Part 80 – The Muppet Show

“I think in the short-term that will be a dead end…EU workers we speak to will not go to the UK for a short-term visa to help the UK out of the shit they created themselves” (Edwin Atema)

The Clown, The Bozo and The Bonzo

The week began sunny and bright, as did I. After chores and posting a haiga Monday, I realised I’d forgot coffee at the weekend. I found plenty of fruit and veg in the co-op, but no berries. The hipster cashier thought the shortages were random but I concluded seasonal British produce was less affected by the CO2 shortage. Maybe it would change people’s buying habits for the good. While editing holiday photos in the evening, Phil showed me how to create panoramas in Photoshop. Relatively easy, perhaps it was time to ditch the infuriating Microsoft ICE. I could hardly keep my eyes open at bedtime but it took a while to drop off and hot flushes woke me in the night.

The Bumbler went to America with newly-promoted Trussed-up Liz. He chaired a UN meeting on the COP26 agenda, and met Uncle Joe to discuss climate change, the pandemic and the Aukus submarine deal with Australia, which upset the French so much Liz’s counterpart Le Drian said the UK was run by Monty Python. The muppets, more like! As a sop to European critics, Joe announced double-vaccinated travellers could go to the US from November. Gordy Brown sent the government an Airfinity report saying it was a scandal 100 million vaccine doses would expire by December if not sent to poor countries. After the RCN rejected the 3% NHS pay offer, 4/5 Unison members and 9/10 GMB health & care workers did likewise. The government held emergency talks with suppliers and said there’d be no bail-out for small energy companies who went bust but state-backed loans for bigger ones to take on their customers. Martin Lewis warned consumers would have to choose between heating and eating. Denying a crisis, Kwasi Kwarteng assured us there was “no question of the lights going out.”

On a warm, hazy last day of summer, I took time out from housework and writing, firstly to marvel at how much I missed Grange, with its awesome seascape colours. Usually appreciating where we live on returning home, I guessed it was because it was our only trip to the seaside in over a year. Secondly, for a spell outdoors in the afternoon sun. Phil needed the shop in town. Hardly seeing a soul for days, I was struck by how busy it was. Feeling tired, we went to the park, sat on a bench, drank pop, watched rooks swank about on the football pitch and noted autumnal changes, then walked back along the canal where a heron surveyed for prey above the aqueduct (see below). After a siesta, I settled down with a coffee when the landline rang. Getting up to answer a robot, I suddenly remembered promising the Christmas cake recipe to Elderly Neighbour. Retrieving the old Word file, OneDrive said it couldn’t save changes and I spent ages re-editing before sending. According to local weather, September was warmer than June or August and the warmest since records began in 1659. Nevertheless, clouds descended in the early hours, obscuring the full harvest moon until the following night, auspiciously on the autumn equinox.

Jeff Bozo refused to commit Amazon paying more UK tax, telling The Bumbler it was government’s job to come up with appropriate frameworks. Boris met Bonzonaro separately. It would truly have been a muppet show if they’d all met together! After shaking Boris’ hand, the Brazilian health minister tested positive for covid. Did he share his boss’ anti-vax views? Kwarteng claimed he was focussed on helping the ‘fuel poor’ as he struck a deal with CF Industries to re-start CO2 production in Cheshire and Teesside. Richard Walker of Iceland said “a 3 week deal won’t save Christmas” while a festive tree shortage was foreseen because of Brexit. But Boris still insisted “Christmas is on” and stuck to the line of creating jobs rather than not cutting Universal Credit. Labour called the end of the £20 uplift, rising fuel costs and the National Insurance hike a ‘triple whammy’. Furlough also due to end, likely leading to more unemployment, there was no sign of Rishi Rich.

The Romper Room

Wednesday, Phil felt unwell but his cough eased with Covonia, so probably not covid. I started to feel ill after breakfast. The usual sinus lark likely caused by fighting fatigue since our trip, I fetched coffee and the laptop and stayed abed the rest of the week. Working on the journal, I drew curtains to block out the early autumn sun’s glare and tried hard to not be depressed at being stuck indoors. Phil characteristically continued working downstairs, not hearing a feint knock on the door, or me shouting him. He eventually answered for the woman from next-door-but-one to place 2 large bottles of milk on the doorstep. My worries about them fitting in our tiny fridge and what on earth we’d would do with it all, proved unfounded. Phil managed to wedge them in and they had a long sell-by date. I placed an Ocado order, unexpectedly getting a delivery slot for the following evening. Phil said it was a good job as if he went out, he might get attacked by people fearful of infection. “If it is covid, I blame the trains!” “How would we know if it was a mild case now we’re double-jabbed?” “You could get a covid test.” “I’ll think about it.” After dinner, I stayed up to watch Prime and got a sudden sharp twinge in my left foot when I went back upstairs. Strangely on the opposite side to the sprain, a massage helped slightly but the pain returned every time I turned over during the night.

Chris Witless said most infections were in the young, ½ of kids had had covid and the other ½ would catch it if not vaccinated. Oxford Vax hero Sarah Gilbert found it hard getting money to develop other vaccines including for MERS. The Good Law Project brought action against DOHSC for awarding £80 million ‘secret’ covid antibody test contracts to Abingdon Health and the ONS predicted £20.9 million of covid loan cash wouldn’t be repaid. In the continuing energy crisis, 7 unheard-of suppliers collapsed. No trade deal with the US anytime soon, Boris laughably lauded the ban on British beef and lamb being lifted. At the UN, Uncle Joe pledged doubling climate aid funding for poor countries to a total of $11.4 billion. China promised not to build more coal-powered plants. After blocking the M25 five times in a week, Insulate Britain carried on protesting, despite 270 arrests and a High Court injunction. Pret were opening 200 new coffee shops.

The PM stateside, PMQs pitted demoted deputy Rabid Raab against Angela Rayner. She asked: “how many days does a worker on minimum wage have to work to afford a night in a luxury hotel on Crete?” As he waffled, she told him: “ An extra 50 days. Even more if the sea was open.” She went onto to ask, in the same week they were cutting Universal Credit and energy bills rose, could he “guarantee no one will be pushed into fuel poverty this winter?” Raab retorted: “Let me remind her of her words: ‘working people don’t want a handout, they want opportunities’. We’re giving them that.” Rayner maintained the government’s failures paved the way for the crisis, which they were warned about and had a choice to make working people’s lives harder or easier. Would they cancel the UC cut?” Raab blathered about plans for the NHS and the economy, saying with vacancies and wages up, it was working. Kirsten Oswald, SNP, found his answers perplexing. predicted a ‘cost of living tsunami’ and declared: “you can’t level up by making people poorer.” A smug Raab accused her of scaremongering and referred to British armed forces helping the Scottish NHS. On Newsnight, Barry Gardiner said the government was “lurching from one crisis to another.”

Thursday morning, Phil coughed less while I felt worse. Putting the bed-changing off until after lunch, it proved a slow and knackering chore. After a rest, I got dressed for the Ocado delivery, which arrived early. I dumped bags on the stone floor and left sorting groceries until dinner. Bad idea – the fish-fingers partially defrosted. They still tasted okay though. I went back to bed early and Phil used some of the surplus milk to bring me a huge cup of hot chocolate.

1/3 of tenant evictions were due to the covid holiday ending. HGV driver shortages led to councils cancelling bin collections, BP rationing fuel and Esso closing some Tesco pumps. Food industry bodies wrote to implore Boris to ‘save Christmas’, experts called for Covid Recovery Visas for critical staff and the BOE warned of a 4% inflation rise. Still denying there were problems, small business minister Paul Scuzz-bag said “This isn’t a 1970’s thing.” Biden pledged another 5000 million doses of vaccines, still 5 billion short of what was needed. Failing to get a US trade deal, Trussed-up Liz headed to Mexico to try and join CPTPP. A friend disclosed she called Raab hanging onto Chevening ‘ridiculous’ while he got dressed up for his inauguration as Lord Chancellor. The La Palma eruption predicted to last 84 days, on the other side of the world, earthquakes and anti-lockdown protests hit Victoria.

On a live Question Time, Shiny turd Shats listed initiatives when quizzed on the Universal Credit cut. Richard Walker told him they weren’t working, the cut was coming at a time of food and energy inflation and there were more food banks than branches of McDonalds. Pointing out not everyone could work more hours to make up the shortfall and would also be hit by a National Insurance hike, Lib Dem Munira Wilson called the tories “cruel and callous.” Iceland staff to get Boxing Day off, I got a bit of a crush on possibly the nicest capitalist in the country (but it didn’t last long). Newscast showed a clip of Boris referencing Kermit the Frog. Preaching to the UN it was ‘easy going green’ and: “the world…is not some indestructible toy, some bouncy plastic romper room against which we can hurl ourselves to our heart’s content,” The Bumbler went onto ramble about Sophocles. Was he drunk? John McDonnell said Keir’s 11,000 word essay for the Fabian Society was like a “sermon on the mount written by focus groups.”

Captain Pugwash

Still working on the journal Friday, I rued combining 2 weeks’ worth. At least I managed to finalise holiday photos. The cough gone, Phil masked up to brave an unexpectedly well-stocked co-op for weekend essentials.

Drivers told not to panic as there was no fuel shortage, queues predictably formed at forecourts. Shats looked at options to solve the HGV crisis, including using the army even though they were already drafted to help NHS Scotland and Wales and hinted at a U-turn on ‘essential occupations’ as a short-term solution. An IT failure caused airport delays at e-gates across the UK. Paralympian-turned-Extinction Rebellion protestor James Brown went to jail for supergluing himself to a plane October 2019 and the government sought another High Court injunction as Insulate Britain blocked the Port of Dover. Californian fire-fighters tried to save General Sherman from the Windy Fire, raging for a week in the Sequoia National Forest.

Phil blamed the co-op trip for aches and pains Saturday morning. “Yeah but we’ve got steak!” I went down for breakfast, took coffee back to bed and posted two entries on Cool Placesⁱ. Awful music outside all afternoon sounded like Captain Pugwash on an endless loop. Neither earplugs nor the telly blocking it out, it almost drove me mad! The house a mess , I asked Phil to clean some of it. He manically zipped round the lounge and bathroom, became knackered and needed a rest before cooking the steak dinner.

Sunday starting super-bright, I battled with fatigue and foot pain – now in my instep. A few stretches and a bath helped enough to manage the day out of bed. Taking recycling out, Elderly Neighbour parked up. We discussed cake-baking and his pre-cancerous skin condition. He assured me the nasty-looking red patches on his face were caused by an aggressive chemo-therapy cream which would hopefully clear it by next month. “Fingers crossed for you!” Clouds returned late afternoon. Fearing rain, we changed plans to go to the nearby clough to do the rounds of charity shops. In the large one, we got them to unlock a camera cabinet, mulled over a couple of models, but bought nowt. The centre crowded, I hovered outside the sweet shop while a fat family bought ice-cream and nipped in for cough sweets. We then sat on a quieter riverside stretch. Seeing a flash of orange and blue, I exclaimed: “kingfishers!” Of course, they’d flown off by the time I got my camera out. On the way home, I exchanged cheery greetings with an erstwhile art teacher. No doubt preparing for another Open Studios weekend, it didn’t seem 5 minutes since the last one. Noticing the Christmas tree outside the house looked rather battered due to inconsiderate parking and sported yellow needles, Phil insisted we feed it despite impending rain. I edited kingfisher-free photos and composed a haigaⁱⁱ. Making a frugal roast dinner, Phil re-branded it Brexit Roast.

As expected, temp visas allowed 5,000 HGV drivers (and poultry workers) to come and work in the UK up to 24^th December. Suspension of competition laws let petrol stations share info and target deliveries, letters asked ex-drivers to return and more tests were promised. Drafting in troops still possible, Shats blamed the RHA for the crisis and Useless George blamed motorists panic-buying. But Rachel Reeves indicated the government had ignored warnings from hauliers of what was coming down the road ‘since last year’. Keir told Marr the ‘absolute crisis’ was caused by lack of government planning. Doubting if anyone’d come and work here post-Brexit, Edwin Atema of Dutch union FNV agreed, saying EU workers wouldn’t help us out of our own shit. Other countries also having problems, what was the wider strategy? At the labour party conference in Brighton, Keir was forced to modify plans to give MPs more say in leader elections. The NEC passed the diluted motion leaving Leftists furious. Referring to the tories at a reception for activists, Rayner spluttered: “we cannot get any worse than a bunch of scum, homophobic, racist, misogynistic, absolute vile…banana republic, vile, nasty, Etonian…piece of scum…” Quizzed on her choice of words, she said anger at The Bumbler’s history of derogatory comments, prompted the use of ‘street language’ common in working class Ashton. She later tweeted ‘I’d be happy to sit down with Boris. If he withdraws his comments and apologises I’m happy to apologise to him’.

The murder of young schoolteacher Sabina Nessa in Kidbrooke a week ago Friday, prompted a vigil, a book of condolence and three arrests over the weekend. The third ‘significant arrest’ Sunday saw Koci Selamaj later charged with the crime. Six months after the Sarah Everard tragedy, surveys showed almost all women remained fearful. On Politics North, deputy PCC Alison Lowe said it was ‘not okay’: “toxic masculinity pervades our schools, employment arenas (and) we need to be calling that out.”

References:

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

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

Part 45 – Hope Springs Eternal

“Because of lack of moral principle, human life becomes worthless. Moral principle, truthfulness, is a key factor. If we lose that, then there is no future”(Dalia Lama)

One Day of Spring

A wakeful night led to oversleeping. The tedious round of Monday chores and blog-posting done, I dashed to the co-op as a nasty curtain of fine rain careened down the valley. The amount of traffic still noticeable, I wondered who was actually sticking to the rules?

Ministers repeated warnings of tougher measures without saying what. The public urged to keep exercise local, Boris cycled 7 miles to the Olympic park – was that local? Told not to stop and chat on walks or have picnics, The Cock couldn’t say if drinking coffee was allowed. On Newsnight, an ex-health minister pleaded for a cessation of the coffee culture which encouraged longer walks and clustering round cafes. Sage bod Prof. Stephen Reicher suggested halting non-essential building work in residential properties.

Paperwork and butties became big Brexit issues. Bewilderment abounded that not being in the single market resulted in more bureaucracy. Daily Mail gammons were incensed by scenes of Dutch border officers confiscating a trucker’s sandwich, quipping: “Welcome to the Brexit.” It beggared belief that the idiots who voted for it were up in arms at the consequences!

Tuesday, I rose woozy with a scratchy throat, but not feeling ill, I persisted with exercise and housework. The day a dry and bright interlude, we went for a walk, via the bakers for portable sustenance. I stood in a warm patch of sun while Phil queued. Already past lunchtime, I would have eaten on the spot if the square weren’t so busy. A hard climb took us to the beautiful wooded road last visited in autumn, then down a squelchy path to the Working Man’s Club.

Among taped-up picnic tables, 2 rough benches stood several metres apart. A pair of men picnicked on one, we sat to wolf down the comestibles on the other. After discussing options, we crossed the oddly frozen small bridge. With no ice elsewhere, a fellow walker commented on the noticeably icier feeling. On the narrow road, we dodged motorists and runners to peer through fencing at the demolished dye works and eyed fat sheep looking fit to burst. Taking the riverside path for the last stretch, early catkins heralded spring and a twee figurine of a shepherd bizarrely nestled in a tree stump. Nearer town, people buzzed around old worksheds: “it must be essential art, ha, ha!”

We came across our walking friends. “We’re not talking to you, cos it’s illegal” I Joked. “We’ve just had a picnic,” she confessed. “So have we,” I whispered conspiratorially, “well, a pasty.” We had a laugh at the ludicrous rules on being able to buy coffee all over the place but not eat al fresco and being allowed to exercise but not recreate. “So don’t be enjoying your walks from now on!” I asked her how things were at work. “Okay. I’ve got a week off and planned a walk every day but the weather forecast is crap.” “Yeah, arctic conditions are set to return. But we won’t be meeting up will we?” Back home, it felt like we’d had a proper walk which was good, but it didn’t help my night-time sleep. (For a fuller description of the walk, see Cool Places.ⁱ)

Up to November 2020, the UK had 85,000 more excess deaths than the previous 5 year average, the most since WWII. Taking population growth and ‘age-standardised mortality’ into account, the rate remained the highest since 2008. Chris Hopkins told the commons H&SC committee that the virus peak wouldn’t come until February as those currently dying were infected before December. Supermarkets got stricter on mask-wearing while a new treatment for Covid patients, Interferon Beta, was trialled at Hull Royal Infirmary and Joan Bakewell sued the government over the delay in getting her second Pfizer dose. 28 UK regions weren’t receiving mail as posties were off sick or self-isolating while families got food parcels instead of vouchers.

Marcus Rashford joined the complaints and photo shares showing the shocking quality. Unsurprisingly, they were distributed by Chartwells, part of The Compass Group, the largest food conglomerate on the globe. CEO Dom Blakemore was a major Conservative Party donor – more money for rich tory chums!

Foul outdoors as predicted Wednesday, we stayed in. I was hoovering when the very early Ocado driver arrived, saying some deliveries were cancelled because of icy roads. Badly packed in the carriers (annoyingly not taken back again), I could hardly lift some of them and reported a couple of damaged items. As I unpacked, sticky stuff irksomely adhered to my clothes. Phil came down to help and started larking about. I got more annoyed, declared I needed a break, and stormed off. I calmed down with a coffee and we both settled to work in the living room. Phil spotted a heron on the small mill roof. The phone pictures I took through the window were beyond crap. Top wildlife photographer strikes again! During my siesta, I was unable to rest. The pattern repeated that night, I looked out the window. Myriad lights shone from houses across the valley – what were they doing at that time of night? The pitter patter of rain eventually lulled me to sleep.

Although Covid-19 cases fell to 15,000, a new daily record of 1,564 deaths occurred. Temporary mortuaries grew, the latest in Ruislip set to open at the end of the week. Prof. Van Dam fulfilled his promise, immunising old folk at the Nottingham hub and furloughed EasyJet staff were ‘fast-tracked’ to help out. The Sturgeon used the old ‘spirit of the law’ mantra to announce tighter controls in Scotland around drinking outdoors, click ‘n’ collect and working at home. Closing a so-called ’stay at home loophole’, Scots leaving the house for an essential reason couldn’t do anything else while out. Did it mean they couldn’t take a photo on a walk or stop to look at sheep? Another new variant, similar to the Kent Virus but unconnected, was identified in Brazil. Yvette Coop quizzed Boris on current measures to stop it entering the UK. Answer: negative testing. The next day, a travel ban was announced for South America, Panama, Cabo Verde and Portugal, except for hauliers and ex-pats who had to self-isolate for 10 days. At PMQs, Keir reminded everyone: “He (the PM) told us…there was no need for ‘endless lockdowns’ and no need to change the rules about Christmas mixing…since the last PMQs, 17,000 people have died of Covid, 60,000 have been admitted to hospital and there have been over 1m new cases.” On round the clock jabs, The Bumbler promised 24 hour vaccinations as soon as supplies allowed. He admitted the food parcels were terrible. The Salesman said the voucher system would return next week, as would testing for primary school staff while parents were encouraged to test their kids. He had ‘no intention’ of closing nurseries (watch this space!) Ahead of an Ofqual consultation, imminent BTEC written exams were scrapped and externally-set tests for GCSE and A levels to augment teacher assessments, were muted.

Snowflakes and Sociopaths

The rain turned to snow in the early hours of Thursday, falling all day with varying degrees of stickiness. I managed a few exercises and changed the bedding before submitting to the sinus lurgy and getting back into bed. Phil brought the Laptop up so I could work on the journal but I mainly dossed.

A PHE study showed immunity from coronavirus after 5 months but evidence it could still be transmitted. Oldham council immunised the homeless. Dr. Chauhan canvassed the government for the strategy to be a national priority. Nasty Patel got the rules wrong for the second time in a week. Previously saying outdoor recreation was allowed, she now incorrectly said you could only exercise alone. Fish rotted due to what Useless George called Brexit ‘teething issues’. Scottish fishers demanded compo. In the commons, Rees-Moggy told SNP MP Tommy Sheppard: “the government is tackling the issue and the key thing is we’ve got our fish back. They’re now British fish…better and happier fish for it.” What a moron!

Merlina the queen raven, missing from the Tower of London since before Christmas, was feared dead after likely foraging due to a lack of bread-bearing tourists. If 2 more flew off, the kingdom would fall but Ravenmaster Chris Scaife assured us there was a spare. Snow slowed jabbing of the elderly on a day of snow madness. Leeds students were berated for having a mass snowball fight on Woodhouse Moor, a stream of cars navigated the tricky sloping bend opposite, Halifax buses skidded, traffic jammed on a treacherous Sutton Bank and a 3 mph car chase ended in the slowest crash ever when a codger with a frozen windscreen ran into a traffic cone. The utterly selfish and inconsiderate behaviour beggared belief in the perilous conditions, unless essential and risked diverting over-stretched emergency services. Subsequent arrests involved people from different households driving over the Pennines for take-away fried chicken and snow-viewing.

The weak Friday sun struggled behind blankets of freezing fog, blazed bright for a few hours then picturesquely peaked through trees mid-afternoon. Still bed-ridden and unable to enjoy the outdoors, I took slightly more successful window photos and wrote ‘Midwinter Spring’ for ‘Cool Places’. Yet another daft Microsoft update required re-starting the laptop. At least it didn’t take all day like the last one. Phil succeeded in getting salad items from the co-op but I became light-headed waiting for him to bring lunch and would have fallen down if I weren’t already supine. In the evening, I dossed on the sofa to binge-watch 3 episodes of Britannia II– an irresistible mix of historical fact and utter nonsense! We also discussed virus fears. Worried by the current situation, Phil assured me the vaccine would save us. But how many would refuse it, for a plethora of spurious reasons? I optimistically cited posts by Vegan Friend, saying it was for the greater good, notwithstanding the irony of protesting against Pfizer for animal testing!

Boris briefed us on the end of travel corridors from 4.00 a.m. Monday. Norwegian Air scrapped long-haul flights from Gatwick, only flying across Norway and to key European destinations – nowt to do with Brexit! WHO scientists arrived in Wuhan to investigate the start of the outbreak. 2 of the 13 stayed in Singapore after testing positive, the rest in quarantine for a fortnight. A day after Debenhams announced the closure of 6 outlets including the flagship Oxford Street store, Whitbread confirmed 1,5000 jobs had gone and Primark were set to lose 1bn in profits. The Torygraph was forced to publish a correction to a ‘misleading column’ written by right-wing sociopath Toby Young in July, saying the common cold provided immunity to Covid-19. His latest tweet whinged about being attacked in London for his anti-lockdown stance. Phil said: “They’re always snowflakes those types. If they were more like Alan B’stard I might have some respect for them.”*

Remaining poorly over the weekend, I wrote and sketched. Phil ventured out in Saturday’s melting snow for fresh air and exercise, reporting the town centre less busy but people coffee-cupping in a cave under the nearby climbing rocks! In the evening, I had an alarming nosebleed. A regular feature of my sinusitis, this one didn’t stop for ages. We concurred it was due to using those awful steroid nasal sprays in the past. Sunday night, I hardly slept at all. Traffic could still be heard at 3.00 a.m., headlamps like searchlights penetrating the curtains. Yet again, I wondered what the f**k was going on!

India used Covishield and Covaxin in the world’s largest ‘inoculation drive’. The LA death rate rose to 8 per minute. Biden promised 100m ‘shots in the arm’ in 100 days and 12,000 a day by next week, in ‘operation warp speed’. Covid jabs in the UK hit 3.8m, averaging 140 per 60 seconds, but there was a hospital admission every 30 seconds. Phil Spector died in prison. Officially of natural causes, he’d reportedly had Covid for 4 weeks.

Sociopath anti-lockdowner Lord Sumpter appeared on The Big Questions. He told cancer podcaster Deborah James her life was ‘worth less’ than others. At least he got challenged by a disabled person calling him out for eugenics which made a change. The themes of snowflakes and sociopaths continued into the following week…

*Note – Alan B’stard was the main character in the satire ‘The New Statesman’ played by the legendary Rik Mayall.

References:

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

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

Part 39 – Scotched

“I myself would definitely scoff a couple of Scotch eggs if I had the chance, but I do recognise that it is a substantial meal.” (Michael Gove)

10 Pints Of Lager And A Scotch Egg Please

Monday stayed dark all day. Phil struggled with rheumatism and soaked in a Radox bath. Posting blogs, the stupid blue highlights re-appeared in the journal. On-line shopping included an Ocado order with a daytime delivery 3 days hence – hurray! Looking for gifts on Amazon, I found a couple of items but no Cyber Monday deals. I managed some yoga in the afternoon before the customary restless siesta. With the downstairs curtains now closed against the long, cold nights, I didn’t notice the luminous moon and twinkling stars including the familiar Orion until bedtime. There was also a strange streak of light in the sky. Was it a UFO, a telegraph wire or a contrail? Probably the latter, luminous in moonlight, but very weird seeing it in the inky black. Muddled Covid dreams continued, devoid of handy tips.

Imperial College put the R rate at 0.8, with infections down by a third but still at high prevalence. Testing of university students started and campaigns by relatives led to the resumption of care home visits in pilot areas. Visits were allowed everywhere only 2 days later. As promised, the government gave information to MPs on the health, social and economic impact of tiers. The CRG dismissed it as a re-hash. Celebs Laurence Fox and Rita Ora were pictured flouting lockdown. Ora should have been isolating after a trip to Egypt when she had her birthday bash in a posh restaurant. Apparently, saying ‘sorry’ gets you out of being arrested if you are rich! Just 3 weeks since the firebreak ended, Welsh pubs would be unable to sell alcohol and indoor entertainment venues shut From Friday. Bradford hairdresser and loony conspiracy-theorist Sinead Quinn who’d erroneously cited the Magna Carta in refusing to cease trading and racked up £17,000 in fines, was forced to close at long last.

In what was touted as the last week of substantive talks on a Brexit deal, Rabid Raab said fishing was the ‘major bone of contention’. Plans to subsidise farmers to promote wildlife after EU subsidies ended were revealed; i.e., less cows and sheep, more grouse moors for tories! With the news that 10,000 turkeys suffering bird flu were culled at a farm in Northallerton (closely followed by Worcester swans), Phil said, “we should have got more spam.” “Why? We never eat turkey.” NHS staff in Scotland were to get a £500 bonus. Sturgeon urged Boris not to scotch the idea with tax and Kate Forbes, Scottish Finance Secretary, promised the pay freeze for public sector workers wouldn’t be implemented north of the border.

Tuesday started frosty and sunny after the clear night. Cleaning the kitchen, I found tea towels stored under the sink were damp and mildewy. Phil discovered a small leak from the U-bend and easily fixed it but I still had to wash them all. The amazon delivery arrived only a day after ordering. Pretty sure I’d not elected for the free 30-day Prime trial, I pitied the poor workers rushing round to get parcels out so quickly. After faffing with the packaging and secreting the contents, I went to town. Very quiet compared to weekends, it didn’t stop the convenience store staff whingeing about ‘bloody tourists’.

Covid death rates slowed but figures showed a huge mismatch between the official government tally of 58,448 and 74,529 actual. 55 Tories voted against tiers but as opposition parties abstained, it still passed.

Useless George created much mirth saying a Scotch egg counted as a ‘substantial meal’ in a pub and confirmed the deliberate inconsistency and confusion of government messaging: “(not) every rule… and.. requirement… is perfectly consistent or… (will) even be considered fair… indeed they won’t be.” A Number 10 spokesman insisted most people knew the difference between a bar snack and a substantial meal. Glove-Puppet said it was a starter then changed his mind to say it was a main course. He also blamed the EU for moving the goalposts on the level playing field in the Brexit talks.

Mick Astley hadn’t come to the rescue of Arcadia. It slid into administration, risking 13,000 jobs at Topshop, Burtons and Dorothy Perkins. This led to Debenhams going into liquidation, jeopardising another 12,000 jobs. So what was the point of longer opening hours with hardly any high street shops left? Boris promised a paltry £1k each to ‘wet’ pubs as a sop to his revolting backbenchers. A leaked ‘secret dossier’ or ‘Whitehall dashboard’ showed which sectors were most imperilled. Playing it down, Number 10 claimed it contained nothing not already in the public domain.

Wild Wednesday

I texted my walking friend on Wednesday. It turned out she had a few ‘blissful’ days off and arranged to come round for a safe outdoor cuppa. She knocked on the door, and retreated to the far bench while I stayed near the door for a distanced chat. With inevitable dithering, I passed her the books and made her a coffee. She updated me on the happenings at work until I suggested a change of topic. We laughed at the scotch egg malarky and discussed an array of misinformation surrounding vaccines. Promising to stay in touch, she went off to feed the ducks. I washed the coffee paraphernalia thoroughly, and had a lie down. Horrendous metal grinding noises started up just as my head hit the pillow. Grr!

Amidst much fanfare, The MHRA*approved the Pfizer vaccine, meaning the UK was the first country to get it With 800,000 doses already on the way, was it too soon? Anthony Fauci seemed to suggest so but later back-tracked, insisting he had no gripes with the UK system. In true schoolyard fashion, ministers lined up to trumpet the move. Alook Sharma incredibly hailed it a victory for the country. The Europeans pointed out it was developed by a Turkish-German couple and an American company. The Cock claimed it was possible because of Brexit, even though the UK regulator followed exactly the same rules as the EU. Gavin Salesman said the UK was first because it was the best country – what a tit! Priorities looked unclear due to logistics. At PMQs, Kier raised the issue of getting it to care homes, with the usual dithering responses from Boris. On the dawn of the new tier system, dubbed ‘Wild Wednesday’, Londoners were seen watching the sunrise, queuing outside Primark and loaded with JD sports bags. Debenhams’ website crashed due to a fire sale. Look North reported on a ‘border’ between North and West. The Police & Fire Commissioner admitted it wasn’t legally enforceable but contrarily said police could issue fines – what the hell for? Pubs in tier 2 areas came up with novel ways of counting as eateries such as partnering with chip shops.

The Thursday Ocado delivery contained some items with damaged packaging meaning I had to waste time claiming a refund. I then worked on the journal. A sudden noise made me jump. It was the window cleaner; an unusual day for it. When he knocked on the door for the money, he said he was trying to get ahead before Christmas. I likewise decided to get ahead and went to the co-op for a few things still needed for the weekend. Phil had gone to work in Leeds, with a small list of goodies we’d struggled to find elsewhere. Returning early evening, I asked if he got the stuff on the list. He said yes then reeled off a load of items not on the list. It turned out he’d bought a pile of snacks and biscuits, only 1 of which was what I’d asked for!

On the day that the official death toll reached 60,000, Prof Van-Damm assured us that Santa would be top of the list for a vaccine. Later, arch tory Rees-Moggy showed an uncharacteristically twee side saying Santa wouldn’t need it as he had his own special travel corridor to deliver presents and his elves counted as key workers. It was unclear if they had to wear masks.

As hopes of a Brexit deal fast receded, Barnier stayed in London to continue talks. The UK government persisted in blaming the EU for ‘bringing new elements to the table at the 11^th hour’. Brussels said that was mere theatrics. France threatened to veto a ‘bad deal’ reportedly on regulatory issues but we all knew they just wanted all the fish. The Internal Markets Bill was due back in the commons Monday, after it was chucked out by the House of Lords. Could that finally scotch any deal being agreed by the 27 member states? On Brexitcast, Blair repeatedly said the Brexit argument was over and replied ‘I don’t know’ to questions on what the future held.

In the cold light of Friday morning, I woke with a scratchy throat, took Echinacea and exercised regardless. A very light dusting of snow was sprinkled on the nearby hills, with more of varying heaviness falling throughout the day. But even the big flakes didn’t stick, unlike on higher hills, signified by freezing water emanating from the bath taps. Scotland experienced rare ‘thundersnow’. Christmas shopping scotched by the awful weather, I also doubted the flea market would be on; if allowed at all in tier 3. Instead, I caught up on various computer tasks. The sluggish laptop locked up and took ages to restart. Thank you Microsoft!

Sage now put the R rate at 0.8-1. Following earlier scientific scepticism of the roll-out of mass community testing using lateral flow tests, Angela Raffle of Bristol University said they had a sensitivity rate of only 58%. They failed to detect 30% of highly infectious people in Liverpool and rates didn’t fall any faster there than anywhere else: “so the claims that the Prime Minister and Secretary of State for Health are making that there has been a three quarter’s drop in Liverpool because of mass testing are completely false.” Amidst concerns, some care homes stopped using the rapid tests for newly reintroduced visits.

The Coffee-Cup Circuit

Saturday morning, Phil woke late having slept right through the night. “Lucky you!” I left him to make bread and set off for Christmas shopping in town. It was madly busy! The old narrow road was no longer traffic-free and cluttered with parked cars. People milled about imbibing take-away coffee and pizza. Market stalls were fully occupied, mainly with Christmas crap. Spotting an aromatherapy stall, I had quite a wait to buy reasonably priced lavender oil as the lovely woman chatted to a punter selfishly taking up all the space with his bike. Spotting an item on my Christmas list, I asked the leather stall holder if he would be there on Sunday. “Who knows? The police came and tried to shut us down last week.” “Crazy!” the only explanation I could come up with was that Sunday hosted the farmer’s market and thus meant to sell food. But that didn’t explain why the Saturday crap (sorry, craft) market was allowed.

Heading to charity shops, I wondered why I’d come out at the weekend. At the first, a pair of women barged past as I donned my mask, then hovered near the sanitising station gassing. When I finally entered, another group came in right behind me, heedless of distancing. I came across a worker at the back of the shop. “You should have someone on the door.” I told her. “You can tell people to move back for you,” she replied. “They don’t take any notice. It needs to be someone from the shop.” Upstairs, I was asked to wait in the corridor as the top room was full. Well, I thought, if you stopped people at the front door it wouldn’t be, would it! A nightmare trying to get round, I gave up. Mysterious crates of tinned ‘beef tripe’ stood outside the second shop. Were they for dogs, OAPs, or post-Brexit fare? On viewing my phone pics later, Phil said “I’d give it a go!” Less busy inside, a mum and son crawled round blocking the one-way aisles. I made a quick exit and went in search of elusive delicacies instead before exhaustedly trudging home. Pleasant hitherto, the sky turned ominously pink and a sudden icy rain shower descended, to promptly stop again.

It was Phil’s turn to brave the town centre madness on Sunday, returning with an orange squash (aka pumpkin) and reporting the demand for coffee so high that extra vans had turned up. “It’s all those coffee-cuppers, scotched in attempts to go to meetings and wander round offices with mug constantly in hand.” “Ah! The displaced coffee-cup circuit!”

Meanwhile, I spent the day writing a haiga and printing Christmas cards. The printer kept telling me to load paper even with loads in the tray. I eventually solved the issue by turning it off and on again. Phil had a suspected cold all weekend. As he absent-mindedly gave me a goodnight kiss, I felt a sudden sensation in my nose. That couldn’t be right. What about the incubation period? I dismissed the nonsense notion but woke the next day totally bunged up. It soon transmogrified into the usual chronic sinusitis.

Shopping madness spread nationwide. Crowds besieged Harrods and a friend went to Manchester, encountering packed streets and a mindless demo in Piccadilly. The Trump inexplicably made the announcement on twitter that his madcap lawyer mate and ex-mayor of New York,RudolphGiuliani had Covid. “He’s an idiot, he’s a senile idiot, he’s an idiot in New York!”

*Note – Medicines and Healthcare Products Regulatory Agency (MHRA)

Reference:

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

Part 38 – Gormenghast

“His mind was engaged in a warfare of the gods. His mind paced outwards over no-man’s land, over the fields of the slain, paced to the rhythm of the blood’s red bugles” (Mervyn Peake)

It Will End In Tiers

Orangey pink suffused the bedroom on a bitterly cold Monday morning. Phil cooked porridge for breakfast to warm us up but as he had to go back to the kitchen for missing items, I feared it would freeze. No internet meant no morning metro. He amused me doing dinosaur impressions complete with tiny arms. Since I couldn’t post blogs, I worked on the next part of the journal. Inevitably, the editing made my eyes go funny. In the afternoon, I went for a small top-up shop. Although I’d enjoyed Phil’s hot lunch of egg, beans and spam fritters, it meant a stacked draining board awaited, making cleansing groceries tricky. I huffed, puffed and collapsed on the sofa. Phil huddled by the radiator to ease his arthritis so I dismissed the idea of giving him a hard time to commiserate with his pain. As usual, I got no rest during my siesta, but felt lovely and cosy in bed.

Oxford University/AstraZeneca proclaimed their jab a ‘vaccine for the world’, commendably provided not-for-profit to developing countries. Apparently 70% effective if given in 2 full doses, but 90% if given in a half dose then a full dose – how did that work? The government had ordered enough to vaccinate 50m people in the UK with 4m already in government storage, but it wasn’t even licensed yet! Boris promised MP’s an end to the national lockdown on 2^nd December. Nationwide, non-essential shops, hairdressers and gyms would be allowed to open, but we’d all be in tiers again.

In tier 1, pubs could open, with a curfew and an hour drinking up time. In tier 2, there’d be no ‘wet pubs’ but eateries were allowed. In tier 3, only take-away and delivery was permitted. Kier called the strategy ‘risky’ as previously, the tier system led to areas drifting from one level to another and those in tier 3 seeing ‘no way out’. At the press conference, The Bumbler said many regions would be in higher tiers than before and wittered in his ridiculous metaphors: “(we) could now hear hooves as well as bugles coming over the hill,” but warned it would be months until everyone was vaccinated, and this was “the season to be jolly careful.” The Good Law project and Runnymede Trust sued Boris and The Cock for discrimination by appointing their crony mates to key Covid roles including Dildo, Kate Bigham and Mike Coupe (ex-Sainsburys’ boss). They called for a judicial review as fair competition rules were not followed, the jobs weren’t advertised, were unpaid thus not open to all, and breached the 2010 Equality Act – appointees were all white and able-bodied.

The Oxford Dictionary declared it impossible to select one ‘word of the year’ and listed 16. Not surprisingly, many were Covid-related including coronavirus, Covid-19, pandemic, superspreader, furlough, lockdown, moonshot, remote, staycation, unmute and zoombombing.

At the mercy of terrestrial telly in the evening, we watched Dispatches – Is Covid Racist? on Channel 4. The most startling revelations were that Filipino nurses were at scandalously high levels of risk in the early stages of the pandemic and 100% of doctors who died were black or minority ethnic. BMA surveys showed they were under more pressure to work in Covid wards with inadequate PPE. PHE found historic structural inequalities but the government denied racism. Cowardly Ministers declined to appear on the programme sending a mealy-mouthed statement instead. Dr Ronx Ikharia concluded there were uncomfortable issues to address that must be faced up to.

Phil complained about the amount of news and current affairs we’d viewed. “It’s not my fault we can’t watch escapist nonsense with no internet, is it?”

On a grey Tuesday, I texted my walking friend for an update. Required to wear full PPE including a visor, all she could see when working was a reflection of her own face. (I was later relieved to hear it didn’t say ‘face shield’ on it). I sympathised and asked her to keep me posted. I worked on the journal, then ‘Maple Leaves’ collage and declared it finished. Later in the week, I applied a coat of PVA and weighed it down with heavy books to seal it. I meant to do yoga in the afternoon but with no energy, I spent time in bed reading and trying to get warm, before a spot of guitar in the evening.

Having been assured they were fixing our phone line, it turned out they lied- putting the job on a list doesn’t mean fixing it! They then told Phil it was being done the next day, meaning they hadn’t even started. “That’s outrageous!” I exclaimed. “What if you’re old, live alone and don’t have a mobile?” “Don’t worry,” he assured me, “I’ve shouted very quietly at them and put in a claim for the 5 days of no phone or internet.”

Look North reported on the Astra-Zeneca antibody trial; an alternative for those who couldn’t have a vaccine. As 70% of the population had to be immunised for efficacy, we discussed the issue of vaccine take-up. I thought the idea of not allowing travel without it was fair enough, if it could be implemented. After all, you already needed certain jabs to go to particular regions of the world. “The hippies can stay in their little hovels. Anyway, a lot of sceptics and ant-vaxxers might come round from an altruistic viewpoint. I’m more worried the government will screw it up: ‘Oops! It was stored in the wrong fridge. The dog ate it. Sorry!’”

Following a cobra meeting involving the devolved leaders, the UK-wide agreement on enabling family Christmas dinners was confirmed. Between 23-27 Dec, up to 3 households could mix, in homes, churches or outdoors, but not in hospitality venues, with travel across borders allowed. Why on earth had they made it so people had to travel on a Sunday when the next day was a bank holiday? Bad enough on the rails with weekend engineering, Shatts told us not to use trains due to restricted capacity and Simon Calder popped up to say Kings Cross would be closed from 24^th December for a week. Cue road traffic mayhem! Bemused by ultra-cautious Wales agreeing to this ‘rule of 3’, Drakeford explained they’d had to find “a guided way to Christmas…(otherwise the) risk was very high that people would make up the rules.” Prof. Medley intoned: “we’re in a process…whereby the population’s risk of filling up the NHS is… being passed down to… individuals.” Prof. Hayward said it was: “throwing fuel on the Covid fire,” adding we were in ”danger of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.” As most opinion polls showed the majority of people didn’t think it was worth the risk with vaccines on the horizon, we observed that the call for a ‘normal’ Christmas was whipped up by TV news presenters already donning reindeer antlers: “bunch of babies!”

On the eve of Rishi Rich’s spending review, Mayor Burnman warned the north faced an economic crisis worse than the 1980’s. Trump instructed his team to make ready for Biden but denied that meant he had lost and vowed to continue legal fights.

The Big Freeze

Wednesday, work on the journal became difficult. I needed the internet to fill in news gaps and fact-check. We set off on the shopping expedition to the next town, postponed from the previous week.

Astounded at the price of the bus fare, we hoped it would be worthwhile. On the journey, we chatted to an old pub mate. He asked why he’d not seen any apple pictures on Facebook recently. I told him about the internet issues and how disgusting it was taking 5 days to fix it. “Yeah. I’m elderly and live alone. It would be awful.” The larger town market was even worse than ours, with only 3 stalls occupied. The indoor Market Hall was a better prospect. A purveyor of what we called ‘posh nosh’ was back. Due to health reasons, he’d stopped trading outdoors. “Our Sunday Market’s not the same without you.” I told him. “Well, it’s not the same full stop.” Phil wryly added. We availed ourselves of tasty local pies. The excellent café where we’d normally have bargainous all-day breakfasts displayed a sign for take-away chicken burgers. “Other burgers are available” a customer helpfully told us. “Thanks mate but it’s too late.” We sat in the community garden to eat among long shadows, nibbled brassica and straggly thyme obscured by leaf fall. Phil developed a headache as I headed to B&M. “You don’t need to come in with me.” “But I might miss something!” He made a bee-line for more spam.

In Lidl, we got some of the goodies we sought but the German speciality section was nowhere near as good as it used to be. A staple of festivities since childhood when my maternal granddad sent a box straight from the Nuremberg factory, I couldn’t have Christmas without the traditional treats. Imagine my horror at the stollen now in a luxury box at twice the price, and no spekulatius! Already fraught by the time we got home, I got a sharp pain in my lower back when sorting groceries, suggesting a pulled muscle. His headache persisted and he explained the trials of his brain resolving vision issues with his bad eyes. What a pair we made! On the plus side, we had internet. I caught up on news and deleted a pile of e-mail junk.

Rishi’s spending review started with the headlines ‘economic emergency’ and ‘deepest recession for 300 year’. In fact, 1709 was the year of the big freeze. There was a Public Sector pay freeze excepting NHS staff and those on less than £24k who would get an insulting extra £250. Dodds said: “The chancellor… clapped for key workers. Today (he) institutes a pay freeze for many of them. In contrast, there has been a bonanza for those who have won contracts… wasted and mismanaged public finance on an industrial scale… (and) takes a sledgehammer to consumer confidence.”

A plethora of unions decried the pay freeze. Rehan Azam, of GMB said (Rishi was) “on a collision course with public sector workers… we fought the public sector pay cap before and we busted it.” Mark Serwotka,of PCS and Mick Cash of RMT predicted industrial action. Meanwhile, Gail Cartmail of Unite called the £250 for the lower paid: “insulting, and compares badly with the inflated sums the government has wasted on PPE contracts for those with links to the Tory establishment.”

The living wage was going up 2.2%, there would be a £3bn ‘restart’ for the unemployed plus more dosh for Jobcentres and £4bn for ‘levelling up’ projects with a National Infrastructure Bank based in the north. £555bn would be spent on Covid in 2021; £18bn for PPE, tests and vaccines. What was the rest for? Rich tories? Overseas aid was cut from 0.7 to 0.5% of GDP, breaking a manifesto pledge. Baroness Sugg resigned saying it was ‘fundamentally wrong’, Justin Welby called it ‘shameful’ and Malala Yousafzai feared for girls’ education. Scathing attacks came from ex-PM’s Cameron, Major, Blair and Brown.

NAO reported £10bn wasted due to a lack of PPE supplies at the start of the plague. At PMQs, Keir asked for transparency on the waste of public money on useless equipment. The Cock told workers to stop ‘soldiering on’ when they were sick: “( the British are) peculiarly unusual for going into work when unwell.”

Vaccine hopes helped airline share prices soar and from 15^th December, quarantine could be reduced if travellers paid for a test that came back clear. P&O Cruises cancelled sailings until April 2021 due to ‘uncertainty around European ports of call’.

In The Hands Of The Gods

I arose feeling iffy on a misty Thursday but soldiered on. Phil again made porridge, leaving a nasty pan to wash and the gas ring on which got me riled. Controversial legendary footballer Diego Maradona died the previous day. Metro stole the show with their ‘in the hands of god’ headline. Belatedly posting the week’s blogs took ages, leaving time for little else. In the evening we viewed some much-missed escapism on Prime before reverting to current affairs. Justine Greening appeared on Newscast calling the government too short-sighted. Ex-ministers were always wise after the fact, weren’t they?

An update on the tiers from 2^nd Dec confirmed 99% of England’s population would be in the higher tiers. Only Cornwall, the Isle of Wight and the aptly named Scilly Isles would be in tier 1. Predictably, London was in tier 2 but at least Liverpool dropped from tier 3 to 2 due to sterling efforts. Manchester and all of Yorkshire except for North Yorks were in tier 3. The government promised an MP vote next week and a review on 16^th December. The postcode checker went live before the official announcement, causing chaos and the website to crash. Referencing the clearly coloured map of the country, Phil asked: “why do you need the postcode checker? You’d have to be an idiot to not know what area you live in!”

Pubs said it was their ‘darkest moment’ as Mitchells & Butlers announced 1,300 job losses (affecting All Bar One, Harvester and Toby Carvery – was that still a thing?) On Look North, Peter Kelly of PHE said while Leeds and Sheffield had lower infection rates than London, hospitals were under more pressure. Was that due to capacity, I wondered, and what about Nightingale hospitals? Curious, I researched the tier criteria, which were: number of infections overall, number of infections in the over 60’s, the rate at which cases went up or down, the number of positive tests, and pressure on the NHS.

But I didn’t find an answer to what on earth Prof. Kelly referred to as ‘the council of councils’. “That sounds a bit Gormenghast!”

Still feeling ropy Friday, I also had bad guts. Moaning at the injustice, I skipped morning exercise. I had a cheeky look at Oxfam Black Friday deals and asked Phil oblique questions to ascertain if an antique camera was worth the asking price. It wasn’t. That saved me a few quid! The co-op was very busy but manageable. Phil caught up with me in the seasonal aisle where I again searched surreptitiously for possible gifts. As he had a coupon for £5 off if he spent £50, we loaded the trolley with extra wine. After lunch, I spotted my elderly next-door neighbour with another woman hovering near the wall. I stood on the threshold to chat. They were assessing her garden for a possible spruce-up. Following a heart op early in the year and extended convalescence, she looked much better and said she felt it too. She was of course mystified by Phil’s cyber-jobs.

Sage gave the R rate as 0.9-1 but said infections and deaths were still high. How did that reconcile? Minister Jenrick suggested some areas might go down the tiers on 16^th December, but Prof. John Edmunds warned it was too soon. Gains of the Welsh firebreak were ‘eroded’ leading to new restrictions and NI started one of their own, to last 2 weeks.

Overnight cold persisted into Saturday, and mist obscured any daylight. With no inclination to go outdoors, I finished editing the journal, cleaned the bathroom, and watched lots of telly, joking about ‘Brexit Box’ in the ad breaks. “Soon, that will be all we can watch,” predicted Phil. After dinner, we watched films and drank red wine.

Sunday, we both slept very late. “That’s red wine for you!” Attempting to dress and breakfast quickly, the old bread had gone mouldy meaning I had to wrangle a new loaf out of its wrapper. With no hope of sourcing decent veg by that time, the idea of going to the market was abandoned. Instead, Phil went to the co-op and used another coupon for free roast spuds. We discovered they didn’t save any time and looked raw, well after the recommended cooking time, while the accompanying pies were burnt. Bizarrely, it all tasted good. I fetched angel chimes and advent candles from the attic – yes; that time of year already!

Rabid Raab on Marr said we risked a third wave if MPs didn’t vote for the tiers and hinted that regions might split to better reflect varying infection rates. To further ameliorate revolting backbenchers, Boris wrote to them promising that tiers would be reviewed every 2 weeks, some regions could move down a tier from 16^th December, another MP vote at the end of January, to publish evidence on which decisions were based, and a ‘sunset’ clause of 3^rd February. Negotiating with nature again, he’d obviously been listening to The Oracle of Manchester (aka a woman interviewed in the street) who announced it would all be over by Easter. The government ordered 2m extra Moderna vaccines. Amidst an ever-more confusing picture, 7 brands were on order in total, none yet licensed*. So much for roll-out from 1^st December. It was all too late for Dave Prowse, of Green Cross Code and Darth Vader fame, who died of Covid-19.

Covid dreams returned. That night, I had one suggesting it was wise to keep social distancing but not worry too much about cleanliness. That wouldn’t stop the incessant washing of hands and food though!

*Note: Full list of vaccines on order by the UK government: 1. Oxford University/Astra-Zeneca 2. Moderna 3. Pfizer/Biontech 4. Novavax 5. Valneva 6. GSK/Zanofi 7. Janssen.

Reference:

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

Part 31 – What Did That Even Mean?

“The urge to destroy is also a creative urge” (Bakunin)

Trumpzilla

The blog-posting was much less stressful Monday morning, leaving the afternoon clear to start work on the next instalment of the journal. However, my eyes went funny so I had to stop. I took the rubbish out to be hit in the face by a straggly branch near the door. I lopped at the offending shrub in the planter, as professionals cleared a garden across the street. We exchanged hellos and sightings of the pheasant that lived there. They invited me to put my cuttings in their waste bags which was nice. In the evening, I felt a bit iffy and very tired, possibly due to the overwhelming amount of news.

Useless Therese Coffey was wheeled out on BBC Breakfast to defend the TIT Excel spreadsheet debacle, spouting the usual party line. With the mislaid cases added, Manchester had the highest rate, followed by Liverpool, with Newcastle, Notts and Leeds close behind. An estimated 48,000 missed contacts could be spreading the virus. Labelled ‘more than shambolic’ by Jon Ashworth, even Matt Cock couldn’t come up with an excuse. MP Mrs. Green asked why Dildo still had a job. Paris bars were shut and Wales considered quarantine for holidaymakers from English ‘hotspots’. 27 animals at risk from Covid were named. “Poor things! They should be shielded!” I quipped.

Having previously assured backbenchers there wouldn’t be a tax hike, Rishi Rich hinted there might be, to pay for the Covid response. Speaking at the Tory Conference, he made no apology for the meal deal as it saved jobs, fomenting speculation on a spat between him and Boris. In his speech the next day, The Bumbler denied any rift, saying Rishi was doing a grand job. He wittered about ‘lefty human rights lawyers’…who ‘hamstrung’ the legal system. Lawyers were rightly appalled at his apparent disregard for a fair system. Angela Rayner called his talk of building a ‘new Jerusalem’, investment in windfarms and ports in The North and funding care through the ‘magic of averages’ (whatever the hell that meant) “the usual bluster”. To increase home-ownership, rather than build more affordable homes, he ridiculously planned to force banks to offer 95% mortgages.

Trump was discharged from hospital, causing alarm, appearing on the White House balcony and pointedly removing his mask as aides milled about in the background. He urged Americans to not “fear the virus”, claimed flu was more deadly, and Covid-19 could be treated with ‘great drugs’ which all US citizens would have as: “it’s not your fault; it’s China’s fault”. Facebook removed his posts as misleading. Twitter said while against policy, they’d left tweets up for ‘the public good.’ What did that even mean? Later in the week, his twittering went ballistic, even for him. some speculated he’d gone insane with all the steroids no doubt compounded by the oxygen he’d been pumped with. Or maybe it was the unlicensed antiviral Regeneron (also catchily named REGN/COV-2) – shares in the drug company sky-rocketed). Insisting he was no longer infectious, he refused to take part in a second election debate online. We played around with cartoon names such as Trumpzilla and The Incredible Trump, later discovering they were already long-running jokes in the states.

Tuesday I still felt iffy and considered a day in bed. Deciding against it, I made a big effort to get up, did a spot of housework and writing before going to the co-op. My specs completely steamed up meaning I could hardly see to pay at the kiosk. I made a quick exit via the back door to immediately remove the stupid mask. Sorting groceries, one of the bags touched my face which led to an interminable cycle of hand-cleansing between food-handling until I remembered to wash my face with clean hands. As I huffed and puffed, Phil said I should have dumped the bags for him to sort later. “But I had to wash my face anyway. Not that we even know if any of it does any good. But we can’t stop now, that would be asking for trouble!”

On the day Johnny Nash of ‘I Can See Clearly Now’ fame and Eddie Van Halen died, Rishi Rich suggested musicians should re-train, showing no recognition of the contribution the creative industry made to the economy let alone any understanding of it being a compulsion, if not an obsession, to create – you couldn’t just turn it off and go work in Tesco! On Newsnight, Roisin Murphy said she was scared her kids would disappear into the matrix, now that everything was on VR.

In the face of a massive jump in hospital cases, Judith Coffee-cup of Leeds, along with leaders of Liverpool, Manchester and Newcastle, wrote a letter to the government. The Northern city leaders called the curfew ‘counter-productive’, asked for more powers to stop the surge in their regions such as punishing flouters, local decision-making on extra measures and local control of TIT.

Seeing Red

Odd dreams, including premonitions of an upcoming walk, disturbed my sleep. What did that mean? Midweek sunshine broke through the cloud cover of the previous two days. We planned to leave the house straight after coffee, but as whole chunks of the journal still to edit, it was 1 o’clock before I knew it. Phil was similarly occupied on his computer. So much for going out early! And we hadn’t even watched PMQs. Apparently, Kier asked Boris why Tory constituencies were let off regional restrictions and for an explanation of the scientific basis for the pub curfew (perhaps anticipating a divergence of policy next week).

We had a quick lunch before setting off arguably the quickest way to the single track road we’d visited in June, wishing to explore further. The mellowing tones of amber and green leaves scattered prettily on the ground, prompted us to amuse each other with improvised short-form poetry, unworthy of a wider audience. The road ended in a cul-de-sac, forcing us onto a slippery downward path. Arriving at the water’s edge, I dithered as the only way to cross was by stepping-stones. A gap between stones, a lump of people gathered on the opposite bank and a woman incessantly chucking a ball in the water for her dog to retrieve, created high anxiety. As Phil repeatedly asked why I couldn’t cross, I had a full-on panic attack and froze to the spot. The woman and dog moved on. The way clear, I considered braving the torrent when my walking boots sprung a leak – so that was that. We retreated to a wide patch of wet grass, moisture seeping between my toes, to squat on a convenient square stone and recover from the ordeal before going back the way we’d come. On the return, we agreed the route was indeed quicker than via the riverside. But there was the issue of the stepping stones. I then remembered my walking friend mentioning this yonks ago. (for a fuller description of the walk, see ‘Hey Ho! on Cool Places ).

Too late for a siesta, I flopped wearily on the sofa with coffee and biscuits and watched the news. Sturgeon announced that From Friday, indoor alcohol sales would be banned, coupled with a request to not use public transport across the central belt of Scotland. Prof Semple of sage said a national ‘circuit breaker’ was also needed in England to halt the plague. I later discovered the paper had been written a couple of weeks back but got little coverage. Roche admitted supply chain issues of vital testing materials and Greene King planned to shed 800 jobs.

Achy and tired, we both struggled Thursday morning. I soon got fed up with cleaning and switched to writing. Needing an item I’d forgotten at the chemist last week, I went to town after lunch. I was glad I hadn’t rushed to get to the market earlier. Absent stalls meant essentials were in short supply.

Speculation on the 3 tier system muted the idea of ‘traffic lights’. It seemed likely that Liverpool, Manchester and Newcastle would be in the red zone from next Wednesday, following an announcement on Monday and subsequent Commons votes. Ministers held a conference with Northern MPs but still hadn’t consulted local leaders. On Question Time, Manchester mayor Andy Burnman looked likely to burst a blood vessel as he said it was “Impossible to work with this government.”

Friday morning,I promoted my 2021 calendar and made a sale. Heading out for weekend supplies, large highway maintenance trucks blocked the street. The co-op was busy when I entered. I practiced my breathing to prevent seeing red. The queue had died down when I got to the till, with only a woman from down the road ahead of me. We spoke about the vehicle blockage: “what are they doing? “I asked and they said ‘roadworks’. She replied. She then blathered on about the mill development and recalled when they’d done the last one, the lower level was meant to be parking but had changed to what she referred to as ‘bed-sits’. “Well, they do have a mezzanine.” I said. She continued to berate the powers that be, and decried the Coronavirus laws as illegal. She was right but I wished I’d never started! I’d hardly bagged up the shopping when the cashier requested payment. “Sorry. I’m normally very fast, as you know.” The purchases (which included the ‘freezer filler’ deal), were too much for me to carry. I looked around for Phil who was meant to come and help. Where the hell was he? I moved near the main door and rang him. I could tell he was still sat on the sofa. “Oops! 2 minutes!” Back home, we discovered a new technique of me holding packaging while he grabbed the food out with clean hands.

Covid-19 cases doubled in a week. A React study found the virus was spreading twice as fast in the North West, Yorkshire and the West Midlands compared to England as a whole. As TIT reached a record low just when cases hit a high, 1,600 students at Newcastle and Northumbria Universities tested positive and a post-box in Nottingham was clogged with home testing kits. Sky news reported the TIT app had only alerted 1 person to transmission within a venue (aka ‘common exposure setting’). Either there was none in pubs or, more likely, the app was crap. Hospital waiting lists also reached a peak. Alarmingly, Calderdale Hospital urged us not to go to A&E unless we were dying. Should we be worried?

The Bumbler probably thought the appointment of Allegra Stratton as his spokesperson to ‘communicate with the nation’ via press briefings would be very presidential, but it smacked more of 1984. Rishi Rich announced expansion of the Job Support Scheme. Dubbed furlough mark 2, two thirds of wages of those in sectors affected by additional restrictions (i.e., hospitality and entertainment), would be paid by The Treasury. Edinburgh Woollen Mill, also owners of Peacock’s and Jaeger (an odd combo), went into administration.

It rained all night and was still chucking it down on a cold Saturday morning. For once, we hadn’t drunk too much or gone to bed too late for a Friday, but I still didn’t have enough sleep. Phil couldn’t move his mouth as he’d slept on his jaw. I made sure he hadn’t had a stroke, just be sure, and suggested he might need to use his mouth-guard after several years without. I stayed in doing boring stuff round the house and a bit of writing. Glancing out the window, I spotted the shed people going out at 2, she all dolled up in a tiny skirt and no tights . ‘Well,’ I thought ‘they need to start early to get their 8 hours drinking in before curfew’. Phil went to buy beer and reported seeing a dead rat on the way out. Kids playing in the street bizarrely didn’t know what it was. I fetched a shovel to move it. Expecting to be grossed out, I actually found it rather pretty. Unlike ones we used to see in London underground, all black and straggly, this one had clean light fur and excellent teeth. What at first looked like its guts spilling out, turned out be a leaf in seasonal hues of green and brown. A cat stalked near the garden. I chased it off but as my back was turned to bury the rodent near the far wall, the moggy tried to sneak through the open front door. I approached it aggressively, shouting: “Piss off, rat killer!” When Phil go back with the booze, we discussed why people were scared of rats. Okay, they did carry the plague in the olden days but otherwise, they were a crucial part of the ecosystem. Although we hardly ever saw them, they surrounded us. We’d probably be overrun by worse vermin otherwise. Evening film viewing was disturbed by people on the street below. Sat round a brazier in the middle of street, they watched a massive telly. Music blared in an indiscernible language translated via subtitles. Were they showing off with some posh opera?

Frazzled

Sunday, Phil didn’t comment on a dazzlingly bright start until I did. “Did you clean the windows?” “Of course not. It’s the sun!” Making brekkie, the bacon frazzled so fast I became frazzled myself. We escaped outdoors. The stunning autumn colours sizzled in the light as we walked down the main road, busy with walkers and cars, and turned up towards a wood we’d not visited for some time. Previously approached from the top, we were unsure of the best way and hiked up a bank. Noting extremely overgrown tiny steps, we turned up the next track before it got stupidly steep to wind up through woodland. We almost walked into a private garden then saw a yellow arrow signifying the public path.

Very muddy where springs sprung from adjacent meadows, I found a stick to help me cross safely. Heading back down, we rested on a memorial bench. Enjoying views across the valley, we exchanged cheery greetings with a woman we knew passing by with her daughter. “She’s grown.” Said Phil. “That’s because we haven’t seen them for ages.” On the home stretch, a woman stopped to enquire if it was me who wrote the walking article in Valley Life. “It’s really good!” She enthused. So far, positive feedback had mainly been from friends and acquaintances. Praise from a total stranger , on the day the latest edition hit doormats, made me fizz with happiness!

Inevitably hungry and tired from the walk, we ate a calorific lunch and watched telly.

Trump again raised concern with a rally at the White House. Although only a few hundred attended, they were tightly packed. The event was viewed as grossly irresponsible; the last one proved to be a ‘super-spreader’ event leading to many cases, including Trump himself, and this was the first of several planned for the week. The President’s medic insisted he was no longer infectious. Was Regeneron a true wonder drug, responsible for regeneration of The Trump? That might be why it would be rolled out in UK hospital trials. Meanwhile, Exeter university were set to trial the BCG vaccine. Developed in 1921 for TB and since used globally, it might afford some protection against coronavirus, acting as a bridge before specific vaccines were proven.

On the Westminster front, Local Government Minister Rob Jenrick told Andrew Marr that local leaders were being consulted before the announcement on the three tiers, with additional measures being “co-designed with Mayors.” What did that even mean?

While cricket and raves occurred on the streets of London, The Cock sparked outrage ordering a round in the commons bar, reportedly after the 10 p.m. curfew: “The drinks are on me… but Public Health England are in charge of the payment methodology so I will not be paying anything.”

In the evening, I edited the photos I’d taken. Backing up proved slow and I assumed it was due to crap OneDrive. Much later, Phil suddenly declared the internet ‘rubbish’, turned the router off and on again and randomly started tidying the sideboard. “Do you have to do that now?” I complained angrily. Thus ending the day newly frazzled. For the second Sunday night running, I needed the meditation tape to get to sleep, in spite of extreme fatigue.

References:

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

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

Part 27 – A Week Of Two Halves

A Close Shave

Hard to get up when the alarm sounded at 7.30 a.m. Monday morning, a mixture of excitement and apprehension cut through the fatigue. I engaged auto-pilot to prepare for our first break away from home since March. As the trip to Blackpool celebrated Phil’s birthday, this one to Southport marked mine. A trouble-free train journey was broken by a half-hour wait at Wigan, spent reading poems. Inscribed on the buffet windows, bright lights shone through peeling letters, making them hard to decipher. In Southport, we exited the station to gratefully remove our face-masks and walked through the busy streets to the apartment I’d booked.

in what turned out to be an eclectic area, the street buzzed with life. Boy racers lovingly worked on their car next door; a photo of Putin stared form a window across the road; minibuses collected workers (for field or factory?) in the early hours; vans delivered supplies to an Indian restaurant on the corner; two men navigated a cherry-picker to reach a roof, the blurb on the cab proclaiming ‘tree prooning’ (sic) among their services.

After a bit of a faff getting the room key out of the box with the twiddly buttons, we accessed the flat, unpacked, freshened up, ate a quick lunch, and headed back out to Lord Street. Perusing pubs and eateries, we were shocked how busy it was. So much for everyone being back at work and school! We confirmed a nice brasserie would be open for a birthday dinner and visited the quirkiest baccy shop in the land. With a window-display of clocks, watches and gaudy ornaments, the casual observer would never guess it actually sold fags. Across the road, a man on one of the many benches shouted at anyone within earshot that he was the mayor. “Well, he might be.” Quipped Phil. By the time we’d stocked up in Sainsbury’s, walked back and sorted the shopping, we were too tired to leave the flat again. Phil cooked dinner, we drank prosecco, caught up on news (regional travel corridors were now a thing) and cheekily logged into Netfilix to watch a film. I just about managed to stay up until midnight for him to wish me happy birthday.

Predictably scant sleep meant another weary start to Tuesday. A leisurely birthday morning (shared with the popstar Pink), involved gift-giving and my favourite brekkie before a short excursion. At the station, we waited in a queue snaking round the aisles of the booking office-cum-shop. Unable to see round the corner, we waited impatiently. As we navigated a magazine stand, we discovered only 2 people ahead of us, thus at a loss as to what had taken so long.

The regular stopping train took us to Hall Road. It was a short walk to Blundellsands, marking the start of Anthony Gormley’s ‘Another Place’ installation. Lots of space on the beach in spite of numerous people and dogs, we walked towards the sea. The soft sand squidged between my toes as we proceeded towards Crosby. A stick with rungs and a light on top stood in the middle of an inlet, as sand floated away in chunks. Fascinating as the phenomena was, we realised the tide was coming in, and unhurriedly started to retreat. Phil suddenly strode across a big stretch of water. Too wide for me, I walked back to a spot that looked more passable. And then my leg sank. Scared, I called out loudly to him. “I’m sinking!” “It’s only a couple of inches. Carry on!” “But my jeans are already covered to the knee!” “Trust me. I grew up round this stuff.” I gulped and went for it, inevitably sinking several times. Reaching safer ground, I was absolutely splattered! He had a similar experience but insisted it was because he was trying to get to me – likely story! Further along the shoreline we found a safer stretch to wash some of the mud off, then sat on concrete steps at the edge of the beach, to expunge more muck and dry out, thankfully aided by the warm afternoon sun. Concerned he’d only brought 1 pair of shoes for the whole break which were now soaked and muddy, he said they’d be fine “but Jasper Conran would not be happy.” Spotting the roof of Crosby sports centre (the starting point of our first visit to see the sculptures three years ago), I suggested we seek facilities. . Large signs on the beach access road pointed to rows of porta-loos in the carpark. A more comfortable walk back to the station, partly on sand, partly on prom, with a picnic break, enabled us to take in archetypal British seaside scenes. OAPs on deck-chairs, binoculars trained on the horizon (no doubt checking for illegal foreigners), summed it up nicely. In Southport again, Phil bought take-away coffees from a cheap bakery and nipped in Sainsburys for shoe-cleaning stuff. I waited in a small garden with an ornate fountain, fending off approaches from a man on the next bench. “I’m waiting for my boyfriend.” That got rid of him. Seated opposite the shop entrance, I observed a steady stream of taxis disgorging unmasked punters and drivers, until Phil finally re-appeared. “No-one knows what shoe polish is anymore.”

A Close Encounter

We finished the mediocre coffee with cake at the flat, showered, changed,and stuck jeans in the washing machine. Unable to fathom how it could possibly be a washer/drier as I’d been told, we hung them on radiators. Rested and cleansed, we headed back out for the evening. Hoping to catch sunset at the lakeside, we realised it was in the wrong place! We settled on wandering about in soft twilight, circuited Kings Gardens, round to the pier and onto the modern steel bridge leading back to Lord Street. Phil had booked the favoured bistro. Eating in an actual restaurant felt very special and I was comforted by ample space between diners and fountains of hand gel. But the experience was marred by an altercation at the end of our meal. A family group seated opposite, stood to take photos, and came within inches of our table. I politely asked a woman to move away which she did, only for another member of the party to make a show of brushing past Phil, making contact with his back. They then accused Phil of hitting them! Angry that my birthday evening had been ruined, I spoke to the waiting staff. Apologetically, they moved us to the back of the restaurant, allowing us to recover. They returned to present me with a pudding tray. Filled with every dessert on the menu and ‘happy birthday’ written in chocolate, it definitely made up for the unpleasantness! Too stuffed to eat or drink any more, we settled on a brew before going to bed.

The WHO said due to being too relaxed over summer, virus spikes were inevitable in the UK. Boris announced the new ‘Rule of 6’. From Monday 14^th September, it would be illegal for close encounters of more than half a dozen people, indoors or out. Scotland and Wales followed suit but excluded under 12’s. Shocking testing delays were blamed on labs and, according to Matt Cock, on too many ‘non-eligible’ people requesting tests. He was telling us get them the other week!

Fruits De Mar

In spite of developing a sore throat in the early hours, I had a slightly better sleep and rose on Wednesday determined not to be ill. We walked to the far end of the lake, over small dunes and across to descend steps onto a marshy beach. Beinga careful of mud and puddles this time, I wryly observed that at least signs on sticks marked the danger zones clearly, unlike the previous day. We succeeded in hunting down samphire. Picking proved tricky without uprooting the plants. A woman with a pair of scissors inspired me to use the penknife attached to my rucksack which made cutting the greener tops easier. Assuming she knew what she was doing, it transpired during a chat that she didn’t. I’d hoped to get some handy tips but instead imparted knowledge on how to keep and cook the wild veg. Continuing to the pier, we walked on crunchy shells, wondered at a mysterious spur in the distance but couldn’t be bothered investigating. Climbing steps onto the boardwalk, a buffeting wind forced us to retreated inland. Hungry, we headed down back streets to the source of the best fish n chips, according to google, pausing to marvel at the Brexit number plate on a laundry van (someone actually paid real money for that!) and what Phil called the ‘worst Debenhams ever’. It was in fact the back door, although the shop itself was defunct along with all the other department stores. We took our bulging take-away trays to eat in the flat. They possibly were one of the best ever!

Stuffed again, we dozed on the sofa, freshened up and went back out to walk the length of Lord Street. Between the numerous dead shops, definitely significantly more post-Covid, most charity shops survived. Disappointingly, hardly any units were open in Wayfarers Arcade. We flouted the daft one-way system to capture fabulous shadows cast by wrought iron beneath the glass roof. At the far end of the street, we examined a plaque on the clock tower. Now marking the entrance to the Travelodge and Morrison’s, it proclaimed the site of the erstwhile station for trains to Chester ‘across the dunes. Puzzling over how the hell that worked, we deduced later that it explained the mysterious spur and vowed to make it a mission at a later date. Back in the central gardens, we sat on a bench, supped take-way coffee from Remedy, and laughed at the antics of drunkards and pigeons trying to look hard. We picked up a few supplies to supplement a picnic-style dinner before returning to the flat.

The samphire required copious rinsing and picking over to remove grit and hard stalks – so much easier when someone else did the hard work! Still, it went well with salmon and Polish bread from the shop round the corner. Despite being so tired I could hardly keep my head up, we forced ourselves to drink a remaining bottle of prosecco. (Well, we couldn’t take it home!) Preparing for bed, I forgot the phone in my pocket and did the classic thing of dropping it down the bog! Still working after a wipe when I plugged it in to charge, the screen went black. As it beeped alarmingly Phil entered the bedroom. He took the phone case off, and said “It’s sopping wet. How many times have you washed it?” Not wanting to admit what I’d done, I was evasive. He seemed to get it working but not for long. Eventually, I had to own up. He placed the phone on top of the boiler and it appeared to recover overnight. Later in the week, unused features activated unbidden. The screen reverted to black and muzak emanated from the mic. Trying to get the icons back, I took a series of random photos. Luckily, one displayed a screenshot saying ‘accessibility shortcut is on’ enabling us to fix the issue. Another crisis averted!

On top of Pizza Express closing 73 restaurants, Jobs were going at Pizza Hut and Lloyds Bank. Boris tabled theInternal Markets Bill, allowing goods from NI unfettered access to the UK and making EU state aid rules clear. Ministers claimed the bill was a ‘safety net’ in case of a no-deal Brexit. An amendment to the finance bill planned to give government powers to designate which goods from GB to NI could enter the single market and thus be liable to EU tariffs. Effectively overriding the Withdrawal Agreement, Brendon Lewis admitted it broke international law. Several past leaders railed against the government including Brown and May who said it damaged trust in the UK. Needless to say the EU were not happy: if the UK wanted a free trade deal, there must be “no back-tracking” and threatened legal action. At one of his daft briefings, Boris gave more detail on the ‘rule of 6’ and rabbited about ‘moonshot’ tests. Another ridiculous target of 10 million a day with results in minutes. Yet they still failed to get the basics right!. He announced ‘Covid-secure’ marshals in towns and cities. Not mandatory and town halls footing the bill, only councils awash with Tory cash would be able to pay them.

Back To Reality

Thursday morning, my sore throat returned and still exhausted, I knew I was in for another bout of sinusitis. We had no option but to get up and ready for the off by 11.00. As we made to leave the flat, piled laundry bags suggested the cleaner was already in the building. With an hour and a half before our booked train home, we wheeled our cases round town and went in the market hall. I remembered it was carp but not that crap, Not even a pie to be had! In need of coffee, sitting at a table outside Remedy seemed safer than a garden bench with the luggage. The tiny cup was a rip-off compared to take-aways. ‘Safe distance’ stickers marked paving throughout the centre. On the way to the station, one in particular caught my eye as layers of graffiti summed up differing opinions of the pandemic.

The ‘bus train’ stood at the platform. we grappled with the lack of baggage spac and did our best to sit comfortably during the unfamiliar route via the Covid hotspot of Bolton, alighting at Salford Crescent. During the wait for our connection, we negotiated the steep steps to the station exit for a snack. Surveying dismal surroundings, Phil laughed: “I see no crescent.” With little but student flats in sight, we wondered what they’d done with the natives! A better train whizzed us across the Pennines. the local park was now busy with after-school kids. Barely able to drag my case by the time we got to the house, we dumped the lot, sorted some washing and went to lie down. Alas, the first siesta of the week was thwarted by the relentless noise of men doing stuff outside. Unable to ease my fatigue, severe back pain or sinuses, I almost cried with frustration. Preparing dinner, I could hardly stand. Was it the fatigue or the fact we hadn’t had a proper meal all day? A few hours decent night-time sleep was disturbed by hot flushes and worsening sinusitis symptoms.

Genuinely ill Friday, I was resigned to a stint in bed. After a bath, I fetched the laptop and made a start on a heap of tasks including work on the journal and photos from Southport. Discovering the co-op website showed all current offers and enabled ordering to ‘collect in store’, the search algorithm proved illogical. By the time I’d finished the order, my slot had timed out. What a waste of time! I wrote out a list for Phil to go shopping the old-fashioned way. Attempts to rest were again thwarted by the interminable noise of men with power tools. Phil came to sit with me at coffee time. His phone sounded an alert and he made for the front door just as my new ipad case dropped through the letter-box. Only ordered the previous night, a text told him it was a coming a second before it arrive. They miracles of modern technology! I ate dinner downstairs and stayed up to watch films but retired early.

As the UK R rate reached 1 plus, local restrictions came into force for Birmingham, and Portugal and Hungary were added to the quarantine list. The new TIT App was to be launched 24^th Sept. soon to be mandatory to take patron’s contact details, pubs were urged to display posters with QR codes for quick scanning. Amidst the Brexit wrangle, Liz Truss actually got her trade deal with Japan ‘in principle’, including PDO status for cheese. Her obsession had obviously paid off!

Saturday, I felt slightly better, but returned to bed after breakfast. The sheets really needed changing and dust expunged. I opened the window to get some fresh air, then shut it again sharpish against the onslaught of a blustery wind. I collapsed on the bed to recover before responding to an update from Elder Sis concerning mum’s affairs.

He displayed child-like excitement over Leeds United being in the premiership. Playing Liverpool in the first game of the season, it was a game of champions. They put on a creditable performance, losing by a narrow margin, in an empty stadium. Some lesser league matches had small audiences of actual fans but no pies – “What was the point of going then?” I asked.

On a very warm and sunny Sunday, I was still fatigued and unable to spend long out of bed. I edited photos from the trip and drafted a haiga. In addition to android sparking up features unbidden, leading to renewed Blue lines had appeared on the left side of my phone screen with issues on the key-press area housing the hash key. Phil concurred it was due to the dowsing and suggested I put it “in the hottest place you can find.” Moving it about in patches of sunlight the next couple of days improved the situation but I was resigned to the lines being permanent. It could be worse.

In the last hurrah before the ‘rule of 6’ came into force, several fines for gatherings were issued. Former PMs Blair and Cameron joined in the condemnation of Boris’ Internal Market Bill while a tory MP resigned and the Attorney General threatened to do so in the event of law-breaking. The fracas rumbled on into the following week.

Reference:

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

Part 24 – Omnishambles

Turkeys Voting For Christmas

I continued to be mainly bed-ridden for the first half of the week, observing a mainly grey scene occasionally broken up by thunder and rain. Phil looked better but left exhausted from pain over the weekend. Monday, I posted blogs and rested in the afternoon, unusually sleeping for 20 minutes. Feeling marginally better, I was cheered further by another huge government U-turn, on the A level results fiasco – bullied by a bunch of teenagers having a march! Phil said it boded well for negotiating trade deals with hard-faced Republicans after a no-deal Brexit! Gavin Salesman didn’t get sacked although rumours circulated that he had tendered his resignation, to be refused by Boris. I guessed the Bumbler was waiting for more fiascos with the GCSE results and schools re-opening in September: then Gavin would be for the chop ( as already hinted at). Later in the week, it emerged Ofqual had made the decision on the A level grades, but Gavin claimed it was his idea. They just couldn’t stop lying! Pathological!

The Railcard people asked for screenshots of full-priced tickets I’d purchased. I sent them on Tuesday, hoping for a refund. While not promised, why else would they ask?

I’d been annoyed at the lack of help at mealtimes, for which Phil apologised, saying he was busy. I kept schtum but if he would keep working all the time… while I stayed abed in the afternoon, he embarked on errands, which made him wobbly. I was really fed up and miserable at us both being ill. A woman from the other end of the street called round. While she talked to Phil on the doorstep, I eavesdropped out of view at the top of stairs and caught the odd word; ‘old mill development’ ‘ builders’ ‘ asbestos removal’. He agreed to be on the e-mail list. At about 10.00 p.m., she circulated a letter from the Street Action Group (SAG) to the developers, requesting comments by 5 p.m. the next day. Much too late for me, I planned to look in the morning, but forgot. I sat up watching Prime, then struggled to stand and berated myself for being out of bed so long. Regardless of fatigue, I tossed and turned with mind-churn. Thoughts randomly included the neighbour stuff (why were we only being included in the group now? Were we an afterthought?) The meditation soundtrack lulled me in and out of sleep but I didn’t settle properly until 4.00 a.m.

The news that PHE was to be abolished had seeped into the press overnight Sunday/Monday. In a move to deflect blame from the government, Matt Cock said their pandemic activities would merge with TIT in a new National Institute for Health Protection, effective from next month. And who got to head up this shiny new body? Yep. The incompetent posh Tory wife, Dildo Harding! The Cock denied cronyism, saying she was the best person for the job. Even the right-wing press proclaimed ‘omnishambles’. Where next for Gammons? If they wouldn’t stand for it, would backbench Tories rebel? Wasn’t that turkeys voting for Christmas? I predicted a resurgence of Brexit parties if the government collapsed and forced another election.

Moonshot

Wednesday, I really struggled after only a few hours’ sleep, but forced myself to get changed as my PJ’s stank. I straightened the bed and opened the window for some fresh air but had to close it sharpish as the dismal weather merged into tropical storm Ellen. I spent the rest of the day working on the laptop including a ‘response’ to StandUpX. New research showed face coverings reduced exposure to droplets by x10k, providing more ammunition and a useful illustration. Not that it stopped the hippies and gammons continuing to protest and spread misinformation about mask-wearing. (See image below).

The Cock hit the headlines again, bleating about mass population testing. The ‘moonshot’ tag made no sense. What the hell did that mean? Blair resurfaced to say the government were ‘running out of time’ to avoid a ‘second wave’. In Greater Manchester, the organiser of a Gorton house party last Saturday claimed only 20 people were invited but she had a massive gazebo in the garden. A ‘closure order’ banned anyone visiting for 3 months; effectively a ‘house lockdown’. Oldham faced possible pub closures while the mayor said it was pointless as people would just go to other areas within GMC and Yorks (was that why our town was always packed?)

Warm sun made a brief return on Thursday. Somewhat recovered and less fatigued after a better night, I performed a few stretching exercises in spite of the persistent achiness and tummy issues. Phil queried the rules about wearing masks in cinemas but not if eating: “so you could just continuously scoff popcorn. Then you wouldn’t need to wear one”. I spent the morning sat on the bed dealing with admin on the laptop. The Researcher had sent a mini-update on the project to which I replied but heard nothing further. I jotted down a very short list of presents for my birthday in a few weeks’ time. The thing about not buying stuff is you realise you don’t need any of it!

Lunchtime, I felt up to getting out in the sun and suggested going to a café with outdoor seating. The town centre inevitably heaved. We wandered up to the outdoor market. A dismal affair. Useful stallholders were absent, the gaps filled with pointless crap – on the one day it was meant to be real stuff!

We found a table outside the Turkish place and basked in sunshine. Eating al fresco at the med-style café as people strolled up and down in summer garb and buskers played, gave a holiday feel.

We visited a couple of charity shops. Phil found an old camera and I bought books (I got through novels at break-neck speed this year). After some aimless wandering, we sat on a bench near the old bridge. A crop of wild carrots studded with red poppies and yellow flowers attracted my attention, but the stench of dog poo and a fly infestation made me retreat from taking close-ups. Across the river, kids in baseball caps threw food at ducks. A small filming crew of a woman and two men came and stood by the railings. “Are we disturbing you?” they asked “No, we were going anyway.” One of the men said: “you don’t have to on our account. You won’t be in it and if you are, we’ll glam you up with the make-up kit.” “Are you saying we need glamming up?” I asked. “I meant him.” (indicating Phil). “I meant him too!” Phil asked what they were filming and the woman told us it was a short film about businesses’ flood resilience. A good location for that. Back home, I lay down again but unbale to rest, I went out to potter in the garden and bring flowers in. An earwig wove round the petals of a hydrangea bloom so I had to take it out again.

U Turn If U Want To…

Scientists at UCL claimed contact-tracing apps were unlikely to reduce the spread of coronavirus. Even if 80% of us used them, other measures were needed such as closure of indoor spaces. Meanwhile, kids were revealed as silent ‘super-spreaders’. They carried more virus when apparently healthy than seriously ill adults. Portugal was removed from the quarantine list but Croatia, Austria and Trinidad & Tobago were added. The government ignored Simon Calder’s plea to give more notice: effective from 04.00 Sunday, no flights were due to leave Croatia until after that time. Having been caught out himself, Shatts said things changed quickly and only travel if you are content to be quarantined when you come back.

It was reported that a boy of 16 from Sudan died crossing the channel in a dinghy, with a shovel for an oar. It later transpired he was a man of 26, but still a tragic casualty. Nasty Patel was accused of heartlessness. Pierre-Henri Dumont, National Assembly representative for the Calais region exclaimed: “How much will it take for the British to regain an ounce of humanity?” Detention Action, said: “We have repeatedly warned (Patel) it was only a matter of time before her toxic policy to deny safe and legal routes to the UK would cost lives. This death lies firmly at her door.”

Back on the exams front, record high GCSE grades were awarded following yet another U-turn and another reprieve for Gavin Salesman. Pearson’s delayed BTEC results, allegedly to be in line with higher A level marks.

Friday morning, Phil received a flurry of messages from SAG. All the neighbours were going outside at 9.30 to berate the developers for placing the asbestos suction machine too far into the road. What on earth did they expect them to do? Years ago, we attended a meeting to challenge the old mill development. The woman now leading the SAG’s main gripe was that people in the proposed flats opposite would see her knickers. A local expert on the matter informed her this would not be enough to overturn the planning permission, but a lack of infrastructure and parking might. A few of us agreed to take photos of the street at different times of the day to demonstrate how little space there was. As far as I know, I was the only one that did. Anyway, we lost that battle. I was glad I’d been left out of it this time! I tackled the worst of the grime in the kitchen and went to the co-op. We needed quite a big shop so Phil came to help carry stuff back. Dry when we set off, a ton of rain suddenly threw itself down. A man just about to exit swore: “where the fuck did that come from?” “The sky,” Phil giggled. We waited inside until the deluge abated somewhat and made our soggy way home. Things got fraught, sorting the purchases, washing bottles, and stuffing things in the fridge. Exhausted, I collapsed on the sofa. After lunch, I researched places to stay in Southport for my birthday. The favoured Clifton Spa was shut until further notice, which was a pain. I’d expected the large hotel to be safely open and anticipated a dip in the pool should the weather be too inclement for walking. Further searching uncovered a small self-catering apartment which I reserved.

As the R rate increased to as much as 1.1, restrictions were lifted in Wigan, Rossendale, and Darwen, but increased in Oldham, Blackburn and Pendle (no socialising or non-essential travel, but pubs stayed open). I hoped we didn’t face a similar scenario, disrupting birthday trip plans (at least we could cancel our accommodation for free up to 4^th Sept.). The M&S sandwich factory in Northants shut and The Cock rabbited about fines for non-compliance with quarantine. The tenant eviction ban was extended by 4 weeks; nowhere near enough to avoid an increase in homelessness in time for Christmas. Government debt reached £2 trillion, more than GDP, while Apple hit a net worth of £1.5 trillion. Almost enough to buy us out!

A Series of Slightly Unfortunate Events

On a changeable Saturday characterised by miniscule sunny spells amidst squally showers, I stayed home, wrote a haiku and fixed things – dead watches, jewellery and a phone stylus. Phil joined in the maintenance to replace overhead bulbs in the kitchen so we had light at last, and bodged the bedroom door which kept sticking (taking longer than anticipated of course). He also popped to the shop amid an alarming shower. As the rain became heavier, it was positively scary-sounding late into the night.

Sunday, I awoke fuzzy from mediocre sleep and watched aghast as a stupid woman on Sunday Morning Live said not everyone wanted a coronavirus vaccine as they might get tracked. This reference to the idiotic Bill Gates conspiracy nonsense went unchallenged!

Witless claimed the risks from kids missing school was greater than the adverse effects from coronavirus. Police reported more than 100 illegal gatherings over the weekend, including a rave in Deighton, Huddersfield. Boris planned to increase fines of up to £1,000 in time for the bank holiday weekend. I doubted that would stop them!

Unsure what to do on another wet day, I cleaned the bathroom leading to a series of slightly unfortunate events. As I shook rugs out the window, bits of hair and grit went everywhere creating another chore, then I managed to drag a scarf under my foot from the bedroom to the bathroom meaning I had to handwash it, then the tap fell to bits! Exacerbated, I noted the sun momentarily made an appearance and I considered going outdoors, when clouds immediately returned. I switched to sewing and settled in front of the telly, to be irritated further by an intermittent signal! Thoroughly fed up, I then developed a nasty stitch in my side just before dinner. It eased of slightly after eating but I could barely keep my eyes open and went to bed early. Regardless of the tiredness, sleep eluded me for some time.

Reference:

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

Part 23 – Down in The Dumps

The First Pint

The week started warm, muggy and overcast but rain only materialised in a pathetic dribble overnight. A dismal day of chores was brightened by a phone chat with the friend who’d messaged about mum last week. I was interested to learn that while the majority of her client contacts continued on a remote basis, she had started seeing them face-to-face in her role as a social worker.

Tuesday, I found a nasty spill in the fridge. Caused by defrosting prawns, the stinky pink goo seeped right down to the bottom shelf, making a helluvah yukky job to clean it out. I’d booked an annual boiler service, with a time-slot of 10-2. The phone rang several times duringthe day, usually stopping before we could pick up. Twice I caught it in time, to hear a robot tell us our Prime subscription was about to be renewed. Phil had already done it weeks ago! At 12.20, British Gas finally rang to say the engineer was running late and would arrive after 2. I told them it was not acceptable after waiting in all morning and changed the date so we could to go out for the afternoon. I planned to put the washing lines up first, but the window cleaner’s van arrived, making it impossible. Instead, I chatted to our elderly neighbour, thanking her for the condolence card. I related details of mum’s funeral and issues with Big Sis. In spite of my neighbour’s earlier claims she’d had Covid-19 years ago, she was surprisingly in agreement with me that it was better to err on the side of caution. Whingeing about having to wear a mask to visit the doctors, she accepted it as a courtesy for the protection of others.

We set off on a walk, through shady woodland to hillside settlements and dithered before cautiously approaching a country inn. Hitherto not open mid-week daytime, we espied a couple of punters with glasses in hand. Phil suggested a pint. I hesitantly agreed. This would be our first pub visit since lockdown! The front entrance extolled social-distancing and the application of hand-gel. Did I use the dispenser before or after turning the door handle? Chairs with more signage and gel bade us wait to be seated. A young lad directed us through the occupied beer garden to extra tables in the carpark. A short wait ensued for the table to be cleared and beer to be brought.

Although the pub instigated the majority of suggested measures, I was surprised that they didn’t clean the tables when people vacated, and the staff wore no PPE. I also realised later they hadn’t taken our details for ‘track and trace’. A fellow pub-goer of years gone by shouted over from the beer garden. We laughed as she said Phil looked like a significantly older regular at our one-time local. She then asked “is he still alive?” None of us had any idea! Predictably, Phil wanted food after one drink.

The lad went to fetch menus then told us they were fully booked for dinner. The draw of the mid-week Dishi Rishi meal deal!

The temperature dropped slightly as a gust of wind blew grey clouds upwards from the misty valley. A car pulled up and the landlady emerged, grimacing at the humidity. She agreed with me that a storm might come: “I like the proper ones.” We used the Covid-secure facilities littered with more hygiene notices before departing.

We walked back along tarmac, veering off lower down for the coolness of trees once more. Skirting the town centre, we considered eating at the Italian restaurant but pre-booking was essential. Dinner out scuppered, we went to the co-op for quick tea inspiration. (For a description of the walk, see Cool Placesⁱⁱ)

The return of hot sun on the speedy descent, made me rather fraught. Phil insisted on stuffing the groceries into his shoulder bag even though I had carriers for the purpose. Back home, I became angry as he slung the shoulder bag on top of a clean hand-towel I’d only put out that morning! I calmed down with a cooling ice lolly and reviving coffee.

Phil unearthed a story about Liz Truss spannering trade talks with Japan over Stilton cheese, demonstrating an incredulous lack of cultural awareness. Let’s not forget her 2014 tirade about the British cheese trade deficit being a ‘disgrace’. She really needed to let go of the cheese obsession!

The sound of soft rain and distant thunder at bedtime was quite relaxing hut failed to lull me to sleep. I sifted through crap in my head. All Covid-related, it encompassed the conversation with the neighbour and the pub visit. Unable to pinpoint specific concerns, I used the meditation soundtrack and eventually fell asleep but woke far too early.

Slumps And Slides

Hot and thirsty Wednesday morning I was unable to sleep in. I put a pair of shorts on for the first time in years. Slightly too small for me when purchased last year and thus never worn, they now hung off my waist! I spent the morning on boring housework, seething at hapless men every time I looked outside. A flabby, topless bloke sorted a binbag full of socks in front of the house, then another parked under our window, before driving right through freshly laundered towels. I’d only just put the dam things on the line!

We ventured out in the burning afternoon sun. Following a few errands, I suggested a visit to the park and bought ice cream cones from the café hatch. As we sat on the grass eating the fast-melting treats, I noticed Helios in the flowerbeds also melting. Their petals endearingly curled downwards in the heat. Walking back along the canal, it became even hotter on the aqueduct where a heron stalked on the island. In the shade of home, I lay on the bed hoping to catch up on sleep, but the bedroom seethed like The Med! Still unbearably humid in the evening, grey cloud cover suggested a proper storm might be in the offing at last. This would be a welcome relief as long as it was not too heavy – flooding and landslides caused havoc elsewhere, including a train derailment near Stonehaven in Scotland, leaving 3 dead.

UK deaths from Covid-19 and other causes were down, allegedly due to social distancing, hand-washing and mask-wearing. I’d always said don’t go to work if you have a cold!

On the other side of the planet, Auckland totally locked down after 4 confirmed cases – even I thought that was OTT, especially as the infected were all members of 1 family. None of them had travelled abroad and investigators were seeing if the virus arrived in NZ via freight. A well-known local conspiracy-theorist entered into a spat with our councillor, leading to some witty retorts on Twitter.

In other news, the expected recession was official. The April-June 20.4% slump was the worst in history and the worst of all developed countries. ‘World beating’ again!

The migrant wrangle continued throughout the week. On Monday, the MOD said it was ‘potty’ to use the Navy against desperate people while Boris promised to change the law to stop them coming, with no details on how.

Wednesday, government minister Chris Philpot went to Paris to discuss ‘measures’, again not spelt out.

Detention Action said no. 10 were ‘misleading the public’ and ‘must create a safe, legal route.’ The deputy mayor of Calais said ‘British hypocrisy’ was to blame – migrants came to the UK as it was easy to work in the black economy (ouch!) Nasty Patel retorted that dinghies crossed the channel because the French were racist – how to win friends and influence people!

I struggled to stay awake after dinner. With the severe lack of sleep recently, I hoped that was the cause and not that I was getting ill again. Thankfully, I had a much better night.

Thursday morning, it was cloudy and cooler, but storms had still not come. The Ocado delivery arrived as arranged. The driver moaned at length about the lack of turning space in our cul-de-sac, eventually conceding it was his problem. When he moved off, I hung bedsheets on the line for the first time in weeks. Sad it may be, but I’d missed the sweet smell of air-dried bedding A couple of hours later, I glanced out the window to see the washing pole at a dangerous angle. I went out planning to secure it, finding the sheets already dry, and delightfully scented.

News was dominated by the A level results debacle. Failing to learn the lessons from Scotland, the fireplace-salesman-turned-education minister Gavin Williamson, had come up with a bewildering selection of solutions for students unhappy with their grades, as moderated by an algorithm. As some grades dropped from a teacher-predicted A to a U, the government said appeals would be free. Students still marched on Westminster over the weekend, leading to the most spectacular U-turn yet.

BTEC students at Leeds City College had to wait until evening for their results due to a computer glitch. It served the college right for getting rid of all the people who could do stuff (including Phil).

In plague world, quarantine was finally imposed on travellers from France as well as Malta, Monaco, NL, Aruba and Turks & Caicos. Official stats changed to downplay deaths from Covid-19 while infections were not reported due to more ‘tech issues’, whatever that meant. A food factory in Northants which supplied butties to famous high-street chain M&S, had 200 cases of the virus – yuk!

With figures up in Bradford, Kirklees and almost everywhere else in Yorks (although slightly down in Calderdale and Leeds), local restrictions remained. Not that anyone took a blind bit of notice. Elsewhere, Boris announced further easement from Saturday, involving indoor theatres and music venues, casinos, bowling alleys, skating rinks, close contact beauty and soft play areas. Bemused by the crucial nature of such activities to the economy, I asked Phil: “what are you waiting for? Get out there to get your eyebrows threaded and jump in a ball pool!” Wedding receptions of up to 30 guests were also now permitted and piloting of sporting events with spectators including the world snooker final and some conferences could take place.

Friday morning, I woke tired and achy after another crap night, bur forced myself out to the co-op. I brandished a voucher for something called ‘Echo Falls raspberry and lavender.’ A helpful assistant directed me to the seasonal shelf. “Oh. It’s one of them wines with no alcohol in it.” I said. Laughing, she replied “It’s got 5%. You know, for daytime.” “I don’t do daytime drinking.” “it’s about time you started!”

In the afternoon, I wrote a blog for Cool Places and pottered in the garden. The young neighbour’s small child ran amok, pulling leaves off shrubs. As he came dangerously close and attacked my hydrangea, I told him not to take things without asking. Tongue-in-cheek, I called over to dad: “Oi! Haven’t you taught your toddler social distancing?” Knowing full well they had no such concept.

Malaise

At the weekend, the weather reverted to type: cool, damp and overcast. Saturday cloud was forecast to lift but it didn’t. I felt really tired, and Phil had terrible pain. I eventually took painkillers which made him drowsy. He resisted the urge to sleep even though it would have done him good. He lolled on the sofa, going slightly doolally. I baked a chocolate and orange cake. Adapted from an easy BBC recipe, I whisked until there were bubbles in the mixture but it still didn’t rise much. It tasted great though, if I say so myself. I took a pile of recycling to the bins. The young couple looked as though they’d invited their entire extended family for a barbecue in the middle of the street – following the local restrictions to the letter (not!) Phil fought through the drug-induced loopiness to cook dinner. “I’m wiped out after that.” “ I know how that goes when you’re not well.” The bargain bottle of Echo Falls tasted light and fruity. The co-op woman was right; it would be perfect for an afternoon picnic.

Sunday I felt wobbly. Unlikely it was caused by the weak wine, I conceded I was ill again! I bathed and made breakfast but had to go back to bed. Thankfully, Phil wasn’t in as much pain so I was glad for him but miserable for myself (with only just over a week free of the sinus lark). I told him off for making me laugh when I wanted to be miserable, like the weather.

Working on the laptop, I designed a birthday card for Brother 1 and undertook some research. A news report at the start of the week about a demo by StandUpXⁱⁱⁱ, prompted me to finally look into what these conspiracy-theorists actually believed. Admittedly, much of the ‘facts’ they referenced about coronavirus are not incorrect. But as I maintained from the start, their slant on the pandemic (that only old and ill people died) smacked of self-interested sociopathism. As did their anti-mask, anti-vac and anti-TIT stance. They also believed 5g emitted harmful radiation and was needed for when we all got implanted with micro-chips, being developed by The Gates Foundation, so we could be tracked at all times. Did the idiots not realise their every move was already tracked from their own personal tracking device (i.e. the smartphone in their pocket)? Not Unsurprisingly, the loony David Icke was behind a lot of this bollocks. I started to assemble the facts I’d garnered over the past few weeks into something that made sense. This took all day. ‘Theories and beliefs’ were still to be dissected.

Talking of beliefs, the Scottish anarchist, Stuart Christie died aged 74. A legend in his own lifetime, and most famous for his part in a failed plot to assassinate Franco, he never lost his belief in true freedom. As one commentator observed ‘God or the devil, better be ready for a right good argument… ‘

References:

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

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

iii. StandUpX: https://www.standupx.info/

The Corvus Diaries

A Journal of the Coronavirus

philosophy