String of Fire

“The Thatcher years might have been a spiffing time for Johnson, who was busy partying in the elite Bullingdon Club, but in the real world Thatcher devastated communities across Scotland” (Owen Thompson)

A Load of Hot Air

Haiga – Palimpsest

Following a bad night, I felt exhausted Monday morning and got back in bed.  As my last bout of debilitation over a month ago lasted less than 3 days, I hoped this one would be similar.  Alas, it dragged on for over a week leading to deepening depression.  Phil tried to cheer me up with funny dancing.  However, as my eyes wouldn’t focus, they made me dizzy.  He carried the breakfast tray down and returned for the washing.  I bathed, donned a sarong and teetered downstairs for coffee and the laptop.  Internet issues now into the third week, I managed to post a haiga but doing the journal was impossible.  Going back down for lunch, I noticed the machine was on a drying cycle.  Fearing for our smalls, Phil frantically pressed buttons until it stopped.  Still struggling with unfocused eyes and head fug, I tried to motivate myself to write or do art but didn’t feel like doing anything at all.  Very unlike me, even when ill, the mere thought of computer work made me feel sick.  I watched an awful telly film and lay down to read.  Eyes shutting, I hoped to catch up on some sleep.  Sadly not, although I lay with closed eyes for half an hour which slightly helped my vision.

The TIT app was tweaked to only ping if contact had been within 2 days rather than 5.  Changes didn’t affect sensitivity or risk threshold.  A month-long study by Imperial College reassuringly found no covid on the train network.  To encourage vaccine uptake, young people were bribed with taxi rides and kebabs from the likes of Uber and Deliveroo.  Kebab-a-Jab was one of a range of schemes across the globe – rollmops in the Netherlands, sausages in Germany, mici in Romania*, popcorn in Australia, a chicken in Indonesia, a lottery to win a gold bar in Hong Kong, and a joint in Washington state (assumingly on top of the $100). 

Initially refreshed after more sleep Tuesday, I wobbled on rising and got back in bed.  Phil offered to get the mid-morning coffee then disappeared.  He then embarked on an arty project which made a nice change from the mind-numbing monotony of his gig economy job.  Pissed off missing a sunny day, I opened the window and worked on the laptop.  Someone was only just asking the local Facebook group if there were issues with the internet.  It beggared belief they’d sit there for 3 weeks without contacting their ISP!  I suggested everyone affected lodged complaints to speed up repairs at the exchange.  A couple of members responded they had, including a friend, making Phil feel less alone.  Early evening, emergency vehicles sped up the hill opposite as helicopters wheeled over the valley.  It transpired there were reports of a hot air balloon crashing and bursting into flames.  It turned out to be a party balloon.  Was the string on fire?

Cases dropping to around 22,000 a day as opposed to the predicted 100,000, Christina Pagel wanted to know why.  Mike Tildesley put it down to people being cautious.  Prof. Paul Hunter said hospital cases were ‘over the peak’ but 138 deaths was the most since 17^th March.  An Imperial College React study found 2 jabs cut the chances of catching covid to 3.8%.  JCVI now said the risk of myocardia was low and in balancing that against the benefits, offered 16-17 year olds a single jab as soon as practical, with possible roll- out to 12-15 year olds later.  Peter Kyle complained they’d squandered the summer.

The ‘Key to NYC’ pass for indoor activities would launch 17^th August, to be fully implemented by 13^th September.  3 cases identified, all Wuhan citizens were tested for the Delta variant and a slight fall in Indian cases led to some opening up in Mumbai and Maharashtra.  Iran suspected of a drone attack on oil tanker Mercer Street killing a Brit and a Rumanian last week, Rabid Raab summoned the ambassador.  In a second incident, 9 armed men boarded the Asphalt Princess in the Gulf of Oman and ordered it to sail to Iran.

Seeing Red

The Flying Farage

Although very sleepy, I needed the meditation soundtrack to settle Tuesday night.  I then woke several times in the early hours and subsequently dawdled over morning tea and bathing Wednesday morning.  I tidied the bed, fetched coffee and worked on the laptop.  Speedily backing up photos on OneDrive, I wondered if the internet was fixed.  Phil in Leeds, I had no way of checking.  I hoped he’d be back in time to enjoy his favourite quick pasta dish with me but he wasn’t.  Sun replaced by cloud and occasional showers, he appeared slightly damp.

Ahead of changes to traffic lights, rumours of an ‘amber watchlist’ caused consternation and were later ditched.  Amidst a cabinet fallout, Shatts was blamed.  Which? reported on tour companies with the best and worst covid policies and encouraged sun-seekers to check the FCO list as well as the lights; were there discrepancies?  A GoFundMe page aimed to purchase the RNLI a hovercraft dubbed The Flying Farage.  If the target was exceeded, they planned to buy another vessel named Katie Hopkins or Darren Grimes (whoever he was).  Drugs deaths up 3.8% in England and Wales and 4.8% in Scotland during 2020, Eytan Alexander of the UK Addiction Treatment Group called it a ‘parallel pandemic’ that had ‘worsened due to the virus’.  Ministers denied cuts were to blame, saying they were investing £148m to tackle drug misuse.  Belarus opposition leader Svetlana Tiskhavounskya met The Bumbler at Number 10 asking for more support against the despot Lukashenko, after an activist was found hanged in a Kyiv park and Olympian Krystina Tsimanskaya defected.  Poland rescued the athlete at Tokyo airport.  Meanwhile, the first trans woman to compete failed to win the weightlifting, belying claims of unfair advantage.  13 year old Sky Brown skateboarded to bronze.  Already on TV ads, she didn’t say “I don’t feel like it today.”  There’d been a lot of that during Shonkyo including Simone Biles withdrawing from team events and Adam Peaty declaring he needed a break.

Awoken by diggers on the canal Thursday morning, I gave up trying to sleep, managed a few small chores and got back into bed to catch up on online ordering.  Having confirmed the internet was finally fixed, Phil received a belated call from Talk-Talk to that effect.  Dinner taking too long to cook, I collapsed on the sofa to watch Netflix for the first time in ages but retired early for another mediocre night.

PHE said vaccines averted 66,9000 hospital admissions but according to Amanda Pritchard, of 5,000 ‘seriously ill’ patients, a fifth were aged 18-34.  She urged young people to ‘not delay’ sorting their jabs.  Traffic light changes turned Mexico red requiring airborne travellers to come home within 2 days or pay increased quarantine hotel costs of £2,285.  Germany, Norway, Romania, Austria, Latvia, Slovenia and Slovakia went green.  Spain stayed amber with PCR tests advised before returning.  Qatar, Bahrain and UAE moved to amber, as did India but not Pakistan.  MPs Naz Shah and Yasmin Qureshi saw red at unclear criteria and the government rewarding countries that offered economic benefits to the UK.  On GMB, Shats insisted the changes only happened every 3 weeks leading to more stability, and were based on various factors and advice from the joint Biosecurity Centre.  Was that the same JBC whose boss resigned over the ‘watchlist’ debacle? 

90,000 EU citizens left UK hospitality jobs due to Brexit and covid as a new daily record of 482 people crossing The Channel made a total so far of 10,000 in 2021.  Meanwhile, almost 60,000 arrived in Europe with 1,016 dead or missing.  Steve Valdez-Symonds of Amnesty International UK said: “the reason people are putting themselves in serious danger…is that there are simply no safe alternatives open to them.”  He urged French and UK governments to come together to fulfil their responsibilities: “On a global scale, very few people seek asylum in the UK and politicians need to stop peddling myths and stoking hostility towards often vulnerable people who’ve experienced persecution and trauma.” 11 people arrested over the racial abuse of Rashford, Sancho and Saka, the police promised more would follow.  After wrecking rooms, the Shonkyo Australian rugby team raided drinks, threw up and ruined the bog on a JAL flight home.

Inferno

Park Psychedelia

Turning cold and rainy for the next few days, it seemed positively autumnal.  Friday, I posted a psychedelic version of a photo of summery park blooms for Elder Sis’ birthday and the journal entry delayed from Monday, then backed up files but wished I hadn’t.  Later copying notes over, I discovered a week’s journal work lost.  I must have overwritten the wrong ones!  On a brighter note, I booked a reasonably priced short break.  Hitherto finding costs in my preferred choice destination astronomical, I considered Blackpool when I came across reference to a site we’d used some years back.  Cottages in the last-minute bargain section were even cheaper when I plumped for later dates.  Problems at the end of the verifying process led to an anxious 20 minutes hanging on the phone to speak to a person and be assured the booking had gone through.  Dinner taking ages again, I got very tired and knocked a wine glass off the top.  Sweeping up what fragments I could see on the kitchen floor, one scooted under the fridge.  impossible to tell if I’d missed any small shards, I warned Phil not to walk about bare-footed until we’d hoovered.

ONS found a 39% drop in cases with infections down across the UK except Northern Ireland where they were the highest since 23^rd January and the first 16-year-old got a Pfizer jab.  In Australia, Victoria state started a week-long lockdown and NSW entered a seventh week after 5 deaths, one of whom was vaccinated.  “They did it wrong. Not enough herd immunity.” Intoned Phil.  Hypocrite minister and chair of COP26 Alok Sharma flew to 30 countries since February and didn’t isolate after trips to red-listed Bolivia and Brazil.  David Lammy called the amount of travel ‘bizarre’.  Munira Wilson said: “It seems incredible that this government never seems to learn the lesson; it simply cannot be one rule for them and one rule for everyone else.” Sharma also reportedly met Prince Charles indoors mask-less and visited a primary school. Fatty Soames’ Serco saw profits up 31%, thanks in part to 17% of the company’s contracts being covid related.  BOE forecasted 4% inflation by the end of 2021 but expecting it to be temporary, left interest base rates at 0.1%.  A 50% rise in wholesale energy led Ofgem to raise the cap on variable tariffs from 1^st October.

In Scotland not visiting the first minister, Boris laughed that Thatcher gave us a ‘big early start’ on dealing with climate change by shutting coal mines.  Sturgeon exclaimed his comment was ‘crass and deeply insensitive’ and SNP MP Owen Thompson observed they might have been spiffing for the PM, but in the real world, the Thatcher years devastated communities.

Thanks to moderate drinking, I wasn’t hungover Saturday morning but felt woefully unrested.  Making the morning cuppa, I found a tiny spider in a mug.  The poor thing went round and round in a circle.  I stood on the doorstep, shook it onto the replanted rose, said ‘hello world’ and retreated back indoors.  Realising it had probably hatched under the living room floorboards and dropped down to the kitchen on a string, I reflected there could be millions living there.  Phil concurred, then spotted a larger spider brazenly sauntering across the bedroom floor.  Another rescue ensued.  Fed up of niggles interrupting my dossing, I thought I might as well have breakfast.  Returning to bed, I replenished lost journal notes and used a colourful photo from Brighouse for a haigaⁱ.  Phil cleaned the kitchen, disposing of glass shards, went to the shop and cooked dinner.  I had a terrible night.  The heavy rain initially soothing, I fell asleep briefly then woke to toss and turn until 4.15 a.m.  Becoming anxious by the relentless downpour, I almost burst into tears before eventually getting a few hours aided by the meditation soundtrack.

Still wet Sunday morning, at least the rain wasn’t as bad.  More than could be said of me.  Phil asked “Are you better?” “No, I feel awful. I told you I hardly slept!”  He stroked me comfortingly as though I were a  kitten and suggested we go charity shopping Monday.  “What for?”  “I thought you wanted to.”  “I never said that. It must’ve been a boring dream.”  “Yep. That sounds about right.”  Back upstairs, I soaked a shirt I’d managed to spill drink on and cleaned the bath before going back to bed to draft-post the journal.  Despite assurances, I was still receiving e-mails telling me to complete the holiday cottage booking.  I sent a message back and trusting all would be okay, researched things to do in the area.  Phil cut his hair and emerged looking like arch-druid Veran from Britannia, minus the tattooed runes.  He then made a variation of his signature austerity roast for dinner.  While again needing sleep aids, it was a distinct improvement on the previous night.

Cases now falling except among 18-29 year olds, Heaven offered vaccines to nightclubbers leading to totals of 89% adults having one jab and 74% having two.  In a short-term fix, Operation Rescript put army lorry drivers on 5 day notice to help out with the HGV shortage.  A string of wildfires created an inferno across southern Europe.  21 British fire & rescue personnel were sent to Greece, 1,000 were evacuated from the island of Evia and a volunteer was killed.  In Sardinia, a sheepdog died of burns after protecting his flock.

*Mici – a type of sausage which Phil said he’d prefer above all the other bribes

Reference:

i. My haigas: https://wordpress.com/posts/mondaymorninghaiga.wordpress.com

Part 8 – Watch The Skies

Braggadocio

Hubble’s Ultra Deep Field

Cool cloud coverage signalled the end of warm sunny weather, for the time being.  Rain finally arrived later in the week, after the driest April on record.  Tuesday, I felt as though I hadn’t slept at all and resigned myself to more bedrest.  At least I wouldn’t be so pissed off about missing the sun and those boisterous kids would shut up.  Alas, the racket was replaced by roadworks on the small road directly opposite us, so still no hope of peaceful rest.  Phil also felt ropey but stoically carried on as normal.

According to official figures, 100 NHS staff had died from Covid-19.  A minutes’ silence was held at 11.00 a.m.  Matt Cock said families of the victims could claim £60k but that didn’t mean they couldn’t also sue the government.  What was he playing at?  In his return to Whitehouse briefings, The Trump denied responsibility for people drinking bleach and in a classic deflection technique, threatened to sue China for dead Americans.

The Trump and The Boris could learn a thing or two from an article I read, asserting that charismatic leadership inevitably ended in disappointment (see for example, Boris’ gung ho approach before being struck down, going round shaking hands and bragging ‘we’ll beat it’).  The bods went onto say society needed post-heroic leadership, to solve ‘wicked’ problem with no right or wrong answers.  Leaders had to ask the right questions, not necessarily have the answers, collaborate, talk and listen to others, and not blame or criticise.  This way, they created optionality and space for trial and error.  I reflected this was quite like my leadership style when I managed teams.  Fat lot of good it did me; being bullied, accused of incompetence and thrown on the scrap heap!

After a mediocre night, I  tried to sleep in later Wednesday morning, but couldn’t.  Although sinusitis symptoms had eased off, I was still exhausted.  I stayed in bed, writing on the laptop and watching telly.

Lots of toadying ensued over the latest Boris sprog.  Paternity leave came in handy, giving him an excuse to skip PMQs again.  Rabid Raab gave out the usual clichés and platitudes about people dying on the front line.  Keir Hardy raked over the 27k deaths so far, which now included care home figures; the worst mortality rate in Europe.  He quoted some medico who’d said under 20k would be ‘a success’, countering that it was actually ‘horrific’.  A flustered Raab wittered about a mismatch in counting and evidence from SAGE.  So boring I lost track.  Hot on the heels of the debacle of expecting ill essential workers to drive 70 miles to testing centres, home testing kits went on offer via the website – to be gone in an hour!

A late TV repeat celebrated Hubble’s 30^th anniversary. Among the mesmerising images of black holes and supernovas, the ‘Ultra Deep Field’ went back to start of creation, confirming that once upon a time there was no universe.  But what was in the nothing?  Does not compute!   Mind officially blown!

Phil set off to the shop with a small list, bread for lunch the priority.  He came back and went straight out again, calling “I forgot bread!” as he did so.  Hungry and irritated, I washed cups in the bathroom sink and waited impatiently for him to return.  He claimed he’d forgotten the loaf as the co-op was a nightmare again.  My head felt too heavy to continue writing.  Instead, I put winter jumpers and woolly hats away in the top cupboard – even though summer had temporarily deserted us, I reckoned it was safe.

Flying High

Flypast for Captain Tom

Thursday morning, I felt slightly better but still weak and feeble.  By the time I’d had a bath, the morning was over.

Captain Tom’s 100^th birthday celebrations included being made an honorary colonel, a special postmark, a telegram from the queen and an RAF flypast,  (organised by BBC breakfast; Shats had bragged about this, as if to take the credit), a cake with a spitfire on top, thousands of cards (so many it looked like an art installation in the school hall) and an Olympic torch.  By the evening, he’d raised £31.8m for the NHS.  The fundraising page closed at midnight.  With little to buy apart from food and drink, my ESA stretched a bit further meaning I could afford to make a small donation.

During afternoon quiet time, I could hear traffic on the main road below splashing through the rain.  The sound seemed odd now.  Although lulled into deeper relaxation than normal, sleep still eluded me.

Bumbling Boris chaired the pointless briefing,  A simpleton PowerPoint slide show demonstrated the ‘R’ rate at less than 1.  Far from being ‘upbeat’ as the hype had suggested,  I yawned into my coffee.  Boris did not dwell on the death rate which, at officially the third highest in the world, was definitely nothing to boast about.  He insisted infections were ‘past peak’, and promised an exit plan next week.

Elsewhere, trial use of the drug Remdesiver (used for Ebola) sped up recovery from CV-19 by a third, compared to a placebo.  Not for the first time, the trial raised concerns.  As with the vaccine trials, and the use of mice, it struck me as a slightly evil experiment.  If it worked, why not give the drug to everyone?

The latest idiotic idea from ‘a scientist’ suggested pubs only allowed 2 drinks per customer when they re-opened.  Our imaginations ran wild inventing ways round that one; pub crawls, disguises such as different masks. silly hats and outrageous accents to name but a few.

The weekly editions of Question Time and Newscast (aka ‘plague cast’) contained no cutting insights.  I reflected the latter was nowhere near as amusing as Brexit-cast.  I did miss those halcyon days!

Beltane

Beltane Hippies

Friday morning, I declared the sinusitis over, at least for now, and forced myself to get to the co-op early for the weekend essentials (pizza and wine).  I laughed as a man tampered with his facemask “you do realise you’ve now rendered that ineffectual”.  “Sorry?”  “Fiddling with it and putting it back on your face totally defeats the object.”  Relating the incident to Phil, he said “It’s a gow-gow.”  “A what?”  “It’s what I called a dummy when I was 18 months old.” I recalled the encounter with my walking friend about the use of a scarf ‘making me feel better’.  While there was definitely a comfort element, more evidence emerged that face coverings helped.  Sturgeon said they should be used as part of the lockdown exit strategy for Scotland while Boris still dithered.

After recovering from the trip with a coffee, I worked on my draft novel ‘Felling Oakes’, for the first time in ages.  Intrigued by a character briefly referred to in a fascinating book about Elizabethan England’ⁱ I had sought out a contemporary account.  Available only in digital format on google books, I read the Elizabethan text in miniature on my phone.  As you can imagine, this took some time!  I then embarked on a fictional retelling of his exploits, with frequent digressions into additional source material.  With Corvus Diaries added to my other ongoing writing projects, ‘Felling Oakes’ had gone on the back burner.  Gratifyingly, it looked better than I remembered from the last look a couple of months back.

Due to the unique circumstances we were living under, I completely forgot it was Beltane until late in the day.  Not that anyone would have been dancing naked round fires this year.   Oh wait!  The drug-taking, conspiracy-theory hippies might!

In larger towns, some traditional May Day activities took place (even though the Bank Holiday had been moved for VE Day), as people queued for B&Q.  How come they’d been allowed to resume trading but garden centres hadn’t?  Speculation included the notion that if the latter re-opened, OAPs would congregate in the café.  Is that why some wag suggested that over 50’s be left in lockdown while youngsters were freed to gad about?  Already incensed by the irresponsibility of some of the younger generation, and the ridiculousness of the idea of releasing them from lockdown first as they are less at risk from Covid-19, this took the biscuit.  If we were going to start discriminating on the basis of certain groups being more ‘at risk’, what about ethnic minorities and those living in deprived areas where there was a higher mortality rate? (quelle surprise, by the way).  Rightly, there would be uproar if anyone suggested that.  Yet it seemed okay to spout blatant ageism.  Eff off Poindexter!

The war between China and the USA intensified.  As the Chinese conducted their own investigation into how the pandemic started, they refused to let the WHO be involved.  The Trump claimed they created it in a lab in a plot to stop him being re-elected for a second term of office. Yet more evidence of the delusion of narcissism!  The FBI swerved direct criticism, but said they were investigating if the virus had really been transmitted from animals or there’d been a lab accident.  Methinks they’d watched too many films like ‘Contagion’.

Amid speculation that the target for 100,00 tests a day was unlikely to be met, NHS providers said it was a ‘red herring’, diverting attention from failure on a long-term strategy.  As the government data came in, Matt Cock had apparently ‘smashed it’– yeah, right!  The numbers then dropped back, to a paltry 70,000 by Sunday, as an embarrassed Mike Glove Puppet reported at the daily briefing.  And they failed to meet that target again on subsequent days – ‘nuff said.

Tempted to stay in bed Saturday morning, I dragged myself up on wobbly legs, ignoring the headache. It looked bright at first but still changeable.  Phil remarked “It’s a nice day.”  “If that’s a hint about going for a walk, I’m going nowhere” I declared.  I spent the day on small chores and writing.  Phil ventured to town for some air, relating sightings of flowers and pizzas, including a van outside the leftie music venue.  Normally they host a May Day street party and I wondered if it was a pathetic slimmed-down version– sadly not.  Surprised he’d not got himself one, even though we had pizza for tea the night before, he said though tempted, it was a bit close to dinner time, but subsequently felt cheated by the missed opportunity to stuff extra food in his gob – always being hungry.

Spacewalker Alexei Leonov

The night’s film viewing included the Russian film ‘Spacewalker’ about Alexei Leonov, the first human to ever walk in space and do a selfie.  While an excellent movie, it often struck me as funny that the Russians claim to have put communism behind them yet still liked to brag about the heroic exploits of their Soviet predecessors.

After only a couple hours’ sleep, I was awoken at 3.50 a.m. Sunday by angry birds.  The geese down on the canal honked so loudly I wondered if they were having a massive scrap, while pigeons sat cooing on the exterior sill.  Annoyed, I pointlessly shouted at them to “shut up!”.  Eventually the noise lessened and I sank back into some kind of sleep.

I really needed to do some physical activity.  But after breakfast, it rained and felt really cold, putting paid to the idea of a walk.  Instead, I embarked on DIY in the bathroom.  Mould had developed over the wet winter and desperately needed purging, especially around windows.  It took an hour to locate the stuff I might need.  Kept in the former coal-hole now allegedly serving as a store for tools, I hauled through stacks of random dross, discovering dead vacuum cleaners, weirdly-shaped coffee pots, useless food processor attachments, rotting plastic bags, bags of sand and cement, empty boxes and paint cans.  It was like a crap version of the conveyor belt from The Generation Game!

Exacerbated, I gave up and flopped on the sofa.  Phil went to look and irksomely found the sealant I’d hunted for straight away; hidden in plain sight in a clear carrier bag.   I balanced precariously on the edge of the bath to reach the worst of the mould on the window frames, soon developing achy arms. I managed an hour, stopped for lunch, then forced myself to do another half hour.  Thinking I’d expunged the worst of it, I flopped back on the sofa.  But brushing my teeth before bed, I noticed a nasty clump in an awkward corner – grr!  As I settled down to sleep, I developed a scratchy throat and hoped I hadn’t done too much.

Tits Up

Yoga Bear

Weekend news coverage revealed that Bumbling Boris called his son Wilfred; so another Willy in the family!  He announced an announcement next Sunday on the gradual lifting of lockdown.  A contact tracing app invented by NHSX was due to be piloted on the Isle of Wight, with 18,000 volunteers planned by mid-May.  Phil came up with a couple of easy rouses to render the app useless.  You could tell it you had Covid-19, go to work, and everyone gets sent home.   Or put the app on an old phone and leave it at home.  Or better yet, attach it to a stray cat.  Did anyone need to work in an actual office ever again? I’d been asking this for 20 years.  Working for a national quango, I urged people to use Skype instead of traipsing to London for meetings every week, but to no avail.

Monday, I  awoke from better sleep, and  the throat pain had mercifully got no worse.  In Metro, my entry had been included for consideration for the caption competition: ‘ Fitness routines for pets in lockdown, with Yoga Bear’.  Submitting it quite late Friday, I knew I wouldn’t win (as I had a few months ago – the Amazon vouchers came in handy for Christmas presents).

Sorting laundry, I tripped  on stuff cluttering up the box room.  In an effort to prevent  myself going tits up, I hurt my leg.   Primarily used for Phil’s clothes, I told him the room desperately needed a tidy, and it stank.  He claimed the smell was due to the laundry.  Conducting a ‘sniff test’ I countered this argument and drew his attention to the surfaces encrusted with dust.  As he took the washing down to the machine, it became obvious that his old  back issue had flared up.  I told hm to leave the  chores to me. With the housework and blog postingⁱⁱ, the day flew by.

During the afternoon siesta, I could hardly keep my eyes open when reading and hoped to sleep a bit.  Alas an EHS episode scotched that idea*.

Earlier in the week, museums had requested ideas on ‘life during lockdown’. I suggested Phil pitch his photos and wondered about this journal.   Would there be an audience for it? Might it be a better way of widening readership than pitching to Americans after worthy stories? I then received a message on social media.  Initially wary of spam, I discovered it was from a researcher at Salford University.  She wanted me to participate in a diary project and said Corvus Diaries could be used as they were. I messaged back to register interest and said I’d be in touch.  While not the paid opportunity I was looking for, at least it gave some validity to my efforts.

The London Nightingale hospital went on ‘standby’, while on the Isle of Skye a death in a care home led to immediate contact tracing with talk of an investigation and possible lawsuits. ‘so it begins!’ I thought.  Sturgeon announced a TTI (test, track, isolate) strategy whereas in England it was a TTT (test, track, trace).  I’m not being funny but aren’t those last 2 the same thing?  It’s a bit tits up innit, Mr Cock?  The government had to reveal who sat on SAGE after the hoo ha over Scumbag Cumberbatch, while an anti-sage led by the non- scientist Tony Blair emerged.

I went to bed early, but struggled to sleep.  Annoyed that the Sunday insomnia had migrated to Monday, I noticed it was very bright and peeped between the curtains at a wobbly moon, but a security light blinked on and off like a strobe causing  the real issue.  I sat up for a while, trying to order my thoughts dominated by the frustrations of daily life during the pestilence, before using the meditation tape and finally managing an intermittent sleep.

*A note on EHS – Exploding Head Syndrome – Caused by synapses mis-firing prior to sleep, it involves a sudden loud noise that sounds like an explosion in the brain.  The sounds can mimic a variety of things such as a bomb going off, a bookshelf falling, or a door slamming.

References:

1. The Time Traveller’s Guide to Elizabethan England, Ian Mortimer
2. My haigas: https://wordpress.com/posts/mondaymorninghaiga.wordpress.com

Part 7 – Fun: Interrupted

Have I got PPE?

Haiga – Showyii

Top geezer Captain Tom Moore opened the Nightingale hospital in Harrogate on Tuesday. The total raised for the NHS stood at £27m, and £29m by Monday 27^th.  He re-set his Challenge to walk 200 laps.  A 6 year old with spina-bifida commenced to emulate the feat.

Unlike the archetypal April, the weather stayed fine and warm all week.  On a sunny afternoon forage to town, I felt slightly nervous as I forgot to take a scarf.  But we encountered no problems on the quiet streets.  I suppressed a guffaw as a young lad walked on the opposite pavement wearing a mask on his chin.  Arguments that face coverings brought disadvantages definitely held some truth.  I for one ended up fiddling with the thing thus risking the transfer of any contaminants to my face rather than shielding it.

While the convenience store met most of our requirements, we investigated a newly opened Asian supermarket to see what they had to offer.  It was not a traditional shop – signs indicated an ‘order and collect’ service only; provisions strew the floor; a woman with a list in one hand searched boxes with the other.  Aware of our hovering by the narrow doorway, she looked up from her task “Hello”.  “Hello”, I returned, “how do we know what’s in stock to put in an order?”.  She hesitated, then said “You could ask us!”  I thought it was bit daft not having a list on the window.  As we walked away, Phil suggested we could have at least got noodles,  but I couldn’t be bothered going back.  On the way home, we spotted the friend of our vulnerable next-door neighbour again, this time sat chatting to someone on a bench in the memorial garden, still heedless of social distancing.

In need of a lie down, I stuffed earplugs in to drown out the noise of them bloody kids, with little effect.  I gave up, feeling decidedly unrefreshed, and caught up on the news.

The weekly ONS statistics revealed  18.5 k deaths so far this year, double the norm, with a quadruple rise in care homes (accounting for 10% of all deaths from Covid-19).

An interesting programme on BBC 4 described the lengths people went to in the olden days in the quest for effective drugs, resulting in lots of analgesics being created, but none as good as morphine.  The next episode told of the search for anti-biotics and anti-virals, with a great deal of self-experimentation.  The Scientists of today could take some lessons from that…

Wednesday morning, I was awoken by a loud crashing noise outside.  Annoyed, I glanced at the clock to find it was much later than I’d thought and forced myself up.  Phil announced he’d made $200 last month on Getty Images.  “That’s a nice bonus” I said.  “It’s not a bons, it’s my wages!”

MPs had returned to Westminster with only 50 allowed in the commons at one time and 120 on Zoom.  Bumbling Boris had shared a cabinet meeting publicly on the go-to video conferencing app of the moment.  I wondered if they knew of the risks of hacking and ‘Zoom Bombing’.

Keir Hardy did quite a good job at his first PMQs.  Parrying Rabid Raabs’ clichés about ‘working flat out’ and ‘straining every sinew’, he countered: “There’s a pattern emerging here. We were slow into lockdown, slow on testing, slow on protective equipment and now slow to take up offers from British firms.”

I would go one step back.  They were slow from the get-go:  All ports and travel in and out of the country should have been shut down straight away, as in New Zealand, then we wouldn’t be in this mess!  With Keir’s law background, he sounded like he was practicing opening remarks for the criminal negligence claims that are likely to be brought against the government when the dust settles.

Raab insisted they were on target with tests, capacity currently standing at 40,000 a day.  But he could not answer why only 18,000 had been done the day before. On PPE, inevitable questions arose about why they wasted time, effort and money trying to source it abroad when 8,000 UK companies had offered to make it.  Matt Cock’s platitudes and more clichés ensued; ‘at peak’; ‘ramping up’), following ‘The Science’…  Change the record!

With new analysis, queries ensued as to why certain groups of the population (particularly ethnic minorities and men) suffered the worst outcomes from Covid-19.  In the absence of the government taking the issue seriously, Labour announced they were conducting their own research, led by Trevor Philips.

Dandelions Close Up

Riveting as the politics was, the allure of afternoon sun proved stronger.  As we headed for a nearby favourite clough, I took my DSLR rather than the compact camera for the first time since lockdown, hoping I’d be able to stop long enough for close-up shots.  The entrance path blocked by workmen and a group of people coming the other way, we hung back then ran through, holding our breath.  Gasping for air amidst the trees and flowers, our shadows lay atop stagnant water of old mill ponds where small fish swam just below the surface.

As a small family vacated the area, we clambered over trunks and rocks to the small waterfall.  With water levels so low, we hopped from rock to rock in the brook to get nearer than ever before to the tinkling cascade which resembled a fairy pond. Ensuring it was safe, we rested on a felled tree fashioned into a bridge, surrounded by nature on all sides.

Boxes dotted on street corners contained random items including child’s toys, rucksacks, kitchen gadgets and bric-a-brac.  Normally, I would have derided the practice as ‘middle class dumping’ but with charity shops shut, it seemed acceptable.  I availed myself of a couple of free books.

That evening, I developed a scratchy throat and although I fell asleep fairly quickly, I woke several times with various aches and pains and odd flitty dreams involving wearing hijabs and going to the beach.  Not surprising with all the talk of PPE, trying different configurations of scarf-wearing when out and about, and planning routes based on maximum people-avoidance.  Muslim women could teach us a thing or two about personal protection and social distancing!

Hopes that we would not need to take these measures forever rose as vaccine trials started, but a warning it could be a year until we knew if they worked, immediately dashed those hopes.  Witless said that social distancing may need to stay in place until Christmas.  Images of pub mayhem at yuletide sprung to mind.

A Dog’s Life

Blue Shadows

Thursday morning; early mist obscured the natural alarm of sunlight.  I slept irksomely late, having  planned to go shopping early.  I performed the morning routines as quickly as possible, including the rigmarole of preparing to go outdoors.  With no bread stall on the market, the conga line for the fish van snaked through the square.  I took a deep breath and resigned myself to a long.  The sun, now strong, shone right in my eyes forcing me to turn round.  I chatted to the woman behind me.  She said she usually shopped on-line, but a sick dog had persuaded her to visit the market for the first time since lockdown to buy it fresh fish.  Several questions came to mind – how do you manage to get on-line groceries delivered every week?  You buy fresh fish for your dog but not for yourself?  Is it a magic dog?  Perhaps luckily, the line moved leaving the questions unanswered.  A woman swathed in voluminous skirts with a massive pram and a gang of  kids stood in everyone’s way, whingeing about queues.  I was sorely tempted to tell her to piss off, but kept schtum. Sooner than I’d dared hope, I reached the counter and engaged in friendly chat with the fishmonger as I stocked up for a couple of weeks.  Inevitably knackered by then, I went straight home, knocked for Phil to open the door and make coffee while I dealt with the purchases and flopped on the sofa.

Temporarily refreshed, I executed an idea for ‘Corvus Bingo’ (that had come to me during PMQ’s) and composed a new Facebook page, with links to the WordPress blog.

After dinner, I developed a scratchy throat and earache, took aspirin and slept reasonably well.  But Friday morning, I felt groggy and struggled to stand on wobbly legs.  My symptoms followed the usual pattern for chronic sinusitis and I resigned myself to a few days in bed.

Phil undertook the weekly supermarket trip.  Hearing him come back, I called down to him several times. He stomped upstairs and said testily, “I’m not a dog!  Been sorting groceries after the stressful shop – full of hippies again”.  I wondered if the hippies had migrated because the snobby organic shop and worthy bakers now only accepted card payments.  If so, the purveyors might want to re-think.   Fetching lunch, I discovered Phil had washed and stored all the shopping (even items that could have been decanted or stayed in bags for a few days; no wonder he felt exhausted).  Similarly shattered from the foray downstairs, I tried hard to rest in the hot afternoon.  But inevitably there was no respite from the noise of people socialising below the bedroom window.

In the news, Sturgeon came up with a draft plan for gradually lifting lockdown in Scotland.  Matt Cock announced workers could apply for coronavirus tests to be done in situ or remotely.  The website locked by lunchtime.  And there were no checks on whether applicants were ‘key workers’ ( since when did that include journos?)  Toddler Trump outdid himself with moronic quote of the day:

“I see the disinfectant, where it knocks it out in one minute. And is there a way we can do something like that by injection inside or almost a cleaning, because you see it gets in the lungs and it does a tremendous number on the lungs.”

So, disinfectant had not outsmarted the virus, unlike the antibiotics!  Raucously derided, Joe Biden tweeted ‘I can’t believe I have to say this but don’t drink bleach’. Trump tweeted he would no longer attend Whitehouse daily briefings as they were a waste of time – a move that lasted 2 days.  Being a narcissist, he just couldn’t cope without the attention, even from the ‘fake press’ as he called them.

Over the weekend, sinusitis persisted.  I tried not to despair at missing the gorgeous weather.  Freshly sun-dried bed sheets, open windows and profusely green trees across the valley helped to bring the outside in. Mainly bedridden, I wrote ‘confined walk 2’ for CP1ⁱ  . Chore-wise. I managed to clean the bathroom.  The layer of grime looked stark in the bright daylight.  In danger of making me sicker, it had to be expunged.  I also did the majority of the cooking, trying not to get irritated at the lack of help in the kitchen, particularly on Saturday night.  In hindsight, I probably took on too much.  Managing to sit in the living room to watch films in the evening, I returned to bed hardly able to keep my eyes open with a headache in 2 places.

Dissing ‘The Science’

Self-Styled Brainiac Brian Cox

Extreme tiredness and mediocre sleep led to added aches and pains Sunday morning.  The kitchen was still a mess from the night before, increasing my anger at the lack of help.  I railed and stomped upstairs to sulk and fume alone.  As the anger subsided, I designed a birthday card for my nephew.  Opening Facebook to post it, I discovered the layout had changed, adding to my frustrations.  Why did they keep doing that?  I stayed in bed until dinner time while Phil went out for some air, returning with sweets to cheer me up.  Thankfully, he had cleaned the kitchen and with leftovers from the night before, it was a lot less hassle making dinner.  I went up soon after, enjoying the quiet in the dark.  But as is often the way on a Sunday night, I tossed and turned.  Hot flushes increased my discomfort.

Monday morning, Phil looked as fuzzy as I felt.  He’d also suffered insomnia, due to suspected migraine. I said it could be hay-fever and suggested he take antihistamine at bedtime.  I made a big effort to do small chores.  As I took the recycling out, I enjoyed a spell of actual sun for the first time in 4 days.  Then, the stupid milkmen backed their float up the street.  With no attempt to vary their routine, they parked in the middle of road, darting between houses, forcing me to back off.  I went back to bed.  Phil showed me an abstract art he made the night before on his ipad.  Fantastic of course, but no wonder he had migraine!  I posted blogs including a haigaⁱⁱ.  In the afternoon, I rested lots, conscious that I had to be up for an Ocado delivery early evening – the only slot I could get.

Over the weekend, I caught a segment of the pointless briefing. UnPretty Patel mouthed platitudes about the number of deaths and the sacrifice of frontline staff – made me want to puke!  Blair’s smug foundation also re-emerged with meaningless charts.  Did they know a graph was not ‘The Science’?  Phil joked “they’ve invented contact tracing.”  On the Andrew Marr, Rabid Raab assured us he’d been “doing his homework”.  Good boy!   Have a gold star!  Perhaps he’d been helped by Scumbag Cumberbatch who, it emerged, had attended meetings of SAGE (the government’s special advisory group for emergencies, rather than a popular accounting software package as I’d thought).  Not being a scientist by any stretch, the leftie press wondered what ‘spin’ he was putting on ‘The Science’.  Popstar turned self-styled Brainiac Brian Cox (and nemesis of my role model Count Arthur Strong) popped up and said there was no such thing as ‘The Science’.  Well, that’s that debunked then!  Spoilt sport!

Bumbling Boris returned from Chequers on Monday morning.  Speaking from the special lectern outside number 10, he offered new, waffling on about the need for a gradual lockdown during ‘this dangerous phase’.  (Latest data showed a fall in the number of deaths but likely inaccurate due to a lag in counting weekend figures).  A Tory crony hailed Boris as the government’s ‘best communicator’.  Most likely true, but not saying much.  Boris obviously wanted to be seen as a Churchill but fell far short of his predecessor’s oratory skills, never mind actions.

Research by King’s College on how people dealt with lockdown made sweeping sexist conclusions that Tory male Brexiteers over 55 were more ‘accepting’ of the rules.  Hmm!  They’d obviously never been stuck in a supermarket aisle behind lolloping Gampires*.  Female Remainers, meanwhile, were ‘suffering’ with higher levels of anxiety, depression, insomnia and unable to block out thoughts about coronavirus.  Reckoning resistors made up around 9% of the population, they said they were largely male, aged 16-24 and voted Labour.   Tis lot were most likely to argue, use drink and drugs and diss social distancing.  And were unsurprisingly more likely to believe in conspiracy theories (half thought the virus was created in a lab and two thirds that most people had it already).

As images emerged of suspected UFO’s over Florida, Jeremey Vine came up with the lamest conspiracy theory ever involving a ‘something event’ that happened in Russia, leading to ‘stuff’.  Never had him down as a drug-taking hippie!  But then again, let’s not forget the Eamon Holmes 5g masts debacle.

*A note on Gampires – an amalgam of  gammon and vampires.   A term invented by Phil, inspired by a picture of Alan Titmarsh, as seen on the popular teatime quiz Pointless.

References:

i.   My haigas: https://wordpress.com/posts/mondaymorninghaiga.wordpress.com

ii.  My Cool Places blog: https://hepdenerose.wordpress.com/

Part 6 – Heroes and Villains

No Kidding!

Goats – No Kidding!

 

Tuesday brought another failed attempt to buy toiletries online.  After problems logging in to Chemist Direct, hardly  finding anything I needed and balking at the delivery charge, I gave up.  I had more success in actual shops in town.   While Phil got cash, I managed to partially satisfy my requirements in Boots.  I was almost cheated out of a fiver change by the miserable cow behind the wobbly safety screen at the till.  I found Phil standing in the road (one of his favourite hobbies with hardly any traffic), chatting to our walking friend who sensibly stayed  on the pavement.  She’d been for a walk on the hills and seen lambs, reminding me I’d not yet spotted any this year.  She laughed at my makeshift PPE aka scarf, saying  “I’m not sure it does anything.  Still, if it makes you feel better…”  I started to reply but she claimed I was inaudible.  Initially thinking she meant with my mouth covered, she quickly added it might have been due to a passing car (there are still some).   Coming home, we veered onto the pub patio to avoid someone coming the other way and peered through the window. Signs advertising the annual duck race and Mother’s Day added pathos to the sight of a deserted bar.  After dealing with purchases, I collapsed on the bed, badly in need of a siesta.  But relaxing proved impossible as people (some returned after a fortnight away from god knows where),  stood chatting in the middle of the street below, accompanied by noisy kids running amok.  The antics continued into the evening.  To my whinging,  Phil said “they’re allowed”.  “Hmm!  I’m not convinced they’re all from the same household”.

Official figures (released weekly) showed that 1 in 10 deaths from Covid-19 took place outside hospitals with several  care homes affected.  The useless government promised PPE to all care homes by the end of week – with more delays and incompetency, this inevitably proved to be more empty words.   Had any of the money or gear pledged to the frontline actually materialised?   Some ‘experts’ warned the number of fatalities in the UK could surpass other European countries.  The notorious but entertaining rogue, Charles Bronson, issued tips for isolation and wrote a poem called ‘coronavirus’.  Funnily enough, his tips did not include GBH, smashing stuff up, or ranting to the press.

The next two days stayed bright and sunny.   Wednesday morning, I felt groggy but forced myself up.  Failing to rouse Phil I went to get the breakfast cereal.  Already feeling irritated, I harrumphed as he tapped at his phone while lying on the bed. “I’m working!” he said.  “It’s not the working room!” I replied testily.  Back downstairs, I discovered a tube of superglue stuck to the coffee table leading to another fit of pique.  When he finally arrived I said “this is not a joke.  Try picking that superglue up”.  Of course he could not.  Eventually he managed to extract it using lighter fluid .  I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the children still running riot on the street below.

Brand New Sheep

Respite came in the form of a sunny afternoon walk. Managing to avoid the interminable children, we went down to the main road, crossed, and headed straight up to the nearest woodland.  We vacated the path a couple of times to make way for other people; first a couple then a straggling family group, with barely audible gratitude.  I hurt my bad ankle on the steep climb to the top but the sight of brand new sheep over the wall took my mind off it – so white, their fleeces shone!

We continued past just-emerging bluebells, a dried up brook, and the equally arid disused quarry.  A pair of women waited for us and I thanked them heartily;  it made a change. Hearing bleating, we walked onto the next farm, hoping to see more lambs. In fact, we discovered a field of goats with offspring. – no kidding!  The next day we spotted goat meat in the butchers and at the weekend, goats featured on a local news bulletin, suggesting they were now all the rage.

Returning via the park, lots of ‘non-essential’ activity took place.  People sat willy-nilly on benches and grass.  Kids skateboarded and cycled.  Teenage girls filmed a video on TikTok.

Getting home too late for a siesta, I retired early that night to soak my sore feet.  The lovely concoction found in a charity shop some months ago, left them feeling gloriously soft and clean.  Who needs expensive spas?

The Phenomenal Captain Tom

Captain Tom Completes his 100th Lap

99 year old dude Captain Tom Moore became a phenomenon over the next few days.  Already a decorated war hero, he became a hero for the NHS, by aiming to walk 100 laps in his garden by his 100^th birthday at the end of April.

The initial target of £1,000 was smashed on the first day, and kept rising.

By Wednesday morning, he’d raised £7m, £10m by bedtime, £12m by Thursday, and £14m by Thursday night, with a Yorks regiment honour guard for his 100^th lap. Not that he intended to stop.  Friday morning, the total stood at £18m and by Sunday night, £26m.  And he was heading for the top spot in the pop charts!

Currently living in Beds, he hailed from Keighley, which explained why he sounded like Count Arthur Strong.  That accent made me chuckle every time I heard it.  A girl in Port Talbot started a campaign to send him birthday cards.  With thousands expected, the kind post-master in Captain Tom’s village collated them (commandeering the local school hall for the purpose).  Calls for a knighthood ensued.

The useless government mentioned giving badges to care workers – I think they meant so they could get free coffee from Starbucks, not war medals!

Mixed Messages

Liberty or Death

Last week, Toddler Trump blamed the WHO for the pandemic. Now, he threw his toys out the pram, suspending funding – a move widely condemned by world leaders, the EU and Bill Gates (the biggest contributor to the Who after the US).

I received a message calling for articles about Covid-19.  I scanned the briefs.  Mainly requesting stories about heroic grassroots initiatives and ‘the magic of dogs’ (the mind boggled), my sarcastic musings did not seem destined for a global audience.

Another 861 deaths from Covid-19 were reported in the UK, 80 in Yorks. As expected, the Cobra meeting resulted in an extension to the Lockdown for another 3 weeks ‘at least’.  With little evidence of the promised ‘ramping up’ of testing and no contact-tracing (there’s an app for that) opposition MP’s asked “where’s the exit strategy?”.  Rabid Raab  wittered on about 5 ‘key tests’ for lifting restrictions.

Preferring the original Pointless (i.e., the popular teatime quiz), I had given up watching the pointless official briefings.  I researched media sources for information on the 5 ‘key tests’.  That go-to of the brainless, The Sun, explain them the most clearly, as follows: 1. A steady and constant fall in the death rate. 2. The NHS continuing to be able to cope. 3. The rate of infection staying at a ‘manageable level’ (unsure how 3 differed from 2). 4. Adequate testing and PPE. 5. No risk of a second peak in cases.  Judging by the government’s track record, it seemed likely lockdown would last forever.  Nads Doris said vaccination was essential before it could end.  A vaccine taskforce aimed to start human trials within weeks.  Perhaps Putin had a point…

A leaked letter to DoH from adult social care managers complained ‘mixed messages’ from the establishment created ‘confusion and additional workload’ amidst fears about funding, shielding vulnerable people, testing and PPE (derided as “shambolic”). While the Muslim Youth Association held prayers, a tribute FROM frontline staff to the public was broadcast after the weekly clap.  Caressa Dick was filmed clapping on a crowded Millennium Bridge, not adhering to social distancing, leading to Brian McFadden calling for London to be totally locked down.  By the way, I heard no clapping from the street below (if I had, I may have been tempted to shout “dirty hypocrites!” through the window).

Friday brought cooler air with a bit of a breeze.  I made a big effort to go shopping early, enjoying the fresher feel to the weather.  The mission proved largely successful although customers were now only allowed 1 bottle of milk each (regardless of the size).  At the till, a man took ages packing his bags before paying, leading to avoidable waiting.  I swallowed my irritation to use the time wisely, sorting my groceries onto the conveyor by category: 1. Needs washing; 2. Can be decanted; 3. Can stay in bag for 3 days.  This worked okay except then I took my gloves off!  I subsequently ditched them on future trips, but still used the scarf.  When my turn eventually came, I chatted with the friendly cashier about the trials of shopping in these strange times. More hassle ensued as my credit card got rejected.  Trying the adjoining till also failed.  Luckily, my debit card did work.   I checked later to find no weird activity on my accounts, proving it was definitely their machines at fault.  The logistics of getting my key out to enter the house defeated me so I knocked on the door for Phil to let me in.   The new packing system successful, I sat down with a long-overdue coffee.  As the skies turned grey (and staying thus for the next 36 hours), I decided not to go out again – the shopping expedition had been exhausting enough!

The following day, Phil volunteered to go for more milk.   He returned to tell me he had “done a swear” :

“I was stood in that stupid ‘Conga Line’ in the aisles like you do now when a couple of rich hippies* came in, treating the place like a museum, not observing the rules.  I said to a woman, ‘some people don’t have an effing clue, do they?’  ‘No, they’re oblivious aren’t they?’  I made a comment to the hippie woman, to which she said ‘I don’t want to stand next to the meat’.  So I said ‘don’t be a c**t sweetheart.’ I bet nobody’s ever said that to her before!”

Meanwhile, I mostly worked on the laptop for the next day and a half, posting ‘confined walks’ on Cool Placesⁱ , and a link to Jeff Beck and Johnny Depp’s version of John Lennon’s ‘Isolation’, which strangely got no ‘likes’ⁱⁱ

Amusement came in the form of antics across the pond.   Trump renewed claims the US would beat the virus in 3 weeks and America would be open for business.  This did not deter idiotic demos against the lockdown.  With slogans such as ‘Give me Covid-19 or give me death’ and ‘People die. So what?’ it was like turkeys voting for Christmas.  Equally screwy president Balls-up of Brazil attended an anti-lockdown rally; coughing!  Claiming he’d tested negative for Covid-19 twice, perhaps the coughing was due to those Amazonian forest fires he’s so fond of.  Both he and Trump plummeted in the popularity ratings while unbelievably, Boris went up!

Impressed that Phil had secured a large tin loaf for Sunday breakfast, the mixed paper and plastic packaging led to logistical issues trying to unwrap it without contamination.  Finally figuring it out, I then found the crust almost impossible to cut, rooted out the lesser-used old-fashioned bread knife and succeeded in making a very thick slice followed by a wafer thin one, which promptly fell to bits. Frustrated, I gave up. With impeccable timing, Phil arrived just as the hard work was all done. I fumed with rage.  Managing to fit the partially eaten loaf into one of our own bags, I admonished myself for yet again getting het up about such a minor thing.  I really needed to get out more!

Six Feet Apart or Six Feet Under

Ruin in the Graveyard

In fine weather, we ventured a little further to walk up a favourite ridge.  On the climb, 2 women with dogs stood aside, assurance us the fur harboured no germs as they had been in isolation for 2 weeks.  Next, it was our turn to wait for a small family crouched on the verge doing selfies.  At the top, quite a few people approached.  We clambered onto a ledge until the coast looked clear.

Continuing on the narrow upper path, a hippie couple* sat on a large flat rock right near it.  They could easily have moved further away, but as they didn’t, we side-stepped as far as possible to the other side.  The man greeted us to which I responded “that’s not 6 feet”.  He said “Don’t worry about it.”  “I do, it’s because of morons like you that the stupid lockdown will last forever.”  As we hurried on past, he shouted  “Stay indoors then! You’re out walking!” “Yes, but when I want a rest, I don’t just plonk down; I move away from the path!”  “Do you remember the Nazis?” to which Phil retorted “No, I’m not old enough.  Are you?”  Tempted to go back and clatter him, I said it wasn’t worth it and anyway, it couldn’t be done at a safe distance!  As an aside, I commented on the latest guidance that walkers were now allowed to sit on a bench for a rest.  What about sitting on a rock?  What about having a snack?  I had packed bananas in my rucksack in case of hunger pangs, deeming them safe to eat without contamination. We reached thankfully less populous woodland where the few others we encountered kindly detoured or paused for us.  We returned home via a hilltop village.  Here, we saw more people (walking, cycling, driving) than we’d seen in one place for 3 weeks.  The small community had rallied round with the post office offering a distribution service for local businesses and the pub doing ‘order and collect’ Sunday lunch.  Managing to keep a safe distance, we rested briefly in the square, overlooking the ruined church.  Normally busy on a sunny Sunday, the graveyard was today left to the birds and those six feet under – I could think of a few villains of the time that ought to join them! (see Cool Places for a more detailed description of the walkⁱ).

Evening television included highlights of the ‘one world together at home’ concert curated by Lady Gaga (who could actually sing beneath all that crap on her records).  Dubbed ‘wi-fi Woodstock’, the event raised about £110m globally. Incredulously, the BBC broadcast featured 3 presenters in a studio!  Late news revealed that blood plasma from Covid-19 recoverees might be a possible cure while a fire on a local moor diverted resources from the frontline.

I retired early again to massage my ankle, achy after the walk.  Although extremely tired, I tossed and turned for an hour.  Heart racing, mind wandering, various relaxation techniques proved ineffectual.  It also seemed  very bright. Peeking through the curtains, Orion dominated the night sky. Incredibly bright stars looked too big to be true. I used the meditation tape and eventually dropped off at 2 o’clock, only to be awoken at 6 by loud clattering outside.  Sticking earplugs in, I got another hour before being annoyingly woken again by noise!  After that, I slept fitfully.

9 a.m. Monday morning was strangely quiet.  I wondered why it was so loud early then almost silent at the traditional rush hour.  Enjoying the peace, I did not want to get up but forced myself to do chores.  The washing line had been ripped down (most likely by a delivery van driving through it) and the trellis had blown off the wall by the strong gusty wind, creating extra work.

Tony Blair appeared on various news programmes, blathering on about the private sector being better than the public sector at getting things done.  Err, no Tony! We just need non-incompetent people in charge!   He also seemed reluctant to criticise the current government, and expounded the view that millennials should be released from lockdown first as they are less at risk.

An article by Prof Powdthawee and Prof Oswald of Warwick, expanded on this preposterous idea.  With no mention of the fact that younger people could still spread the virus (possibly even more than older people as they might be infected but asymptomatic, and many had little concept of ‘social distancing’) I was tempted to draft a stiff letter.  Our internet went off so I couldn’t send it.  Probably just as well, given it was a rant worthy of a Daily Mail reader, or even Charles Bronson!

*A note on hippies – Our town has a higher quota of hippies than most places.  Many of them, including several friends, are lovely people.  However, there are those who are the anti-thesis of the hippie ethos of ‘peace and love’, acting more like spoilt rich kids.  During the lockdown, we have observed that people not observing social distancing rules are largely either younger people (probably thinking they are immune) and these type of self-entitled hippies.  No doubt they  think coronavirus is a  government conspiracy due to taking too many drugs.

References:

i.  My Cool Places blog: https://hepdenerose.wordpress.com/

ii. Jeff Beck and Johnny Depp, ‘Isolation’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-CCKTECvK6A

iii. My haigas: https://wordpress.com/posts/mondaymorninghaiga.wordpress.com

 

Haiga – Rich Seamiii