A Flurry of Wets
On a sunny Monday, I forced myself up to do exercise, in spite of tummy ache. Posting blogs took ages as WordPress changed the format to something called ‘block editor’. Unable to see how to align photos, I thought of changing back to ‘classic editor’, but that cost money. I almost cried with frustration! Eventually, Phil helped figure it out. Allegedly the change was to make inserted pictures look better but I couldn’t see any difference. The morning gone, I really wanted some rays but had to wait a while for the gripes to subside. By the time we were ready to go out it was 3.30. As usual, Phil needed the shop. As we made our way to town, insisted on picking berries from a meagre crop of blackberries near the old builder’s yard. In the always-busy centre, we visited a couple of shops and lingered awhile near the river. Back home, a pile of kids were clambering over our garden bench. I told them off, then hovered to make sure they behaved, while a woman emerged from next door (probably the mother). As she started taking photos of the kids posing in front of the wall, I said pointedly: “when you’ve quite finished with my garden, I was going to clean up.” This was half-true; I had thought earlier of sweeping dead weeds into a binbag before the rubbish was collected early next morning but hadn’t felt up to it. I forgo a siesta in an effort to shift the interlopers. it didn’t! I swept up regardless and eventually they did move off, with the residents of next door, only to loiter further down the street. Phil came out and made to help but I advised against it I was almost done and he had clean hands. Stuffing a bargain quiche in the freezer, I discovered squishy Magnums. We ate the messy but tasty treats outside to avoid spillages.
Watching catch-up on My5 in the evening, the internet bombed repeatedly. And each time the programme resumed, we had to watch adverts, including for the thing we were trying to watch! As the internet flaked out again right near the end of the last episode, we gave up.
Tuesday, I rose slightly later after a decent sleep, performed a few chores and was just about to sit with a cuppa, when the British Gas engineer rang to say he’d be half an hour. A responsible, physically-distanced visit concluded with him informing us the central heating was functioning well. Of course he had to give us the spiel about it being an old boiler and offering a quote for a new one. “We Can’t afford it”. We said in unison. “Who’s got money for that type of thing right now?” I added.
I worked on the journal in the afternoon but became unable to focus. I briefly rested my eyes then switched to smaller tasks, including trying to book an Ocado delivery to find no decent slots, and texted some friends. Needing a complete break from technology, I went upstairs, did yoga, and lay down to read and relax. A variety of external noise made repose impossible. With the arrival of Storm Francis, traffic splashed through surface water on the main road, goods trains careered by, and works vans revved. Local news reported that heavy rain had caused flood sirens to sound but amongst the other racket, I didn’t hear them. In fact, we seemed to get off quite lightly again compared to other areas of the country. Not that that would be the case with the Co-op bank branch closures. The lay-offs were bound to badly affect this region.
Boris called the BBC ‘wet’ for announcing they would not be singing the words to patriotic songs at the prom finale. That was rich from the biggest wet going! The WHO now advised all people over 12 to wear face-coverings. Compulsory in school corridors north of the border, Tory MP Marcus WetFish called it ‘scientifically illiterate guff’ while our government refused to change the guidance. Later, ministers announced a partial U-turn saying that in ‘areas of national intervention’, masks should be worn in transition areas. Heads rolled in the form of Sally Collier, head of Ofqual (clearly a scapegoat for the recent debacle) followed the next day by DFE Permanent Secretary Jon Slater, with Boris passing the buck on a ‘mutant algorithm’ for the exam results fiasco.
A good day for Astra-Zeneca, they started trials of the catchily-named drug AZD7442. Consisting of 2 monoclonal antibodies, extracted from people who’d had Covid-19, it was a preventative for those exposed and a curative for those infected with coronavirus, possibly effective for 6 months. Meanwhile, Trump planned emergency authorisation for the vaccine developed by AZ and Oxford University.
A Brexit Interlude
Newsnight reported on Brexit including a leaked dossier from the Cabinet Office. Disaster planning included food drops on the Channel Islands, massively increased PPE and testing capacity (sic) and troops on the streets, to mitigate shortages and rioting. This prompted much mirth at the prospect of turnips for Christmas dinner and a post on ‘Brexit Island’ for the first time in a while.
A Slightly Sad Day for Pie Fans
Tummy issues re-surfaced on Wednesday. Not helped by watching Jeremy Vine as I became incensed at Carol Gammon not getting challenged on her terrible mask ‘science’ with no one citing the recent research on their effectiveness. My tweet went unacknowledged. Cleaning the living room rendered me exhausted and irritable. After a coffee break, I worked on the journal until lunchtime. Phil said he needed to go to the shop and asked if I wanted to come. Still feeling uncomfortable, I agreed. On the way, we saw the elusive courgette grower for the first time, pruning his raised beds which take up whole chunks of pavement. Errands done, we wandered round town and noticed the old grocer’s yard was very overgrown with the cobbles almost indiscernible beneath opportunistic grass and weeds. Round the corner, we bumped into an old friend for the first time this year. With similar mental health issues, we chatted about liking lockdown and fighting the system (having both recently won battles).
Last Sunday evening in Kenosha, Wisconsin, Jacob Blake had been shot seven times in the back by police as he entered his car where his children sat. His family said he was paralysed from waist down. Protests continued in several US cities and 2 people were shot dead by a white vigilante. Melania Trump called for calm and not judging people on colour (sentiments not echoed by her husband).
Thursday started better. A submission for the next issue of Valley Life magazine was due. I worked on a draft and was quite pleased with ‘Autumn Symphony’ if I say so myself! On the market, I waited ages at the fish van as the queue hardly moved. I would never get how some people could afford to buy up practically everything on the stall, with the price of fish these days! It made my bit of trout look meagre.
The government announced payments of £13 per day for people on benefits asked to self-isolate in the ‘high risk areas’ of Blackburn, Pendle and Oldham, with possible roll-out if the pilot worked. Council leaders called the nudge a ‘slap in the face’. Czechia, Switzerland and Jamaica were added to the travel quarantine list, starting at the now habitual time of 4.00 a.m. Saturday. A pamphlet was issued saying 5g was safe. I doubted the hippies would take any notice. It was a sad day for pie-eaters as a Covid-19 outbreak hit Greggs distribution in Leeds. And a sad day for latte-drinkers. Pret A Manger shed branches and staff, confirming our prediction that all the economic nudging to keep coffee shops afloat was a waste of money.
A Very Sad Day for Marvel Fans
Friday was positively yukky. Suitably attired for the stormy conditions, I embarked on the weekly co-op shop. A woman reached into the chiller cabinet, picked up packs of humus, peered at them for ages then put them back. Waiting on the other side of the aisle, impatience got the better of me. As she moved slightly to the side, I took a large stride and reached in to quickly grab what I wanted saying “before you touch very single one!” Inevitably done in when I got back, I took time to recover before starting work on a 2021 calendar based on my haigas.
Local restrictions were due to be eased from weds 2nd September, for most of Bradford, Calderdale and Kirklees, but not Halifax, Batley, Dewsbury, Bradford City or Keighley. With the picture also patchy in the GMC area, it looked blatantly racist. Big news in Metro but not even mentioned on telly news, fast-tracking of licensing was proposed to enable the use of vaccines before the end of the year. To coincide with the new school term, and with 9/10 people wanting to stay working at home, government planned adverts aimed at getting people back to workplaces. Announced by Grant Shatts, hypocritically from his house, ‘Inside the Nudge Unit’ took pride of place on the bookshelf behind him. Obviously where he got all his tips. Printed media reported that they’d threatened redundancy if people stayed away from the office. The last time I looked, the government had no jurisdiction over individual workplace policies, thus had no right to say that. Labour MP Lucy Powell called the comments ‘unconscionable’ and Sturgeon said workers should not be intimidated into going into offices. Indy Sage accused the government of abdicating responsibility, saying what was really needed was a functioning TIT and a ‘workplace charter’ to ensure safety: “Threats and slogans won’t get us out of this pandemic.”
Sadly, Chadwick Boseman aka Black Panther, died aged 43. He’d suffered with bowel cancer for 4 years but continued working – a great loss to the comic film industry.
A Rude Awakening
Saturday morning, I tried to sleep late but had to get up for the loo. Bad enough having to go so early, there was then a very loud impatient rapping on the front door. Phil belatedly started down the stairs, asking “did someone knock?” “It’s probably kids. Ignore it. They’ll be gone by now anyway.” Phil went back to bed. I went down to fetch tea and saw a Post Office card for him with illegible sorting office collection times. He’d been invited to take part in a trial. Also from Imperial College, but different to mine, it was to see if he actually had Covid-19. Having filled in the on-line questionnaire he awaited the testing kit which was probably the contents of the package.
As dismal weather persisted, I worked on the journal and 2021 calendar. Then I made a banana and date loaf (eating some warm out of the oven with lunch), and Phil cut my hair. I was just cleaning up afterwards when he shouted down to the kitchen very loudly, making me jump! Thinking something bad had happened, he mildly asked what we still needed from the shops. Gone ages, he eventually returned to say town was packed with drunks outside all the pubs. The traditional bank holiday weekend shenanigans, despite the awful weather.
Bright at first, Sunday soon reverted to type. I had a terrible night. Coupled with dismal conditions, I was disinclined to go out, and Phil equally so. I continued 2021 calendar designs and nicked the new cover haiku for use in my weekly blog. The rest of the time, I watched telly, bemoaning the severe lack of Bank Holiday specials – not like the old days!
Days before the new term yet more guidance for schools was issued with different tiers: tier 1 – all in school. Tier 2 – rota system for secondary pupils, (if a rise in cases). Tier 3 – secondary pupils work at home. Tier 4 – full lockdown (last resort). Meanwhile, universities warned that students returning risked a ‘second wave’. They should have thought of that earlier. ‘Unite for Freedom’, an anti-lockdown protest inhabited Trafalgar Square and coppers broke up illegal gatherings. There was a huge rave in wales and in WY police issued 8 £10k fines, mostly in Leeds. A flight from Zante contained infected people. Appalled fellow passengers claimed TUI didn’t enforce mask-wearing and failed to inform people for 5 days. In response, the company said a full investigation would take place.
References:
i. My haigas: https://wordpress.com/posts/mondaymorninghaiga.wordpress.com
The Corvus Diaries 