“It feels like almost every week there is an issue with sleaze and scandal where Rishi Sunak is either implicated himself or too weak to get to grips with it (Wendy Chamberlain)
Haiga – Enigma
In the wettest March for 40 years, French Storm Mathis brought yellow rain and 70 mph winds to southern England. It was revealed water companies discharged sewage into rivers an average 825 times a day during 2022. The Environment Agency put the 19% drop from 2021 down to droughts. Yorkshire Water claimed to have a £180m plan but customers would need to contribute. Government threatened to impose unlimited fines. Labour lambasted underwhelming targets and penalties to cut sewage and storm overflow discharge way in the distant future.
‘Sorry’ for polluting rivers and seas, Water UK pledged £10bn to mend sewers and build tanks by 2030, but admitted bills would rise. Government urged them to put customers before profit – that was good coming from them! Warned not to swim in dirty water, demonstrators lined the Scarborough shoreline. Yorkshire Water boss Nicola Shaw promised to fix the problem within 2 years. Comics Lee Mack, Pail Whitehouse and Steve Coogan protested against United Utilities spewing filth into Lake Windermere.
Noa, a French storm but not official in the UK, resulted in downpours, wind and massive waves in Cornwall 12th April. A Fin whale washed up on Bridlington beach and died. The Hartlepool fishing industry at grave risk due to all the dead crustaceans, government still denied it had anything to do with dredging. Charities stepped in to provide support.
Westminster as dirty as our waterways, tory MP Scott Benton was entrapped by a lobbying video and suspended. Daniel Greenberg launched investigations into Benton for use of work e-mail and 2 fellow MPs – Henry Smith who used tax-payer funded stationery and The Cock who tried to influence enforcement of parliamentary standards. Matt was ‘shocked and surprised’ – we weren’t! The Commissioner then looked into Rishi Rich for not declaring an interest in Koru Kids in which his wife had shares and stood to benefit from the expansion of free childcare. They were belatedly added to a new ministerial interests list. Thangam Debonnaire reckoned he’d hoped the furore would blow over rather than coming clean.
Adam Tolley KC, investigating bullying allegations against Rabid Raab since November, handed a detailed report to Rishi. Complainants in limbo, a livid Dave Penman of FDA railed at a farce and liberal chief whip Wendy Chamberlain at a weak PM. The next morning, Rishi accepted Raab’s resignation ‘with regret’, confirming his spinelessness. Alex Chalk became Justice sec and Oliver Dowdy deputy PM. In a BBC interview, Raab hit out at the injustice of ‘passive aggressive activist’ civil servants ganging up on ministers they didn’t like. He wouldn’t stand at the next election.
Adam Heppinstall KC (were all KC’s called Adam?) reported that BBC chair Richard Sharp breached the government’s code of conduct over the Boris loan guarantee scandal. Saying it was a distraction, Sharp resigned. Gary Lineker tweeted government shouldn’t make the appointment, now or ever. Lucy Powell said the affair did ‘untold damage to the BBC’ and its independence was ‘seriously undermined’ by tory ‘sleaze and cronyism’. Quite – if he’d had any integrity, he’d have gone when the story broke.
In Scotland, Sturgeon’s house was searched and her husband Peter Murrell arrested then released pending further investigation into SNP finances. A similar fate befell the treasurer and a luxury campervan was seized from outside Murrell’s elderly mum’s house.
Mid-May, United Utilities discharged sewage at Fleetwood contaminating the entire Fylde Coast. Towns across Kent and Sussex without a supply, schools had to close. South East Water issued a hosepipe ban, not because of drought but because they couldn’t keep up with early summer demand, which sounded ludicrous when thunderstorms flooded Rotherham and Sheffield.
Coffee-Cup told Laura K. she was ‘fed up’ with water companies and promised new Ofwat measures would lower share dividends. It emerged Swellen was caught speeding when serving as attorney general and asked civil servants if she could sit a speed awareness course privately. On becoming home sec, she opted for points. Coffee-Cup claimed to know nothing. As too did Rishi at G7. Irritated by questions, he snapped: ‘aren’t you going to ask about the summit?’ A possible breach of the ministerial code, Swellen batted away calls to go, said she regretted speeding but did nothing untoward, and prated about focusing on the job. Rishi informed MPs he was looking into it which meant having a chat with Swellen and Laurie Magnus rather than a proper inquiry.
June officially the hottest on record by 0.9 degrees, scientists expected such temperatures every other year and farmers grew med veg. The recommended 6-month waiting period at an end, Sue Gray got the all-clear to become labour chief of staff. She was later alleged to have broken the civil service code for not disclosing contact. Denying any dirty dealings, labour whinged of a politically motivated ‘Mickey Mouse’ probe by the cabinet office.
Thames Water CE Sarah Bentley returning her bonus over sewage spills didn’t appease so she’d resigned. Struggling to find investors, ministers stood by to take over in a ‘worst case scenario’. 30 years of paying shareholders while bleeding us dry then expecting government to sort it out, Ed Millipede raged at the scandal. Early July, they were fined £3m for polluting the River Thames near Gatwick with raw sewage in 2017, killing thousands of fish. Not mentioning leakage of 602.2m litres a day, River Action’s James Wallace warned Londoners of ‘imminent’ rationing as chalk streams dried up. Interim boss Cathryn Ross complained government’s ‘Plan For Water’ didn’t go far enough and suggested changes to how we thought about water and not taking it for granted, because London was no rainier than Jerusalem – eh? Heatwaves across The Med, a British tourist died of heatstroke queueing at Rome’s colosseum. Another washout weekend in the UK, Surfers Against Sewage advised all Cornish beaches were contaminated. Sewage ‘perfectly legally’ discharged at Filey, Whitby and Scarborough, signs informed of poor water quality on the latter’s South Beach. RNLI stopped putting red flags up, confusing councillors.
A Yorkshire Water ad telling us how to save water beggared belief. Unbelievably patronising given their record on waste, it contained stock footage of a Ukrainian left-hand drive car, a Russian bar and Herefordshire hills. Mocked as ‘more Malvern than Malton’, it was pulled. July estimated to be the hottest month for 1,200 years worldwide, US scientists warned of ‘global boiling’. But Yorkshire experienced the second wettest on record. Not expected to change until mid- August, it felt pleasant enough outside – for October! I reckoned we’d had 5 dry days all month, although unseasonal conditions led to dramatic cloudscapes (see my haiga ‘Enigma’i). When Phil returned from work soaked to the skin, he exclaimed: “Look at me!” “Yes, and you said there’s nowt in the St. Swithin’s adage!”
Approving a coal mine ‘nonsense’, Climate Change Committee Chair Selwyn Gummer thought it a shame the UK no longer led on the issue. The High Court stymied 5 councils’ bid to stop Sadiq extending ULEZ to outer London boroughs. Appealing to motoring gammons, Rishi announced a review of low traffic neighbourhoods even though they were in the remit of local authorities. Backbenchers wanted a delay to the ban on petrol and diesel vehicles but The Glove-Puppet insisted the 2030 date was immoveable. Continuing to renege on promises and drive a ‘wrecking ball’ through climate commitments, Rishi announced 100 new North Sea oil and gas licenses plus carbon capture (to include The Humber), much to Thangam’s ‘disappointment’. Saying use of UK energy sources rather than shipping it halfway round the world was important, Rishi seemed oblivious that most untapped reserves consisted of oil destined for foreign markets.
A standards committee inquiry into ‘inappropriate behaviour’ meant The Pincher faced an 8 week suspension and recall petition possibly leading to yet another by-election. Parliament really was a dirty rotten cesspit!
“You have sat too long here for any good you have been doing. In the name of god, go” (David Davies)
Dog Shit Monday
Haiga – In the Pink
On a frosty, cold Monday morning, shed boy and girl ran their van engine for 10 minutes and hollered at each other. I shouted angrily at the window. Phil smirked at me: “They need to defrost the windscreen.” “Yes, but they don’t have to add to the noise by yelling!” Patchy sun insufficient to dispel the chill, Phil made tasty porridge. As I complimented his efforts, he sceptically suggested there was a ‘but’ coming. “No there isn’t. Stop fishing!” Posting the journal, WordPress encountered an error. Anxious at losing a morning’s work, I recovered most of it. Taking the recycling out, I trod in unseen dog shit near the bins. Irritated at having to clean my boot again, I stood on one leg to scrub it off over the drain, dodging cars and parents with toddlers. As I fumed on the sofa, Phil sympathised and blamed too many lockdown dogs. I leafed through dusty books under the coffee table, finding photography self-study notes. Untouched for 4 years, maybe I should get back to it. After placing on-line orders for essentials, I did some yoga but got no rest. Officially Blue Monday, I reflected that was last week for me. Shitty Monday more like!
Cases dropping 38% in a week, Oliver Dowdy predicted an end to Plan B restrictions on 26th January. Mike Tildesley foresaw a flu-like relationship with the virus by the end of 2022. All teens could have a booster but ex Vaccine Taskforce chair Dr. Clive Dix thought they were needless and mass vaccinations should end. Boosters: “stop the vulnerable and elderly” getting seriously ill and dying, “so they’re the ones we should focus on.” Former Number 10 official Sonia Khan claimed there was a long-standing drinks culture and The Scumbag blogged he told Boris to call off the 20th May do. Prepared to swear in court, he claimed others were willing to join him. Meanwhile, photos emerged of Keir having a beer in the officer during the April 2021 Hartlepool by-election. He responded that they took a break for a take-away and got back to work. In the BBC’s 100th year, Nads Doris told MPs the licence fee would be frozen for 2 years, but back-tracked on total abolition, saying that was ‘up for discussion’. She said the real-terms cut put “more money in the pockets of families who are struggling to make ends meet.” Err, how about cutting VAT on fuel bills and reinstating the Universal Credit uplift? Lucy Powell called it a vendetta and nicked our line that Operation Red Meat was “designed to stop the prime minister becoming dead meat.” £4.3 billion worth of fraudulent covid-related payments were written off, dwarfing the licence bill. As the navy refused to assist Nasty Patel in persecuting migrants in dinghies, Phil remarked: “Dead dog more like!” On Jeremy Vine the next morning, James Gammon had a point that the military were used to this type of thing, although they’d rescue people, not drown them! The House of Lords threw out the police bill clause concerning loud protests and added one on criminalising misogyny. I predicted that would get ditched in the commons.
Porky Pies and Piggy Eyes
Dog Mess Notice
Rainbow dawn colours complimented icing-sugar roofs Tuesday, presaging a bright, chilly day. After a decent night, I had a productive morning working on the journal and cleaning the kitchen window, before Phil tackled the blind. Looking lovely out, we discussed a walk but as the sun waned in the valley, we declared it too cold. I went to a busy, raucous co-op, noting the meat products had shifted. Was it to disguise shortages? In the afternoon, I reviewed my novel – quite funny in places if I say so myself! I then tried to block the din of canalside diggers with earplugs and rest. In a series of night-time covid dreams, I debated masks with the deceased friend.
Interviewed on Sky, Boris reiterated regret for misjudgements and upset, especially to the queen, but denied anybody told him the 20th May gathering was against the rules, to which Keir said he shouldn’t need telling as he set the rules. Scotland ‘turned the corner’ on Omicron leading to the lifting of restrictions from next Monday. Working from home and masks would stay. There’d be no extension of the Covid Pass but still required in nightclubs, you had to prove you’d also been boosted. Rishi and Saj were ‘cautiously optimistic’ England would follow suit. Inflation at 5.4% December (the highest since March 1992), real pay fell 1%, employment went up 0.6% (a 1.4% increase on pre-pandemic levels) and unemployment fell 0.1%. The debt charity StepChange found 1/3 adults struggled to pay bills and a tweet from an infuriated Jack Monroe that the index used: ‘grossly underestimates the real cost of inflation as it happens to people with the least’, went viral. Sick of ‘governments’ jiggery-pokery’ with figures, Sharon Graham of Unite said the RPI revealed a real cost of living increase of 7.5% and they’d appoint their own experts to produce a ‘working index of inflation’. ONS would subsequently work on inflation calculators to better reflect real everyday prices. DG Tim Davie warned moving to a subscription service would mean a BBC no longer able to do what it did.
Phil working hard in the gig economy from bed Wednesday, even using the hairdryer didn’t shift him right away. Wanting to speed up so we could go out in a sunnier, warmer day, a bitty living room slowed me down as did the sun blazing through the kitchen window. I tried adjusting the blind which he’d left fully open. Easy my arse! Irate and exhausted, I settled down with coffee for another commons blockbuster.
In the so-called Pork Pie Plot*, red wall tories planned to oust Boris. Defecting backbencher Christian Wakeford crossed to the labour benches just before PMQs creating uproar akin to a zoo. Appearing with piggy eyes as though he’d been crying, The Bumbler started with platitudes and Keir started by welcoming Wakeford, and queried Boris’ serial excuses; the ’very carefully crafted responses’ sounding ‘like a lawyer wrote it’. An evasive Boris blathered that his judgements led to ‘the fastest growing economy in the G7’ and the fab vaccine roll-out and when asked: “if the PM misleads parliament, should he resign?” he answered: “wait for the inquiry.” Referring to a dog’s dinner, Ian Blackford called Boris’ excuses ‘pathetic’. Instead of ‘taking the British public for fools’, he should ‘take responsibility and resign’. No, said Boris, prating about restrictions lifting thanks to co-operation across the UK. An unmollified Blackford told him “Nobody’s buying this anymore, he’s partying and laughing…and not fit for office.” I got ready for our walk after the main questions so missed David Davies’ bombshell. Citing Leopold Amery’s words to Neville Chamberlain the veteran declared: “In the name of god, go.” And he was no red wall tory! In the aftermath, Laura K revealed the 2019 intake were referred to as a litter of puppies. Were they running around chasing their tails? You may recall the Bury South MP, dubbed Wokeford by rancorous tories, was embroiled in the boozy Gibraltar trip last November.
We got pies from the bakers and headed to the park. Too many excitable dogs for my liking, we continued to the canal. Perturbed by a bevy of geese, Phil advised they were harmless and wouldn’t come after our food which we munched perched on a low wall before taking the towpath to the next lock, crossing to an ancient clough and exploring untrodden paths. Phil laughed when I snapped a dog mess notice, but as he referred to a bird in the brush as ‘a lady balckbird’, I chuckled in turn (see below). Very muddy stretches ended in a slippery descent to the green bridge, made more hazardous when a large mutt came our way. Although not steep, I panted on the incline and remarked it was due to weeks of no actual walking. At the farm, we veered down to the station, returned to the park and admired gnarly bark edging the mossy riverside path. Phil nipped in the co-op and I continued home to find two tiny plants on the garden wall. The ‘free to good home’ note didn’t excuse them treating the wall as communal. The plants matching the one from the local charity, I took them to the doorstep and thought I’d better find out what they were now I had 3. Struggling to shed my boots, I was just about done when Phil arrived. Collapsing on the couch, I reflected it was nice to get some outdoor exercise, even if it was mainly in the shady valley. Actually feeling sleepy, I was inevitably unable to do so.
Attempting to appease rebellious tories, the scrapping of Plan B was announced. Masks in classrooms and the work from home directive ended immediately, with workers told to go in even if they felt ill! Steve Barclay ordered civil servants back to the office. All other restrictions were ditched from next Thursday with ‘advice’ to keep face coverings. The need to isolate would lapse on or before 24th March, easing of travel would follow and there’d be a plan to ‘live with covid like flu’. It didn’t go unnoticed that Goblin Saj led the press conference rather than the PM. No contrary sage advice, the ONS Community infection Survey reported UK cases falling consistently for the first time since November, except in Northern Ireland. But another ONS survey showed Omicron 16 times more infectious; double that for the unvaccinated. Almost 64% of over 12’s boosted was all very well, but with thousands hospitalised and an average 266 deaths a day in the depths of winter, doctors rightly urged public caution. On BBC Breakfast, Jason Leitch lauded the Scottish approach and referred to LFTs as sci-fi. He meant because you could do them at home but it was grist to the mill for conspiracy theorists. Fearful of cholera outbreaks after the tsunami, 2 New Zealand naval ships took water to a covid-free Tonga. Australia and Japan also sent aid.
A bright, frosty Thursday turned nithering when the sun went behind the hill. Phil not daring to wake me, I overslept. As he didn’t hear a timid door knock, I bad-temperedly answered it for the postie to hand me a tiny box from Boots. Expecting several items, I worried the quizzical look I gave her appeared rude. Soon after, Phil answered a second knock and accepted a larger parcel. Why on earth did they not combine them? As I strove to get going, a bluebottle flew in the bedroom. It flew out when Phil opened the window. I started dusting when the landline rang. From the top of the stairs, I caught a garbled message from the Ocado driver, and rang back. He wanted to deliver early but I told him it wasn’t convenient. Annoyed at all the interruptions, Phil thankfully took the tray away enabling me to continue tidying. The minute I turned the laptop on, the delivery arrived. After we’d sorted that lot, it was almost noon meaning writing was foreshortened. Later, I cleared a stack of junk e-mail, completed a survey and played Wordle. Unaware of this social media phenomenon until Countdown Susie talked about it on telly, I guessed the word in 5 goes. Not bad for a first try, I tweeted the results.
Pork Pie Plot MPs complained of blackmail from tory whips, with threats constituency funding could be withdrawn if they didn’t toe the party line. William Wragg advised they report intimidation to the police to be accused of attention-seeking. He then arranged to meet The Met next week. The Bumbler visiting Rutherford Diagnostic Centre in Taunton, knew nothing. Number 10 refused to investigate, citing a lack of evidence. Zara Rutherford (no relation to the famous scientist) became the youngest woman to fly solo round the globe. The Glove-puppet met developers to ask them to pay to replace dangerous cladding. Newscast presenters stuffed pork pies in their gobs as they précised the plot and challenged Simon Clarke for referring to Partygate as ‘frustrating’. Viewers ‘shouting at the telly’ might use other words for it!
Sausages and Meatloaf
Lady Blackbird
No frost on near roofs Friday morning, those a street away were encrusted. With office fodder returning to crush hour on public transport, BBC Breakfast discussed plans to reduce loud tannoy announcements. Voiceover artist Emma Clarke, famous for ‘mind the gap’ and no relation to the tory MP, defended what Grant Shats called a Bonfire of the Banalities. Look who’s talking! And what about blind people who needed to know where to get off? Jeremy Vine featured footage of Millie the Jack Russel. Stuck in mudflats in Hants she was rescued when a sausage was dangled from a drone. Far too much airtime was wasted on Meat Loaf. The worst rock singer in history who refused to be ‘controlled’ by vaccine, died of covid. At least that was one less Trump meathead on the planet!
On the way to the co-op, I saw the postie. Glad of the opportunity, I explained the funny look I gave her Thursday. She was very nice about it. Lots of missing fresh fruit and veg, I found a bargain chicken.
Kwarteng said we’d have to wait until the chancellor’s spring statement in March to know if we got any help with energy bills. Trussed-up Liz had Vlad Putin quaking in his boots (sic) as she threatened consequences if he invaded Ukraine. Look North went to Halifax where schools complained of allowing mask-less kids in class during ‘peak week’. Andrew Lee of Sheffield University thought it too soon. Broadcasting from what looked like a bare white-walled cell, we wondered why he wasn’t in front of his wonky picture of Clifford’s Tower. Was he isolating?
Fatty Tubbutt was absent from Saturday Kitchen, reportedly having his appendix removed. His excess fat more like! They played ‘would I pork pie to you? ‘with guest Rob Brydon. See what they did there! Grey and cold, we stayed indoors. I worked on the journal, wrote a haigai and posted an entry on Cool Placesii. Continuing the kitchen spring clean, the top corner shelves were festooned by cobwebs. We sorted a pile of cookery books and pamphlets, put some unused ones in a charity bag and some in the bin. The idea of a Guardianista finding the Yotam Ottolenghi supplement made us laugh “featured in this week’s recycling…” Phil went to rest his aching back, leaving me to the bulk of the dinner prep.
After inadequate sleep, I awoke Sunday absolutely parched The first time I’d caught the new Sunday Morning programme since Marr left, WHO Dr. Maria Van Kerkhove ‘pushed back’ against calling coronavirus ‘bad flu’. Billions still unvaccinated, the pandemic wasn’t done with us yet and variants would continue to emerge, possibly worse than Omicron. Maybe I thought, but it wasn’t in the virus’ interests to kill all the hosts. Alarmed by an end to self-isolation, she urged exiting ‘gracefully, carefully, slowly’ and using masks as an easy way to slow the spread. Batting away suggestions he may be in line for Boris’ job, Rabid Raab trotted out the party lines on the great vaccine programme and ‘the fastest growing economy’. He informed us it was up to the PM how much of Sue Gray’s report would be made public. Expanded to include visits to number 10 by Carrie Antionette’s friends, the inquiry could be never-ending! Nasrat Ghani claimed she was sacked from her ministerial post for being Muslim. Raab said she should’ve put in a formal complaint at the time. Chief whip Mark Spencer considered her allegation of islamophobia defamatory. See you in court!
Another grey scene, Phil reckoned it wasn’t that bad out but disposing of recycling, I declared it far too cold for visiting the dank woods. I brought the tiny plants in for repotting and looked them up on Google. Kalanchoe or Widow’s Thrill (tropical succulents from Madagascar), were tolerant and easy to propagate. I could grow some more for next Christmas. I spent the rest of the day writing.
Two years since the first Wuhan lockdown, China still battled to confine cases before the Beijing Winter Olympics and hamsters in Hong Kong caught covid. Joe Biden met Anthony Blinken and his defence team to discuss Russian aggression. Trussed-up Liz had ‘credible evidence’ Moscow planned to install a pro-Russian leader in Ukraine. They dismissed the reports as misinformation and ‘stupid rhetoric’. Supposed puppet Yevhen Murayhev told The Observer it wasn’t logical.
*Pork Pie Plot – so-called after one of the ringleaders, Alicia Kearns, MP for Melton Mowbray
“Nobody puts their life at risk unless they are absolutely desperate and feel they have no other option” (Mike Adamson)
On The Slide
Haiga – Snow Field
On a frosty and bright Monday morning, I rose on wobbly legs. Still unwell, I couldn’t remember the last time such debilitation lasted more than a week. I managed short bursts out of bed to help Phil with recycling and washing, getting stressed when I saw the machine was set incorrectly. I calmed down to sort it and worked on blogs. Both receiving text invites from the central system and the local surgery, we booked boosters via the latter for the following week. Puzzled that Phil got messages last week and I didn’t, he told me he had 2 different dates of birth on the NHS system. Was I in the wrong age bracket?
Ofgem put Bulb, the 7th largest energy supplier, into ‘special administration’. Too many customers to pass onto another company, Uswitch,com said: “This signals the tipping point of the UK energy crisis. With Bulb’s 1.7 million customer base, over 4 million people have now been directly impacted by the turbulent energy market.” 886 on Saturday, migrants crossing the channel during 2021 reached 25,600, treble the total for the whole of 2020. Bella Sankey of Detention Action railed: “The crisis is that people with credible protection claims…are forced to make dangerous journeys that make the UK look chaotic and incompetent.” French interior minister Gérald Darmanin claimed migrants were enticed by a UK army of ‘irregular workers’. Nasty Patel crap at her job, Steve Barclay was drafted in to lead a taskforce. He considered strengthening return agreements, using barracks to house arrivals, benefits cuts and ridiculously, ‘offshoring’.
Speaking to the CBI, The Bumbler lost his place, rifled through papers, repeated ‘forgive me’ 3 times, went ‘vroom, vroom’, compared himself to Moses and rambled about Peppa Pig being ‘pure genius’ even though she looked like a Picasso hairdryer. Phil joked he didn’t actually mean to go to Peppa Pig World but Capitalist Pig World and took a wrong turn! I thought he might have syphilis. Downing Street was forced to declare he was ‘well’. On Newsnight, Polly Guardian complained the CBI needed serious information, Boris was on the point of losing it and ‘on the slide’. Danny Finkelstein told us Boris’ political strategy revolved around himself. His self-confidence led to a lack of preparation. On the immigration bill, Diane Abbot wanted proper policies instead of daft ideas like the wave machine. A tory denied that was ever a thing (err, yes it was. See part 30 of this blog). She said antagonising the French wasn’t working. After Nick Thomas-Symonds seemed to contradict his leader by telling Marr that migrants should be sent back to the first safe country they arrived in, Abbot was asked what was the labour policy? She declined to answer. Well, that’s clear then – not!
Marginally better on Tuesday, I made an effort to dress before the Ocado delivery then worked on blogs. Experimenting with knobbly squash for dinner, I made a topping for orzo, panicking when it stuck to the pan. It tasted good but the squishy mess wasn’t what I intended.
With weekly covid deaths over 1,000 for the first time since 12th March and 1/3 of cases asymptomatic, the Scottish and English governments urged anyone going to crowded places or visiting the vulnerable during the festive period to get an LFT. Northern Irelanders were asked to limit social contact and work from home. Europe ‘in the firm grip’ of the virus, deaths passed 1.5 million and the WHO feared they’d reach 2.2 million by March. Dr. Hans Kluge said: “we face a challenging winter ahead but we should not be without hope, because all of us…can take decisive action to stabilise the pandemic.” Merkel barked that German regional measures weren’t good enough and health minister Jens Spahn warned by the end of winter, the whole population would be vaccinated, recovered or dead. Very German! Former jab tsar Kate Bingham lectured Oxford University on a “devastating lack of skills and experience in science, industry, commerce and manufacturing” In government. 70 tory backbenchers voted against the latest version of the Health & Social Care Bill because it broke yet another promise: local authority payments would be discounted by the cap so 2/3 of northerners would have to sell their homes to pay for their care. Rabid Raab allegedly held a fund-raising party at Chevening. Against parliamentary rules, Rayner demanded to see receipts.
Still achy Wednesday, I managed a few stretches and made porridge. I sat on the bed rather than in it, worked on blogs and watched PMQs. The chamber packed with mask-less tories, Keir quipped: ‘I see they’ve turned up this week’ and gabbed about broken promises. The only thing he’s delivering is: “high taxes, high prices and low growth.”
Bracing myself for a trip to the co-op, it was quite fun for once. A small fairy princess danced in the aisles and a jolly man whistled as he wheeled about in his chair putting items on his lap. I struggled home with backache and took it easy in the afternoon. Ample orzo but not much squishy sauce left, I added passata. A definite improvement, it vaguely reminded me of a childhood dinner. Our evening was interrupted by a huge, loud chopper flying so low the windows rattled. Some chump asked the local Facebook group ‘what was that?’ To which a joker quipped: ‘sorry, no more pickled gherkins for me!’
At a Transport for the North meeting in Leeds, northern leaders called IRP the ‘cheap and nasty option’. A dinghy capsized in Pas de Calais. 27 migrants drowned. Lamentations all round, Mike Adamson of The British Red Cross said nobody risked their life unless they were desperate and urged the government “to rethink its plans for making the UK’s asylum system harder to access.” Boris spoke to Mini Macron and held a Cobra meeting. A special edition of Newsnight pitted those who believed the way to solve the crisis was to create safe routes against those who thought it was to make crossings impossible and the UK less attractive, such as the awful member for Dover Natalie Elphicke. People died, you heartless bitch! Justin Welby called for a system based on: “compassion, justice and co-operation across frontiers.” Touché!.
Out Of Control
Buried Services
Brilliantly sunny on Thursday, thick crunchy rooftops didn’t deter me from opening the window to shake blankets out. Going out later than planned, the sun already dipped behind the hill. On the way to the surgery, I spotted Elderly Neighbour and Environment Agency works warning of ‘buried services’. From a plethora of posters plastered to the surgery doors, I eventually discerned I needed to press the buzzer and wait for someone to come and hand me a test kit from a safe distance. I got a few items from charity shops, the sweet shop and Boots where the pharmacist rudely stacked shelves in the middle of serving me.
To celebrate Thanksgiving, outbreaks of bird flu emerged. All poultry-keepers were directed to keep foul cooped up from next Monday. Was turkey off the Christmas menu again? Revellers died after a covid party in Italy. Covid passes lasted 9 months if you were vaccinated but only 6 months if you had antibodies – idiots! In an urgent statement to the house on migrant drownings, Nasty Patel said she’d offered France joint patrols but was dismissed as ‘crazy’ by Calais MP Henri Dumont. Micron demanded more help from Britain as people ‘don’t want to stay in France’, and from EU partners, because when they got to France it was too late. Boris tweeted a letter containing his ‘5 point plan’* before Micron received it, resulting in Patel being uninvited to a meeting in Calais with France, Belgium, Holland and Germany. What a twat! Seeing the missive as a sop to tory backbenchers over ‘taking back control’ rather than serious diplomacy, Darmanin called it “unacceptable and counter to our discussions between partners.” Nick Thomas-Symonds bemoaned a ‘grave error of judgement’: “This is a humiliation for a PM and home secretary who have completely lost control of the situation in the channel.” A refugee now settled in Britain came on BBC Breakfast the next day to say Europe should be ashamed of letting people drown.
The QT panel was asked: ‘is the PM okay?’ Some tory said ‘give him slack’ but Eluned Morgan MS was ’a big critic’, repeating the over-used ‘overpromised and underdelivered time and time again’ line and Liz Saville lamented infantile Westminster politics. Our erstwhile housemate, now apparently an author, said it’d be okay if Boris had a competent government behind him, but he didn’t. On the social care cap, Rob Buckland wanted to wait for the white paper and input from lords before tweaking. Lindsay Hoyle appeared on Newscast with his parrot, Boris, who shouted ‘lock the doors’ on trains. He said we’d recently seen the house at its best and its worst and he’d not give up trying to take hate out of politics. Calling for zero tolerance of online abuse, he said if social media companies failed to act, we must use the law.
Blown Off Course
Corvid Roost
Friday, I found lots of gaps in the co-op especially fresh stuff, but got a reduced chicken. With no bottles to carry, I’d not asked for Phil’s help but was fully laden by extra purchases. A group of oldies and a yapping dog blocked the trolley park. Repeatedly saying ‘excuse me’ to no avail, I struggled to manoeuvre the trolley round them and stomped home. Cleaning the bathroom in the afternoon, I found a veritable spider’s nest. Long since gone, they left a big mess.
New variant B.1.1.529 named Omicron by the Who, had a ‘constellation’ of 30 mutations 1 case found in Belgium, Susan Hopkins suspected it was already in the UK. 6 African countries were put on the red list. Effective 4.00 a.m. Sunday, incomers were required to quarantine in hotels and take PCR tests. Phil worried about immediate crackdowns. I fretted it was vaccine-resistant thus rendering all the jabs futile. In celebration of Black Friday, XR blocked amazon warehouses across the country. Ben Wally announced restructuring the army would make it ‘leaner but more productive’. “It’s nice to be told you’re not productive after digging the government out of every hole they’ve caused for the past few years!” exclaimed Phil.
Storm Arwen forecast to bring 75 mph winds, snow, travel disruption and damage, Scotland and parts of northern England were on red alert. Phil cheerfully hummed seasonal tunes. “It’ll probably be soggy sleet.” I predicted. “Don’t be so pessimistic!” Just as we headed to bed, a strange whistling was heard and the telly went off. “That’ll be the storm then. It sounds like it’s passing right over us.” “Yes, above the valley.“
Not as badly hit as some areas, Arwen blew through the night, bringing sub-zero temperatures, a sprinkling of snow and more seasonal humming to Saturday. 120 lorries got stuck in the white stuff on the M62 near Rochdale. Power cuts all over, our Vodafone signal went. The kitchen like the arctic, I re-named it The South Pole, declared it too cold to go out, worked on the Christmas card, replaced the Halloween tree with advent decorations and watched telly via iPlayer and All 4. Phil nipped to the café for forgotten prints, reporting town packed even though it was freezing. Crowds were attracted by an extended market. As if we needed an actual Christmas market!
Terrestrial telly resumed in the midst of a briefing from Boris, Witless and Valance. In the wake of the Omicron variant, masks would again be mandatory for public transport and retail from Tuesday. Uncommitted on lockdown and working from home, even though sage advised it, doomsayers predicted another cancelled Christmas. EU countries examined arrivals for the mutant, people were stuck on planes at Schiphol airport and the US closed borders to all except American citizens. As 2 confirmed cases arrived in Britain, 4 more African countries were added to the red list.
Pockmarked Canal
Roused early Sunday by what I thought was Phil shouting, I realised the noise was coming from down below, and decided Ray Bradbury stories were seeping into my dreamsi. When he woke, he complained of confusion and subsequently said he felt ill. I stole myself to bathe and dressed as fast as possible to avoid hypothermia.
An unexpected proper snow fall tempted us outside. I donned the bear coat and proper boots. The gorgeous new blanket squeaked and crunched underfoot. Boys at the end of the street abandoned a sled to throw snowballs. Ducks and pigeons scrabbled for birdfeed opposite the pet shop. Corvids roosted in the apex of bare trees, as if blown off course. The Christmas craft market still on, we advised an artist her unique animal paintings would definitely sell in the café.
In the park, crusties dragged felled branches across a pristine football pitch and a small girl sledged on the slope. “Let’s build a snowman!” she screamed excitedly at dad. “Snowperson round here,” I corrected her. On the towpath, autumn leaves were trapped beneath an icy layer, pockmarked by mysterious holes possibly made by fish. Back home, I took recycling out before removing my outerwear. Young Dad stood on his doorstep. We discussed the perils of driving in snow and them getting covid. He was ill for 3 weeks even though he had 2 jabs ages ago – maybe his immunity had waned? His partner hadn’t had any vaccine as allegedly every time she was booked in, something went wrong. Likely story! In the evening, I wrote a haigaii and added new snowy photos to the Christmas card, getting a headache from working on Photoshop late.
As RUF was cited as a possible super-spreader event, South Africans whinged they were penalised for identifying the new mutant and speedily sharing data. Dr. Angelica Coetzee told Marr she first saw patients suffering headaches and fatigue 18th November. Symptoms were mild but there were lots of cases. Moderna CMO Paul Burton relayed the need to establish if Omicron was more transmissible, caused more severe disease and evaded vaccines. 11 of the mutations indicated it might but as they began developing a new booster on thanksgiving, he was optimistic. As Saj wittered about firebreaks and mitigations, the DOE advised secondary schoolkids to wear masks in communal areas. At EU crisis talks on eliminating people-smuggling gangs, the French foreign minister said relations with the UK were ‘not easy’ but we had to try to get along. Disinvited Nasty Patel said it was a shame she wasn’t there and would speak to her counterparts during the week. Meanwhile, she was lambasted by tory backbenchers for failing to implement the resettlement scheme announced in August, forcing Afghans onto unsafe routes to reach Britain.
*Boris’ 5 point plan: joint patrols to stop boats leaving France; using tech such as radars and sensors; maritime patrols in each other’s territorial waters and airborne surveillance; more work on the joint intelligence cell; Bilateral returns agreement with France alongside talks to set up a UK-Europe agreement.
“When you’re stuck in a tunnel and you can’t find your way out, thank god there’s a Jackie Weaver about. Jackie is our saviour, she’ll know what to do, in the nick of time she’ll rescue you” (Don Black)
Cold Comfort
haiga – Polarised
Storm Darcy brought officially the coldest spell since the Beast from the East in 2018, with a bitterly icy easterly wind and yet more snow. Worse in the south for once, trains stopped and jab centres shut. Warming up with porridge and a fluffy bath, tedious Monday chores ensued, the trip to the bins particularly nithering. Decorating Neighbour chatted with a mate in the street. Referring to new arrivals’ makeshift ‘private parking’ sign, he asked: “Is this a private street?” “Of course not. I would have cordoned off my bit 20 years ago if it was.” We went on to discuss similar misguided beliefs on the street below and Covid larks. “I’m getting the jab this week,” he informed me. “Is it because of your age?” “Yes, I’m old. and special!” That made 4 immunised people I knew first-hand as opposed to none with coronavirus. Weary in the afternoon, I considered doing yoga but got stuck on Photoshop instead then tried to warm up in bed – futile even wearing 3 pairs of socks. Phil still struggled with back pain but rallied after a rest and more happy pills. “You’re turning into a right junkie!” I laughed.
The Cock urged the over 70’s not yet invited to contact the NHS. French health minister Olivier Veran got the AZ jab, derided by Macron. Boris insisted it would lower the death rate despite fears over resistance of the SA strain, while Van Dam said it wasn’t a major concern as the Kent variant was the most virulent. Surge testing widened to other areas and Mike Tildesley (of Warwick Uni and SPI-M*) cautioned it could be even more widespread and thus delay lockdown easing.
Rocky sleep for two successive nights prompted me to take a sleeping pill. Eyes shutting while reading, I lay in the comfy chilled-out place between wakefulness and sleep before gently sinking into unconsciousness. Much less fatigued Tuesday, I performed a full morning exercise routine for the first time in 2 weeks.
Brightness was suddenly obliterated by snow, flying in our faces as we walked east on the towpath. Plans to climb a hill abandoned, we circumnavigated the park and trod gleefully on the white stuff, some squeaky, some crunchy. Observing the prints of others who’d preceded us, it turned out Phil was an expert at sole tread identification – who knew? Attempting to take photos, flakes fell like delicate chains, settling softly on shrubs. We returned to the canal, where fine particles lay dust-like on frozen patches. Chilled to the bone, we veered onto tarmac. Gulls sat expectantly in a neat row atop a roof gable behind the school. Boys dangerously played football on uneven cobbles. A café still advertised mulled wine but looked closed, even for take-a-away. Unable to rest in the afternoon, I had a really good night, even better than the one before. Was it a knock-on effect of the pill or the refreshing icy walk?
The Cock announced plans for traveller quarantine. From Mon 15th Feb, all arrivals must isolate for 10 days and have 2 tests at their own expense. Those from ‘red list’ countries would be bussed to designated hotels (the list of 16 undisclosed due to security, apparently) at a cost of £1,750 including transfer and testing. Paul Brand of ITV news tweeted ‘a large whack’ of the money went to G4S (i.e., more tory chums). A plethora of fines could be issued for non-compliance and a staggering 10 years in prison levied for concealing your country of origin! Scotland required all travellers to go to Q hotels. The WHO Wuhan verdict inconclusive, they said the virus hadn’t escaped from a lab and that it may have come from imported frozen fish rather than local fresh produce, raising queries about endorsing the official Chinese version. A week on, they called for more evidence dating back to the original outbreak. Brexiteer JD Sports boss Peter Cowgill carped that Brexit red tape was worse than expected and planned to open a distribution centre in Europe, taking jobs away from the UK – twat! Useless George said there was ‘no legal barrier’ to the EU blockade of shellfish exports and they’d changed the rules within the last week.
Wednesday, we were occupied with domestic-based work. On PMQ, Keir complained of no decisions on business rates, furlough or eviction ban extensions to which Boris trolled out the same old lines. Ian Blackford called him ‘pathetic’. Answering a question from Plaid Cymru, The Bumbler referred to battery manufacture in Bridgend, at possibly the biggest factory in the world. Was that meant to compensate for the loss of car manufacture? It reminded me of Soviet-era Radio Tirana which used to trumpet weekly Albanian tractor production figures.
Miffed at being stuck indoors during sunny daylight, Phil said I should have suggested a walk. But already approaching dusk, it became colder and more persistent snow fell.
The WHO advised the AZ vaccine was used for all adults, in all countries, on all variants, and greater efficacy was elicited when the booster was administered at 8-12 weeks. In the UK, take-up remained lower in the BAME community and a third of care home staff hadn’t been inoculated for a variety of reasons, many spurious. Van Dam raged at mis-information and “nasty pernicious scare stories on social media.” Quite – stop looking at it, you dickwads! An Imperial College React study added chills, headaches, muscle aches and loss of appetite to Covid symptoms. In contrast to Cock‘s claim last month that it would be a ‘Great British Summer,’ Shatts said: “people shouldn’t be booking holidays now…domestically or internationally.” And the holiday ban would remain until everyone was vaccinated. Did he mean the whole world? Had they told BoE chief Andrew Bailey? Braced to write off summer, Brian Strutton of BALPA whinged: “airlines are drowning but rather than throwing us a life raft, the transport secretary has just thrown a bucket of cold water at us.”
Amongst mounting pressure, housing minister Robber Jenrick announced ‘a clear plan’ to remove dangerous cladding from tower blocks, with an extra £3.5bn and a levy for new-builds. An MPs’ report in 2020 concluding £15bn was needed, shadow minister Thangam Debbonnaire said: “(the government) still don’t know how many buildings are unsafe…inaction and delay has caused the building safety crisis to spiral.” Grenfell United called it ‘too little too late’. Rebecca from the excellently-named Manchester Cladiators told BBC Breakfast it was cold comfort for people living in unsellable flats, failed to take into account other underlying safety issues and that the 17.5 storey limit determining whether you got a grant or a loan, was arbitrary.
Jackie Weaver had become the most famous coffee-cupper in the land, hosting a Handforth (Cheshire) Parish Council planning meeting on zoom. In the face of male aggression, she kept her cool to remove the chair who yelled: “you have no authority here, Jackie Weaver!” The VC stormed off shouting: “read the standing orders. Read them and understand them!” Glad for the power of the mute button, she became an unlikely hero. ALW penned an ode with Don Black, released on insta. Would a musical be next?
Polar Trek
Icy Track
The storm passed, but temperatures stayed below zero. Jeremy C**t hilariously slipped when jogging and broke his arm. Overnight temperatures plummeted to the lowest for decades. In the Cairngorms, it hit -23 in Braemar and a man from Boat in Garten performed the Siberian trick of freezing boiling water mid-air.
Very bright and cold again Thursday, we didn’t miss another opportunity for a wintry walk. Leaving the house just before lunch, Phil bought pasties from the hipster bakers. “It’s like going to the dystopian future in there, with all the PPE and distancing measures!” We walked west on the main road, turning right to a nearby clough. Extremely icy on the rocky track, the going was glacially slow. At the old mill site, snowy water and icicles shone. We stood to eat the pasties then clambered over a frozen tributary and up slippery steps onto a Path. We spotted an old quarry with massive icicles resembling stalactite. Warily avoiding squelchy patches and falling spikes, we ascended to explore. Photos later revealed a miniature snow horse in the rockface. Back on the path, we weren’t quite where expected. At a loss as to how we went wrong, we ended up climbing a ridiculously long stairway, emerged at a junction, turned right again and kept to the higher route until the path ran out. A pair of men changed a van wheel in middle of the narrow lane, requiring us to squeeze past. Reaching the village, we paused to peruse a veg stall outside the inn. As the landlord emerged, we nodded politely and moved on, reasoning he would probably charge us non-local rates! On the last stretch, I felt achy, exhausted and grumpy. It was incredulous how long and hard the walk was even though we hadn’t got far – like a polar trek! (for a fuller description of the walk, see Cool Placesi)
Back home, we slumped on the sofa. Shopping not done, I thought of an alternative dinner option from meagre supplies. Phil said he had to go to the co-op anyway. Expecting him to be back in time to help, I started cooking and was almost finished when he returned, by which time I was achy and moody again.
Jeremy Farra of sage referred to the Rocky Road Map as ‘arbitrary’ but with calls to open up the economy, John Edmunds said we would be ‘more or less free’ by the end of the year, albeit still with masks and social distancing. Wales was the first home nation to declare all top 4 priority groups vaccinated. The Q hotel website crashed minutes after going live. Sharon Peacock, Cog-UK said the Kent variant, now in 50 countries, was becoming dominant. By persistence, door-knocking and offering help, York’s local system reached two thirds of positive cases uncontactable by Dildo’s TIT. Von Der Leyen admitted to MEPs that they were late authorising vaccines and over-optimistic on mass production. Prezzo were closing 22 ‘non-viable’ restaurants’ and losing 216 posts. Heineken were shedding 8,000 jobs worldwide. The Post Office announced record profits (all those cardboard packages obviously) while Uber prepared to offer parcel delivery at the same price as a cab ride. With staff exhausted, Jon Ashworth questioned the timing of The Cock’s planned overhaul of the NHS. A We Own It petition claimed it would lead to more privatisation.
In an argument on QT concerning the daft rules on exporting fish, the SNP woman correctly told Michael Forsythe it was the deal. The idiot tory persisted in banging on about balancing public health and the economy during the pandemic, to which she echoed my views that there wouldn’t be an economy without people to work and spend. You had to prioritise one or the other, for the millionth time!
In contrast to the previous two, I had a fractious night. Unable to relax, I used the meditation tape to drop in and out of sleep several times until I eventually got a few hours.
Glacial Pace
Haiga – Glacial
Friday, I wearily ran a bath and discovered spilt goo making a mess. Downstairs, I discovered an even bigger mess due to an overturned ashtray, not seeing how bad it was in the dark of the previous night. Trying to ignore it, I settled down with coffee and tried to work on the laptop. Glacially slow, I eventually got a MS update message – why was it always on a Friday? With no chance of achieving anything substantial, I did a few small tasks and posted a picture for my nephew’s 18th birthday. All the nieces and nephews now officially adults, I felt old! Leaving the machine to update, I went to the co-op for weekend supplies including the Valentines meal deal, which proved excellent value as we got 2 dinners and a lunch out of it. I waited patiently at the tills for space on the conveyor. Before I knew it, the pace quickened and the cashier started putting my items through. The couple in front intervened and I rushed to separate my groceries from theirs, commenting I didn’t know how it happened. The shirty cow said it was my fault for placing my stuff too close. A friendlier colleague behind me in the queue asked: “are you being told off?” “Yes, and it’s not right. I’ve done nothing wrong!” The shirty one indicated the social distancing signs. Aghast, I railed: “you’ve only just put those signs up. I’ve been doing social distancing for a year!” Meanwhile, Phil had arrived unnoticed to help carry the shopping. Shaking his head, he told me to calm down, which was the worst thing to say. Nevertheless, as we departed, I made a conciliatory gesture by informing the shirty cow we had things in common and perhaps we should get on rather than argue. I later reflected that I the last 2 trips to the co-op between bouts of illness, were both stressful. Perhaps I should take my custom elsewhere. Or complain to head office, although the last time I did, they responded at a snail’s pace.
I spent the rest of the day tweaking photos and writing haigas, inspired by the polar trekii. Phil cleaned the bathroom. I sent him back up for the hoover to clean his pile of ash still lying on the living room floor.
The R number now 0.7-0.9, eggheads still referred to the infection rate as high. The economy shrunk by 9.9% in 2020. Dodds said “…not only has the UK had the worst death toll in Europe, we’re experiencing the worst economic crisis of any major economy.” She wanted a ‘smarter furlough scheme’ and extensions to the business rate holiday and low VAT for hospitality and tourism. Metro called it the greatest decrease since 1921, the BBC since three centuries ago. Confused, Phil related details of the 1706 recession, during Isaac Newton’s tenure as Master of the Mint. Evidence emerged that Stonehenge was moved from Waun Mawn in the Welsh hills of Preseli. Similarities of size and rock type at the site made the theory plausible.
Hearts in Siberia
Zany Valentines Card
Although most of the snow had gone by Saturday, it was literally freezing all day. Phil appeared far too jolly first thing. I lowered the mood by indicating my red-raw hands; not another imaginary plague symptom but due to the cold. I applied copious amounts of cream and healing balm. While I turned the Photoshop collage into a mad Valentine’s card, he went to the convenience store, reporting the side streets lethal but still awash with coffee-cuppers in the arctic conditions! Enjoying our bargainous dinner complete with pink prosecco and posh dessert, we guffawed at mugs featured on telly who paid a fortune for fancy restaurant take-aways, wearing make-up and dresses as they hadn’t for ages. Phil said “I’m going to wear shorts and a snorkel because I haven’t for ages.” “No you won’t. You’ll freeze!”
Finally above zero, Sunday remained cold and grey. I presented the zany card to Phil, querying: “where’s my art, or roses, or anything…?” Answer: nowhere. No surprise seeing as he’d only ever given me Valentines gifts 3 times in almost 4 decades. Not that he had a heart as cold as Siberia, but he maintained it was a ‘made up card day’ (which is isn’t, unlike some others). “Why do I bother?” I asked. Because you enjoy it.” “Hmm.” I stayed in, wrote and watched telly. He went to the shop again in the late inky blackness. Daring to hope he might yet surprise me with a bouquet, he returned empty-handed. “No flowers; only a manky cauliflower.” “Well, it has flower in the name. You could have got it as a joke.” After dinner, we finished off a bottle of fizz which made me very sleepy, but I stayed up to watch Leeds United lose to Arsenal, in a characteristically goal-packed match.
The Cock appeared to fudge the target of reaching 15m priority people when he referred to them being ‘offered’ the vaccine, rather than getting it. As the deadline loomed, it was actually reached, but only 500,000 had the second jab. A 90% uptake among the over 70’s boded well for ‘herd immunity’ if replicated for all adults. The Bumbler hailed ‘a truly national effort’: “they have been delivered by the most extraordinary army of vaccinators who jabbed like there’s no tomorrow.” If there was no tomorrow, we wouldn’t need them you wanker! Due to the backlog of booster jabs and supply issues, roll-out to the over 65’s and clinically vulnerable would be slower. Still confused as to when carers would get it, I clarified we were in priority group 8 so may be immunised sooner than April. David Davies said we had to get to a point where we lived with the virus like it was flu. What made him an expert
A tunnel from Stranraer to Larne, dubbed ‘Boris’ Burrow’, was lauded as the answer to NI import woes, but the pie in the sky project would take 10 years to build. Backbencher Simon Hoare jibed: “The trains could be pulled by an inexhaustible herd of unicorns overseen by stern, officious dodos…A pushme-pullyou could be the senior guard and Puff the Magic Dragon the inspector. Let’s concentrate on making the protocol work and put the hallucinogenics down.” Perhaps the burrowers might need rescuing by Jackie Weaver!
Russian Heart
Trump predictably acquitted of spreading hatred and violence in the USA at his impeachment trial, heart vigils in support of Navalny spread the love across Russia, from St. Petersburg to Siberia.
Snotty again at bedtime, I hoped another relapse wasn’t looming…
*Note – SPI-M – Scientific pandemic influenza group on modelling
“Sorry losers and haters but my IQ is one of the highest – and you all know it! Please don’t feel so stupid or insecure, it’s not your fault” (Donald Trump)
Lockdown Mark 3
Haiga – Primary
Early 2021, I considered giving up on the journal but with so much going on, felt compelled to continue. After all, ‘it ain’t over ‘til it’s over’…
Woozy Monday due to lack of sleep, I made a big effort to rise. We laughed along with Vernon Kay on Jeremey Vine as Carol Brexit banged on about the same old garbage of the virus only killing ill people. There was controversy over when to take Christmas decor down. Both brought up to do it on the Epiphany when the 3 wise men came, we used to move the figurines into the crib, then pack it up. Others said they should be removed before midnight on 6th January to ward off bad luck. We declared that a load of nonsense, believing in tradition, not superstition. A woman called in to say her parents left them until well after twelfth night last year. They poo-pooed her assertion it was bad luck: “And then look what happened!” That slayed us. “It’s good to have someone to blame!” I later discovered from English Heritage that in Medieval times, people kept them until Candlemas on 2nd February. It made sense brightening the dark January days, but leaving it ‘til Easter was just ludicrous, particularly with cream eggs already on the shelves.
I posted blogs and as the skies looked threatening, we got rid of piles of recycling in case more snow arrived. Very icy near the bins, Phil had a hard time not slipping. The site resembling a midden, he tried to clear the nastiness up but the task proved futile. In the afternoon, I did some yoga then actually slept briefly which was nice. Meanwhile, Phil went to the co-op, returning without salad items: “nowt to do with Brexit.” Big Sis had messaged a few days ago and finally feeling up to calling as promised, we started safely agreeing on the Brexit mess. As she suddenly jumped to the old ‘they have all our info, including our DNA’ conspiracy stuff, I managed to steer the conversation back to common ground.
Brian Pinker was the first UK resident to get the Oxford jab. Prof Powis said it was a ‘turning point’ and echoed my prediction that things would improve by spring/early summer. The variant was now known worldwide as the Kent Virus. Cases rose, with the highest rates in the North West, especially Liverpool and Cumbria. Wales and Scotland were in total lockdown until at least the end of January, and the NI Executive toughened measures. At 8.00 p.m. Boris announced England was at ‘alert level 5’ and entering a third national lockdown. Similar to the first one, it entailed staying at home, only leaving to shop for essentials, for exercise, medical reasons, to escape domestic abuse, or for work if we had to. The clinically vulnerable were told to shield again, social bubbles remained in place, nurseries stayed open but schools and colleges shut. Having claimed they were low risk only the previous day, The Bumbler now said schools were ‘major vectors’ of the virus. He promised eligible kids would get free school meals and the distribution of more devices to support remote learning. Exams were scrapped with alternatives to be arranged. Possibly lasting into March, we were urged to follow the rules immediately before they became law on Wednesday when MPs re-convened to vote. He promised we were in “the last phase of the struggle” and the top 4 priority groups would be vaccinated by the end of February, requiring an unprecedented 2 million jabs a week. A tall order for a government that consistently over-promised and under-delivered!
Failing to mention any additional support for business, Rishi rushed out plans the next morning. £4.6 billion would be available, including grants of £9k for retail, hospitality and leisure and £594m for councils to support local business via a discretionary fund. He ignored suggestions to provide furlough to parents forced to stay at home with school kids and increasing SSP to encourage the infected to self-isolate.
Panic-buying and virtual queues returned immediately and Online grocers’ websites crashed. Thank goodness I placed that Ocado order at the weekend!
Tuesday, I got rid of Christmas cards and greenery. I also tried to clear up the midden but was defeated by mounds of inflexible cardboard and polystyrene – who was responsible? During my siesta, I used earplugs to block out sounds of shouting from outside. Although generally quieter after the start of lockdown mark 3, someone was having a loud socially-distanced conversation, making it impossible to settle.
About to play guitar early evening, Keir came on telly with a formal statement. Previously saying “the figures are very stark” and there was “nothing missing from the package”, he now said serious questions remained on why The Bumbler hadn’t acted sooner, why the testing system still wasn’t working, why there was so little time to plan for school closures, and why the delay in offering business support? He promised Labour would support the new lockdown: “… whatever our quarrels.. we need to come together… the virus is out of control… at this darkest of moments we need a new national effort…” but vowed to: “(challenge) the government where they are getting it wrong… (they must) use the lockdown to establish a massive vaccination programme… we need a new contract… the country stays at home, the government delivers the vaccine… “ I wasn’t keen on his idea of ‘round the clock’ vaccinations; no way would I be able to get to a jab centre at silly o’clock in the morning! And what about the staff? On Newsnight, Lockdown Sceptic Toby Young conceded he was wrong to say a second wave wasn’t on the way. But still stuck to his sociopathic herd immunity beliefs, citing the stupid Barrington declaration and Prof Guppy Fish. What a wanker!
Loser Trump planned to fly to Scotland and play golf on 19th January, thus avoiding Biden’s inauguration on the 20th. Sturgeon warned he was not allowed as golf wasn’t essential. Phil said: “she can’t stop him. He’ll still be a sovereign entity.” Or would he?…
Anarchy in the USA
Insurrection at The Capitol
Cold, frosty but sunny Wednesday, a walk would have been good but it took most of the day to deal with Christmas trees. Phil carried the larger one out all by himself. “ Smashed it!” we laughed. The hoovering made my back ache so I switched to sedentary activities. Annoyed at being charged loads for utilities, I searched the British Gas website for a lower tariff to discover I couldn’t get one unless I had an electric car! Phil popped to the shop just before dusk, alarmed that the pavements were already refrozen.
On a QT special, simpleton Nads Zahawi, minister for the vaccination programme (god help us!) said they needed the community and independent sectors to work with the NHS on vaccine delivery. Pharmacists so far excluded, meetings were promised next week. As they’d announced 7 new regional hubs, I asked why none were in Yorkshire; even more of an issue as only elderly people within 45 minutes’ drive would be invited. What a daft strategy!
MPs went to parliament for a day. The Salesman told them teacher assessments would be used in place of exams or terrible algorithms. With BTEC exams due next week, they weren’t included. In a meeting with revolting tories before the vote on Lockdown #3, Boris seemed surprised it would be law until the end of March (just before Easter) and promised a review every 2 weeks. “He hasn’t read it!” exclaimed Phil. As 1.3k Met officers were off sick or isolating, other forces sought permission to break down doors and arrest people. European news actually reported by the BBC for once, there were issues of goods entering NI and the Moderna vaccine was approved by the EU; not applicable on Brexit island of course.
Over In the states, 1 in 5 citizens of Los Angeles were infected, someone died every 15 minutes and ambulances were disgustingly instructed to not pick up people with little chance of recovery.
Following Loser Trump’s attempts to find extra votes and get Pence to illegally declare ballots invalid, the Georgia re-run confirmed a Democrat majority. He told his supporters to go to the Capitol Building, which they obediently did, using violence to gain entry, seize inauguration stands, and defile the interior. 4 acolytes died, one of gunshot the others of heart attacks. Amid questions about security, in stark contrast to the response to BLM protests in the summer, a cop became the fifth fatality due to injuries sustained.
The next day, Biden was finally confirmed as the next president. Still intending to miss the inauguration, The Loser tweeted: ‘Even though I totally disagree with the outcome of the election, and the facts bear me out, nevertheless there will be an orderly transition on January 20.’ Democrats called for him to be removed from office on the grounds of mental incapacity and incitement to insurrection. Having ended the lives of more death row prisoners than any other president in history, it was a shame the maximum penalty was 10 years if convicted. Clearly saying words written for him, he later decried the Capitol besiegers. Some halfwit commented on a picture posted on twitter labelled ‘Via Getty’, that the subject should be arrested. Which grandson would that be?
Here We Are Again!
Shed of Pathos
Wintry conditions persisted for the rest of the week. Thursday, we were distracted by watching people moving out of the house below. “I wonder who our next sim pets will be?” Ha, ha! Togged up, I stole myself for a chilly trip to the market. Actually 2 degrees above freezing, and no ice on the pavements, I felt overdressed. In a quiet town centre, only 4 cars occupied the carpark, allowing me to spot what resembled a pixie door in the side wall of the tearooms, previously unnoticed. The stall outside the pub in the square, rammed with people imbibing mulled wine the previous week, now looked forsaken. The fish van hadn’t made the weekly trip but the toiletries stall was well-stocked which was a relief amidst reports of bog roll shortages. While serving me, the jolly veg man precariously placed his lit fag on the edge of the stall, next to a pack of lighters. “Watch that!” I implored. “Don’t worry, I’m an expert at burning stuff down.” “That’s reassuring.” I remembered to repay him for a faux pas long ago, when I inadvertently took an extra bunch of spring onions. “I’ve been losing sleep over that 50p,” he joked. That evening, we watched The Limehouse Golem on telly. The first time I’d seen it sober; I was struck by its creepiness. Dan Leno’s catchphrase: ‘here we are again!’ seemed particularly poignant right now.
The Cock Cocked-up at a GP surgery to laud delivery of the Oxford vaccine which didn’t turn up. Jon Ashworth said it was like the ‘Thick of It’. The weekly clap apparently returned, as ‘clap for heroes’. “Who are they then?” Asked Phil. “Anyone you like.” No applause was heard in these parts.
Friday, I re-worked my submission plan in line with the reduced 4 issues of Valley Life magazine planned for 2021, reflecting it would be easier selecting one extract per season. The trip to the co-op definitely required the bear coat. Despite alleged shortages and stockpiling, I fulfilled the list. In the afternoon, I wrote up small walks from the previous week to post on ‘Cool Places’i
The R rate rose to 1-1.4. Nationally, there were 1,325 deaths from coronavirus, the worst daily total ever. A major incident was declared in London where 1 in 30 were infected compared to 1 in 50 nationally. The Excel Nightingale hospital would re-open for non-Covid patients. It was reported that 1.5m older people had received a jab so far while the Moderna vaccination was approved. The government ordered an extra 17m doses but it wouldn’t be available until spring, no doubt because the EU got in first. Hauliers going to France were advised to get tested before crossing into Kent. Grant Shatts said negative tests would be required within 72 hours of in-bound travel to the UK. The plan put back until 18th January because the guidance hadn’t been published, Yvette Cooper called it “truly shocking.” Plod idiocy returned with the old park bench conundrum. The over-zealous Derbyshire force were up to their old tricks, fining 2 women who’d driven 5 miles to have a walk. An appeal was unsurprisingly successful. Here we are again!
Saturday, a weak sun obscured by fog, soon disappeared altogether. Horrid dressing in the arctic conditions, I asked Phil to do my long-overdue haircut dry. He said it would be different but I thought it was pretty good. The rest of the day, I worked on blogs and created an arty alphabet made up of letters from signs photographed on the recent canal walk. It started to shape up well but q, x, and z were missing. With cases still rising and hospitals at breaking point, top medics pleaded for tougher restrictions and Boris was more worried than ever. Apart from the daft government ads, it wasn’t clear what else he would do. Reduce the ridiculously long list of keyworkers? Stop their kids attending classes? Close schools altogether? Shut nurseries? Reduce permitted exercise to once a week? As Twitter shut Trump’s account, Phil asked: “has anyone copied it? There were some classics.” “What, like covfefe?” He later found an hilarious example (see top).
Numbered Pole
On a dingy, drizzly Sunday, I braved the mix of mist and fine rain which Phil called ‘fizzle’, to go and find the missing letters for my arty alphabet.
Walking down our street, I found 2 out of 3, plus most numbers. I ventured slightly further and succeeded in getting a complete set.
When you looked, they were everywhere: on lampposts, telegraph poles, walls, parking meters, and of course signs.
Coming back, I found a DVD in the freebie box then ran the last stretch. Good to get some fresh air and exercise, I reflected on the restrictions saying we could go outdoors once a day for exercise but not for recreation. Did that mean we could walk/run/cycle, as long as we didn’t enjoy it? I had several responses ready if challenged: “it’s for me mental health, innit?; I is an essential photographer; I am journaling the pandemic and contributing to a research project”. Alphabet complete, I manipulated letters in Photoshop for future use and wrote a haiku.ii
Over the weekend, Leeds got trounced by Crawley Town in the FA cup 3rd round. To be fair, they looked like they weren’t even trying, suggesting they’d rather concentrate on staying in the top flight. Pundits advised the suspension of all matches. “Yeah, but they don’t mind getting paid to chat shit about the footie they think shouldn’t be played!”
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.
Down on the Beach
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
Tray of Compensation
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 14th 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
Stick in the Mud
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.
Lucky Screenshot
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
Layers of Opinion
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 24th 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.
The Corvus Diaries 