Part 43 – Sub Zero

“In major cities, libtards and snowflakes mince into the streets to celebrate Biden’s victory with an outpouring of hope, joy and coronavirus droplets” (Narrator, Death to 2020)

Life in the Freezer

Bank holiday Monday started grey and literally freezing. After I posted blogs the sky seemed to brighten slightly. Days since I left the house, we wrapped up against the cold to embark on a short walk along the canal; an astoundingly unoriginal idea. The towpath busy, we stopped often for lumps of people to pass and also to peruse strange sights including a bizarre collection of carnival animals, trees festooned with decorations and dedications, barges bedecked with effigies and Christmas gubbins and one selling coffee. “So that’s where you get it from when everywhere else is shut.” (for a fuller description of the walk, see ‘Cool Places’) ⁱ

The Glove Puppet appeared on BBC Breakfast to evade questions on giving MPs 1 day to read and debate all 1,200 pages of the Brexit deal, claiming they’d had 4.5 years. He also downplayed the effect on livelihoods, smugly saying there would be ‘bumps’. Incredible! With evidence the new coronavirus variant was spreading fast, hospital admissions were higher than during the spring peak. Certain to grow again after Christmas mixing, just in time for the start of the new term, the idiotic government still planned to forge ahead re-opening schools. The next day, they announced the army would help with testing, by giving remote guidance. Education unions said while help was welcome, the response was inadequate.

Tuesday, we woke to a sprinkling of snow. Determined to have a few normal days, I exercised, made porridge and carried out small chores. As I sorted recycling, crumbs spilt all over the floor irritatingly making more work. I texted my walking friend again about her gifts. It turned out she got a positive test result on 23^rd December, just after I last contacted her. Thus she was stuck indoors self-isolating until New Year’s Day, but not ill. Adding a slice of Christmas cake, I took her the gift bag. I hesitated climbing steep steps but thankfully, they were ice-free, unlike the top pavement which was so treacherous I had to walk on the road. I knocked and stood back from the doorstep to wait, cautiously gave her the gifts and chatted from a distance. Her birthday falling on 2^nd Jan, she was looking forward to walks with her companion when she re-gained freedom. “Well, we won’t be going to the pub will we?” I’d not been home long when she messaged to say thanks for the gifts. She liked the antique coffee pot I found some time ago so much that she turned it into a profile pic. I walked back down to the co-op for a few items, had the usual rigmarole of sorting groceries and watched a telly film before embarking on a customary annual film review. That night, I slept 8.5 hours, including one big lump of 5 hours. Possibly a record, maybe it was due to skipping siestas.

Wednesday morning was very cold and still white after an icy night. Stunned by the extra sleep, I managed a few exercises. Phil fetched cereal topped with a lovely apple art. Taking a picture with my new phone camera, I struggled with the photo app. Unable to see any option other than saving them to Google drive, I e-mailed it to myself and saved it to OneDrive.

Later, I found a couple of apps to add and Phil helped get rid of the daft Bing widget so I could fit more icons on the front screen.

He informed me of a new film in production. Called ‘Le Neuf’, it was about Spanish republicans liberating Paris in 1944. Amazed we knew nothing of this episode of WW2, especially having read books by Anarchists that were actually in the civil war, we found a few historical photos but the story had been largely buried.

Following a very hasty lunch, we embarked on another short walk to capture wintry scenes, taking the safest way to the nearest clough. Although scrappy, patches of snow added to the attractiveness of the woodland. Not too busy, muddy paths suggested we’d missed the rush. A fellow walker said he’d seen a kingfisher. We were naturally sceptical. “Yeah, right, sure you did!” A couple of days later, photographic proof appeared on Facebook so I guess we were just never lucky. The ‘islands’ inundated, we picked our way towards the waterfall as far as passable then hiked up the top path, perused the snowy bridge and turned back to climb further for gorgeous nigh-twilight scenes across the valley. The old church ruin looked like a castle turret and the pike appeared mystical. Further up, kids sledged on thin ice in a field, overlooked by a falcon in a tree. (for a fuller description of the walk, see ‘Cool Places’i)

In town, we got a few bits from the convenience store and returned home in time for another rambling briefing. On the day Margaret Keenan had a second Pfizer jab, Boris bragged about approval of the Oxford vaccine. The first dose gave ‘massive protection’, so they planned to immunise as many vulnerable people as possible and delay the second injection for 12 weeks. This garnered much criticism, including from Pfizer who’d not tested their drug with such a long interval. Presenting the tier review, The Cock predictably said most areas would move up: all of the South East, Midlands, North West, and South West to tier 4; Liverpool and North Yorks to tier 3, where West Yorks stayed. Now no regions were in tier 2, and only the Silly isles stayed at 1.

Gavin Salesman made a commons statement delaying the start of term for secondary schools until 18^th Jan (except for exam-year pupils, kids of keyworkers and the vulnerable). Not applicable in tier 4, confusion reigned. The message for colleges and universities was equally garbled; something about 2 rapid flow tests and remote learning except for students undertaking practical courses. MPs went to parliament and voted yes to the Brexit deal, including Keir, even though he called it ‘thin’. Boris signed the document at a tiny desk with the ridiculous tinpot dictator-style backdrop of 4 union jacks.

Death to 2020

Following a freezing night, snow remained on the ground New Year’s Eve. Early sun was overtaken by mist and a pink sky suggested further wintry showers. Disinclined to go outside, I worked on the journal. Phil cut his hair into the characteristic buzzcut – not my idea of fun in the sub-zero conditions. We marked the demise of 2020 with a lobster dinner (thanks to bargainous Lidl), pink cava, party poppers and social media messages. There was no need to tell us not to have a party but I knew others would. I’d heard drunks coming home late every night of the week – god knows where from! We watched the bongs as Big Ben sounded for the occasion followed by a rather good virtual display. Mind you, the bangs had stiff competition from the real-life cacophony. With only 3 pubs open in the UK (all on the Silly isles), there were street parties and raves aplenty. The idiots were probably celebrating Brexit as well as the new year. The predicted massive rise in cases within the next week or so came earlier than expected.

After mediocre sleep, I started New Year’s Day with a slight hangover. The temperature rose above zero for the first time in days and a bit of blue appeared in the sky but typically, not until almost dusk. We watched the posh New Year concert from Vienna which made a change from lairy cartoons. Family films were all very well, but did they have to be aimed at 5 year olds? With mixed feelings about 2021, I guessed the next few months would still be grim with the virus and Brexit, but as more vaccines came, hoped it would improve late spring/early summer. I resolved to try and be kinder. Not sure how long that would last. Ha, ha!

Drawn in by Dr. Who, we started on dinner late. Fiddling with lobster remains for seafood spaghetti, and the tardy baking of garlic bread due to crap gas, made us bad-tempers. But the delicious repast and unwise but tasty red wine soon restored our spirits, as did the most excellently funny spoof documentary ‘Death to 2020’ on Netflix.

Saturday started sunny and I wished my walking friend a happy sparkly birthday. It then snowed and I trusted she wasn’t stuck up a hill somewhere. Wobbly from the wine, I forced myself up, and took several hours to brace myself for an expedition to the co-op. Covered in 3 layers plus the rarely required ‘bear coat’ (effective to -40 degrees), I discovered it wasn’t actually that cold outdoors. The supermarket shelves resembled the war. The friendly kiosk cashier insisted it was nothing to do with Brexit and gave some incomprehensible rambling reason involving the manager and back-office stores. Back home, Phil laughed at the ‘nothing to do with Brexit’ comment and predicted it would be a top mantra for 2021. We spent the rest of the day indoors. I placed an Ocado order, primarily to replenish alcohol supplies. Delivery would not be for a week and a half but it soon transpired I did it in the nick of time.

My nails were rather ugly from the lobster fiddling. Sunday, I trimmed the worst of the grime and tackled the manky nailbrush for which I invented a hack using vinegar, bicarb and a tee-pee brush. I spent the rest of the day working on blogs.

In the face of mounting pressure to keep schools shut another 2 weeks, Boris appeared on The Marr Insisting they were safe because kids didn’t get ill, omitting to mention the risk of spreading. In any case, they refused to re-open in some places including Leeds and Bradford. He said he could have shut everything down to stop the virus, begging the question, why he hadn’t! Warning tougher measures may be needed in the coming weeks, Keir urged him to do so immediately. Perhaps that was why The Bumbler’s address to the nation came a lot sooner than even I envisaged…

References:

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

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

Part 42 – The Nightmare Before Christmas

“Your baby is the miracle the whole world has been waiting for” (Jasper Palmer, Children of Men)

Dashing Through The Drizzle

Aptly dark for the shortest day, misty drizzle virtually obscured the outside world on the winter solstice. We had no chance of seeing the conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter. My insomnia paled into insignificance as Phil suffered a painful flare-up of his slipped disc problem. I spent the day cleaning, shopping and baking Christmas cake. Phil helped with spekulatius biscuits. Made using a BBC recipe, they looked and tasted good but not quite like the childhood treats I remembered. Predicting a nightmare 2021, Elder Sis joked in a message about looking forward to a diet of potato and leek soup. I replied we were thinking up new and exciting ways to stuff a turnip! Going to the co-op, I found the main road rammed with traffic and gaps on shelves. Nevertheless, I still filled my basket and struggled home damp and weary. I decorated ‘Hull tree’ for the small room. Phil’s heirloom, purchased in Woolworths in the 1960’s, could win a contest for oldest Christmas tree still in use, but it never gets installed early enough to hit the headlines.

We relaxed watching telly until The Bumbler appeared for a stupid briefing, following a Cobra meeting. 40 countries had now banned flights from the UK, the Eurotunnel shut and Dover was a giant carpark. Instead of addressing the most pressing matters of the new coronavirus variant now present in most of the UK, he boasted that half a million people had received the first dose of the Pfizer vaccine, delivery of which was still on track as container transport was unaffected by the blockade. While the EU called for a Europe-wide protocol, Boris phoned Mini Mackerel on his birthday to try and resolve issues of freight handled or driven by humans and said it would be sorted within a few hours; it wasn’t. Meanwhile, Shatts lauded the post-Brexit port preparation, saying the crisis proved it worked. “So that’s the prep is it? Massive truck parks?” I asked. “Yes but at least you don’t have to shit on the bus.” Remarked Phil.

On a bright, cold Tuesday, it was late morning by the time I ventured downstairs. After working on the journal, I set off for last-minute gift shopping. Although the roads were busy again and some shops were packed, others were deserted or shut which seemed odd. The assistant in the hippy shop was surprisingly unaware of the viral-repelling properties of copper. Unable to find a copper ring in Phil’s size, I chose one made from an old shilling. The antiques shop staff helpfully directed me to the relevant section for photography paraphernalia. Finding a couple of items to fill the camera case, I declared job done. On my return, I wrapped gifts for my walking friend and sorted cards for neighbours before a brief rest. I made stir-fry for dinner using what I thought might be the last broccoli we’d see for a while. “I won’t miss it,” declared Phil. “Hmm, you say that now!”

Due to the rapid spread of the mutant virus, Indy Sage said the whole nation should be in tier 4. World media called the UK ‘plague island’ as 700 lorries were now stuck in Kent. There was finally a breakthrough with France late evening. Transit would be allowed if drivers tested negative. The NHS and army were mobilised to carry out rapid flow testing from 6.00 a.m. Wednesday. Anticipated to be days before the backlog was cleared, chaos still reigned with truckers stuck in queues. Many didn’t get home for Christmas. What a nightmare! Production stopped at Toyota due to supply issues and big supermarkets limited the amount of certain items customers could buy – the usual suspects of bog roll, pasta and rice featured high on the list. Guy Verhofstadt tweeted: ‘now you know what Brexit will be like’. Quite!

Wednesday, I forced myself up despite mediocre sleep and an achy shoulder. Presented with stodgy mounds of porridge, I was rather ungracious but later apologised. I texted my walking friend for her to collect her gifts. She was on her way to work and arrangements were left open-ended. Scouring the co-op for fresh cream and bread, I found none and returned home to try and work on the journal, but interrupted and distracted, I declared it too much and gave it up for a couple of days. I retreated to the kitchen to make pastry and decorate the cake. Phil went to Leeds so I took the opportunity to wrap his pressies. I’d just finished when he got back. “You weren’t kidding about not being long!” He said he’d ran all over the dead city. Reading the evening metro, I noted it was the last issue until 4^th Jan – what would I do without my morning fix? Phil helped make pies and rolls while I simultaneously cooked dinner. It all took ages and we wondered if something was wrong with the gas.

In the latest briefing, Cock announced another new strain of coronavirus identified in South Africa. Here, more areas of South East England would move up to tier 4 from Boxing Day. Levels were raised elsewhere leaving nowhere in tier 2 and only the Silly Isles in Tier 1.

That night, the common theme of a house with many rooms, populated by friends and relatives, alive and deceased, dominated my dreams. While not unpleasant, it invoked the pre-Christmas nightmare of attending a brother’s funeral on 23^rd December 6 years ago.

An Almost-White Christmas

Christmas Eve started frosty but sunny. Pink clouds indicated snow was possible. Braving the cold, I posted cards through neighbours’ doors. The elderly lady popped her head out, not looking at all well. We chatted briefly and I hoped she’d be better soon. I cut sprigs of greenery from the garden and created attractive displays including a rather fetching ivy arrangement for the living room door. Phil collected the duck and also succeeded in sourcing fresh bread. He then wrapped my gifts while I did a whizz-round clean and sent Christmas messages.

Following frenzied speculation, a Brexit deal was announced late afternoon. Ursula said it was a: “good deal… fair, balanced.” Boris bragged it was: “everything we promised.” What a liar! Heavily weighted in favour of the EU, they were meeting Christmas Day to agree in principle. MPs would return to parliament for one day the following week to vote. Keir said Labour would back it. Disinclined to read the massive document, I gleaned a few details. Services were excluded (to much criticism) but there would be tariff-free trade albeit with extra checks and paperwork. The Kermit would actually be a thing! * Any changes for example to employment law, would go to an independent panel. The EHIC card would be valid until expiry and then be replaced by a similar healthcare scheme. Later in the week, I found a good summary from the FTⁱⁱ. As the talks came down to specific fish, my plans to call the next blog entry ‘so long and thanks for all the fish…’ were scuppered. On the plus side, my Brexit Island page got a record 132 engagements. I posted a cartoon from the NY Times, ‘free at last’, to celebrate

In the evening, we watched films including a double bill of our favourite festive movies – The Nightmare Before Christmas and the extremely prophetic Children of Men. It even mentioned ‘the great flu pandemic’. Due to an awful year and the impending Brexit, the harrowing scenes affected me more than usual. Although very tired, I struggled to sleep that night.

Christmas Day also began frosty and bright. Becoming cloudy later, there was even some soggy snow but it didn’t stick – not quite a white Christmas. I rose late, realised I had forgotten to message a good friend and posted a card to her wall. I then saw a post that her partner had broken his arm and had to go to hospital on Christmas Eve. It turned out they were thoughtfully on the way to deliver cards to us, amongst others. We enjoyed all our usual Christmas traditions, including a posh brekkie, exchanging gifts, a late roast dinner, prosecco, Irish coffee and trifle. Thankfully, the antique camera I bought online wasn’t broken. In fact, Phil was so chuffed he spent ages polishing the thing. I’d trust my gut instincts more in future. He got me a shiny new phone so I no longer had to fear imminent death of the old one – hurray!

The Weather Outside Is Frightful

After overnight drizzle, Boxing Day was a grey affair. Storm Bella caused flooding further south and although it reached us later, we luckily escaped a repeat of the great Boxing Day flood of 2015. A bit hungover, I revived with tea and a bath. Disinclined to go out in the cold, I planned to set up my new phone. However, I ended up working on the journal all day.

Phil bravely made a short foray to the shop and reported streets deserted. Implementation of the revised tiers meant no shopping in London but local news showed a busy Leeds with the sales in full swing. A sharp contrast to the pre-Christmas scenes, the turnaround was obviously due to people going bargain-hunting..

Sunday, I felt as crap as the weather. Following Christmas flooding and winds of 106 mph recorded in the south, a yellow snow warning was issued for Wales and NW England. Resigned to another day indoors, I finalised blogs and set up the new phone. File transfer with google seemed easy enough but it failed to import my contacts. Lots of fiddling and swearing at Android ensued, until Phil worked it out using MS launcher. Predictably, visuals weren’t as I wanted them but I got used it over the next few days. On the plus side, it had a large screen and 3 cameras!

As cases of coronavirus still soared, so did pressure on hospitals. In the USA, 14 million risked losing unemployment benefit when The Trump peevishly refused to sign the ‘support package’ bill. Biden talked of ‘devastating consequences unless a ‘veto override’ succeeded. So it wasn’t only the truckers stuck in the UK that suffered a Christmas nightmare!

*Note – Kermit – nickname for the permit required to enter Kent. I’d already commented on the irony of needing a passport to enter the Brexiteer county from the rest of the UK!

References:

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

ii. Brexit summary: https://www.ft.com/content/bd71fda3-0a34-4b52-ae98-4769848cb628

The Corvus Diaries

A Journal of the Coronavirus

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