“There is no shying away from the reality that the NHS is deep in crisis” (Siva Anandaciva)
Boris at Work
UCL research found the risk of death from strokes and heart attacks among the unvaccinated, 8 times higher in the first 3 weeks after covid and 5 times higher for 18 months. Covid and flu both still rising in January, UKHSA advised we stay home if ill and wear a face-mask if we went out.
The NHS winter crisis deepening, Rishi Rich, The C**t and treasury ministers met health leaders at Downing Street Saturday 7th. The so-called NHS recovery forum discussed long-term plans rather than pressing critical issue – such bad timing, AND the tories had had 12 years to do this! RCN leader Pat Cullen saw a ‘chink of optimism’ when Rishi told Laura K. Sunday, he was open to talks on nurses’ pay and not expecting them to achieve much, attended ‘crunch talks’ along with other health, rail and teaching reps and relevant ministers at Number 10 Tuesday 9th. In the 45 minute time slots, minister offered one-off payments in return for increased productivity to avert strikes. Unite called it insulting and a waste of time.
The government then announced block-booking of care beds to free up hospital beds. A 2-year blueprint later unveiled with NHS England, £1bn of existing funds would be used to buy new ambulances, hospital beds, virtual beds and community teams. They didn’t say where staffing for all that lot would come from. Amid grim reports of makeshift morgues to deal with excess corpses, King’s Fund chief analyst Siva Anandaciva said the NHS was in ‘deep crisis’. Confronted by real-life horror stories, Tory Chalk avoided using the ‘c’ word on QT. Anna Soubry was no longer a tory, Tim Historian spouted the usual Torygraph tripe, Bridget Philipson trolled out the labour party line and Ash Sarkar claimed tories were scared of the unions. On Newscast, new TUC boss Paul Nowak laughed at the idea they were running the country. Who was?
The RC church were to investigate a lockdown sex party in priest’s quarters adjoining St. Mary’s cathedral, Newcastle. Dean Fr. Michael McCoy invited parishioners but alarmed at a possible police probe, withdrew from his post and was found dead in an Air BnB April 2021. Did he not know suicide was a mortal sin? No suggestion he attended the orgy, Bishop Byrne resigned December 2022. The commons privileges committee grilling still looming, an ITV podcast uncovered more debauchery related to Partygate. Aides hard at work screwing, shredding evidence and colluding on police reports, Bumbling Boris joked they were at the “most non-socially distanced party in the UK right now.” Lobby Akinnola’s (Covid-19 Bereaved Families for Justice) stomach turned at a second year of ‘horrible revelations’ continuing to ‘trivialise death’. Already suspended from parliament for failure to declare financial interests, Andrew Bridgen had the tory whip withdrawn for spreading covid vaccine disinformation and comparing it to the holocaust.
78 year old Welsh GP Dr. Mehboob Ali got covid and died 5 days after retiring. Tuesday 17th a busy day for Wakefield coroners, inquests into two deaths during lockdown #2i found Michael Holmes was trampled by a herd of cows in a field in Netherton and David Nash who died after 4 phone consultations, may have lived if he’d actually seen a doctor. As a Parliamentary Joint Committee recommended the government strengthen the Mental health bill to address historic shortfalls and inequalities Thursday 19th, RCGP (Royal College of General Practitioners) Clare Gerada went on QT to insist GPs did their jobs well and laud IAPT (improved access to psychological therapies). Most access at crisis point, Victor Adebowale of the NHS Confederation retorted it was all topsy turvy and not good enough. Wes Streeting promised labour would fund mental health hubs by closing tax loopholes and ex-Brexit party nutter and stuck record James Bartholomew, complained the whole system was broke.
“Comments about the slave trade being a ‘Caribbean experience’, as though it’s some kind of holiday… (is) completely out of kilter with where British society is” (Halima Begum)
Coming Unstuck
Mythical Stone
A return of the stiff neck made it hard to get going Monday morning. However, I persevered with exercise, blogging and chores. Taking the recycling out, I exchanged pleasantries with neighbours. The young mum in the next terrace was in the community garden. I complemented her efforts to clear it up after 2 years of neglect. A woman from across the street joined me at the bins, commenting on the strong wind. I agreed it was rather blustery in spite of the sunshine. As the wind dropped mid-afternoon, I pottered in the garden. Three old pals I didn’t know were mutually acquainted, came walking past. We compared thoughts on coping with lockdowns, vaccines and the self-entitled government. “We’ll never get rid of them now!” we concurred. In the evening, an Ocado delivery arrived bang on time. It was good to be able to return carrier bags but they gave me a ridiculous number back, including 2 containing 1 item each!
The Daily Plague briefing was broadcast from the new press office, complete with union flags. Pat Valance presented data showing a drop in Covid hospitalisations from 30 to 6 per 100,000. The ‘stay at home order’ for England was replaced by ‘stay local’. We could meet in groups of 6 and do sport outdoors. Cock didn’t rule out foreign travel in summer even though he’d already booked his UK holiday. Scientists weren’t keen. Prof. Dame Anne Johnson, UCL said: “I’m for staycations.” Prof. Sir Mark Walport of UKRI* intoned: “the numbers (in Europe) speak for themselves.” A Panorama report on the Milton Keynes Lighthouse mega-lab discovered PCR tests in a gloopy mess. Belying predictions it would be there for weeks, the Ever Given came unstuck from the mud thus unblocking the Suez Canal.. Nevertheless, they’re gonna need a bigger canal!
The thermometer reached 25 Celsius, making Tuesday officially the hottest March day since 1968. Struggling to come round, I took it slow with gentle exercise and a bath before we set off on a rare trip to the nearest moor, via town for pasties from the bakers and to catch a bus up. Although we’d not visited for some years, we remembered the route and soon reached the ridge dotted with mysterious archaeology. Sitting near a standing stone to eat our pasties, huge sheep approached and stared us out so we didn’t linger. After exploring the landscape, we were fairly certain of the way down but double-checked with an energetic-looking couple striding along. When it looked like our path was barred, Phil insisted we had to climb further up. As we huffed and puffed, a Tornado jet came so close I ducked! I then spotted a jogger jumping a stile below and gleefully headed down the slope. As we reached the road, a bus sped past. We continued down to the country inn, looked into a friend’s garden to see if she was home and fell into conversation with the couple we’d seen on the moor. It turned out they now ran the inn and gave some gen on arrangements for re-opening and using the erstwhile pig field for extra outdoor seating. On telling us where the pigs had gone, we said “They’ve probably been turned into sausages!” Very thirsty, we squatted on the wall opposite to drink from our bottles.
“Is this the right place for the bus?” asked Phil. “No. I don’t know when the next one is. We can go up to the corner if you want.” At that moment, one trundled along the road. “Shit!” We gathered our stuff and tried to run but it was useless. Moodily, we walked down. In spite of being tired, dehydrated and at risk of heatstroke, we quickly reached town. An old biker we knew drank tinnies with a mate near the closed market. He asked us for prints of photos we’d taken of his barge adornments the other week.
After a quick call to the convenience store, we wearily trudged home. My bad ankle had been playing up on the tussocky moors and I subsequently developed sharp knee pains. Still in a huff, Phil blamed me for missing the even though I didn’t know the times back. I made a mental note to check next time so we didn’t come unstuck. (for a fuller description of the walk, see Cool Placesi).
That night, I dreamt we went on holiday to a gammon hotel where I had swimsuit dilemmas. I took it as a message to check my old ones still fit. Having lost weight in the 2 years since I last wore one, I could come unstuck in the pool!
A Nice Day for a Whitewash
Black and White Blossom
The milestone of 150,000 Covid deaths in the UK, actually reached 18th March, was only just released by the ONS due to a ‘data lag’. However, half the population now had antibodies. A much-anticipated WHO report on the origin of the Wuhan outbreak concluded the virus most likely jumped from bats to another animal, but didn’t specify the pangolin. To guard against global supply issues, Novavax would be processed in County Durham, while 24 countries committed to the idea of a treaty for the next pandemic, based on WHO principles. China and the USA notably absent, Dr. Tedros expected all to sign up during negotiations. The Met unsurprisingly exonerated after an investigation by the police into the Clapham Common debacle, they admitted it was a PR disaster. The report revealed 1,500 anti-lockdowners turned up at the vigil including Piers Corbyn. Brexit pub chain Wetherspoons planned to invest £145m on new pubs and upgrades after lockdown, including Newport Pagnell. Was there anything there apart from a motorway service station? Melvin Bean was adamant the Leeds festival would go ahead: “I’m taking the PM at his word.” We’ll see about that, Mr. Bean!
Achy after Tuesday’s walk, we stayed round the house on Wednesday. Warm with sunny spells, it was a nice day to hang washing on the line, which I did for the first time this year. After lunch, I got stuck trying to come up with titles for the next journal entry, developed head fug and had to stop. Looking grimy in sunlight, we dusted the living room and Phil fetched the analogue clock down from behind the telly to get it going again. Stopped for months, it was strange to hear the tick again. I arranged some twigs to hang Eastern European eggs on and placed mad chickens round the hearth.
The number of second jabs given in a day exceeded first doses. How long immunity lasted, the chances of re-infection and the impact of variants, were all still unclear. However, scientists said the vaccine provided ‘optimal chance’ of effective anti-bodies. Germany allowed use of AZ on over 60’s only while Macron apparently ignored scientists, considering himself an ‘expert’. Spain announced that masks were required on all beaches throughout the country (count me out!) UK citizens wasted no time enjoying the spring heatwave, descending on public spaces and leaving piles of litter in their wake. Councils closed parks. Launching on the LSE, Deliveroo shares tanked by 30%. Leading fund managers such as Legal & General and Aviva rejected the listing over issues with the company’s business model, workers’ rights and regulatory concerns. A scrap metal yard fire in Sheffield would rage for days. How on earth did metal set ablaze?
The Commission for Race and Ethnic Disparities (Crud) report led by Tony Sewage, was a complete whitewash. It found the UK was an integrated society with no institutional racism and the system not rigged against minorities. No surprise with the Crud team hand-picked by fellow denier Munira Mirza. Among its recommendations were increased scrutiny of police footage of stop and search, more ethnic minority recruits and training. Roundly condemned, Halima Begum of Runnymede Trust railed: “Frankly, by denying the evidence of institutional racism and tinkering with issues like unconscious bias training and use of the term ‘BAME’…they’ve insulted every ethnic minority in this country – the people who continue to experience racism on a daily basis.” She added: “comments about the slave trade being a ‘Caribbean experience’, as though it’s some kind of holiday… (is) completely out of kilter with where British society is.” Dr. Sewage responded that suggesting the report was “trying to downplay the evil of the slave trade (was) absurd.”
Labour said the conclusions were a ‘divisive polemic’ and downplayed institutional racism. Unions called it ‘deeply cynical’ and said it denied black workers’ experiences. NHS providers claimed there was ‘clear and unmistakable’ evidence that minority ethnic staff had worse experiences and faced more barriers than whites and that denying links between structural racism and health inequalities was ‘damaging.’ They demanded concrete action to tackle bias and discrimination across public services. Sam Kasumo resigned as a top government ethnic minority adviser; Downing Street of course downplayed a connection.
No Jokes, Sleaze; We’re British
Pussy Willow
The Guardian’s report of building another Suez Canal sounded like a great idea. We had visions of a holiday pootling about on small boats while container ships used the bigger one. Alas, it was an April Fool’s joke. The weather was no joke. Grey and cold, a nithering easterly made it feel like winter again. I hurried to town where pussy willow hung over steely waters near the old bridge. The market packed with wandering hippies and not distanced gammons, I waited ages at the fish van and almost kicked a wanker behind in the queue as he edged uncomfortably close. At the toiletries stall, a woman gassed to the stallholders, making paying awkward. On the way home, I paused to take pictures of a beautiful white cherry tree in the carpark. A passing old man smiled at me: “Isn’t it lovely!” “Yes, but I’m not sure it’ll come out on my photos.” Actually, they weren’t too bad and leant themselves to monochrome rather well (see above). Working on the journal, I came up with headings and declared the first draft done at long last. I experienced another odd night, struggling to get to sleep for ages and then waking very early.
Mainly immunised, vulnerable groups no longer needed to shield. A BMJ report found only 1 in 5 people with symptoms requested a test, and the effect of TIT ‘limited’. Matt Cock was ‘very worried’ that 13.7% of those affected by the virus had long Covid. Layla Moran said it should be treated as an occupational disease and appropriate support given. Vaccine hesitancy dropped from 44% to 22% among ethnic minorities in spite of claims it broke upcoming Ramadan fasting rules (it didn’t); possibly thanks to campaigning by Lenny Henry and other celebs. France shut down schools, shops and non-local travel. Brazil borrowed £665m for vaccines and health care. Trials in the USA declared the Pfizer inoculation 100% effective on 12-15 year olds. It was later found equally effective in South Africa and to prompt a huge immune response on all variants.
Liberty Steel boss Sanjeev Gupta insisted he wasn’t closing plants. Owing billions to now-failed Greensill Capital, he was refused a government loan – they reportedly hadn’t ruled out nationalisation. Links to David Cameron emerged. Lex Greensill acted as an adviser to the former PM and subsequently, Cameron worked for Greensill, lobbying for Covid contracts on his behalf. The Office of Registrar of Consultant Lobbyists cleared him of wrongdoing because as an employee, it didn’t formally constitute lobbying. Labour’s Dodds and Reeves repeated demands for an inquiry. In the olden days, we called that type of thing sleaze.
Easter in White
Easter White Cherry by Phil Openshaw
Good Friday started cool but as the sun re-appeared, became much nicer than forecast. I failed to sleep in to make up for crappy nights and did free puzzles provided by Metro in lieu of news. No Pace Egg play for the second year running, Phil declared it a normal workday and was kept busy for much of it (strangely, a lot of gig work seemed to come on a Friday). Concocting a slightly different version of Aussie chocolate fruit cake, I almost forgot to add eggs and made a right mess spooning the gloopy batter out of the tin to re-mix it. But it turned out okay. While it was baking, I worked on a very slow computer, had coffee and stuffed a fig roll in my gob when there was a knock at the door. A volunteer from the local covid support group stood outside with an Easter treat bag of yellow and white daffodils, a chocolate egg and a cute card courtesy of school kids. How nice! Expressing thanks, I apologised for talking with my mouth full. “That’s alright. Fig rolls are my favourite.” “Sorry, it’s my last one. If I’d known you were coming…” “You’d have baked a cake.” “I’ve got one in the oven right now. Come back later!” I wrote up Tuesday’s walk for Cool Places and watched a suitably seasonal film. King of Kings was now so ubiquitous I could recite the dialogue. Phil cut his hair and cleaned the bathroom while I coated the cake with chocolate, properly melted this time, buttons, jazzies and mini eggs. On sampling, I asked Phil how it compared to the one I made for his birthday “I like marzipan.” Hmm!
As the Scottish ‘stay at home’ order was replaced by ‘stay local’. National Clinical Director Jason Leitch rambled on BBC Breakfast about the different rules of the 4 nations and dithered over answers on when we could travel freely around the UK. It was no surprise the so-called expert struggled with a maze of regulations across the UK. In Scotland, 4 people from 2 households could meet, outdoor non-contact sport, group exercise and communal worship (by up to 50) was already allowed. In Wales, the ‘stay local’ order was lifted on 27th March permitting travel across Wales for the Welsh only, 4 people from 2 households were already allowed to meet and outdoor sports facilities had been open since 13th March. In Northern Ireland, 6 people from 2 households could meet outdoors and 10 from no more than 2 households could do outdoor sport (including golf but not go into club houses). I doubted the Belfast rioters took any notice.
3 p.m. by the time I’d finished a series of niggly jobs Saturday, I felt glum being stuck indoors. For the second day running, it was much sunnier and warmer than expected, although some areas did experience a white Easter. At least I caught a some rays with a trip the co-op. As I headed back, Phil headed out to the convenience store. Differing requirements meant we’d had to split the shopping which irked me until he returned with an armful of roses!. It prompted us to finish cleaning the living room to make room for a vase and more mad chickens. Afternoon telly dreadful, we listened to music instead. I finally finished the Easter card I’d made him, but had a right faff printing it out.
Bunting for Jesus
Sunday started badly with a coffee pot disaster. The plunger of the cafetiere fell apart, promptly sinking into the hot liquid. What a palaver! Thankfully, Phil came to the rescue. Things improved as we exchanged gifts. I gave him the homemade card and an egg containing a mini bunny. On top of the roses, he’d got me prosecco truffles and made me a digital art. ‘Easter White Cherry’ represented a much better version of the blossom in the carpark than I’d managed. Early sun consumed by cloud, we ventured out regardless to pursue Phil’s mission to photograph more blossom.
Out on the street, a young neighbour washed his car after it got egged by kids. “The only egg I’ve had,” he wailed, “but I was a little bastard myself once.” “Well,” I observed, “there’s not much entertainment at the moment. They have to make their own.”
We crossed the main road, amused by bunting hanging in the Methodist church’s garden. “It was only a matter of time before Jesus and the egg came together,” Laughed Phil. Climbing above the canal, we espied angry geese chasing an interloper, a disturbing leprechaun effigy and a family trying to navigate ruined houses. Further up, a woman and girl looked for a celeb grave. “You’re on the wrong side of the valley.” As I gave directions, their dog barked ferociously and strained at the leash at the sight of a cat. Grateful it was on a lead, we continued to find colourful spring flowers, blossom and fencing. A group chatting took up the pavement and half the road, forcing us to cross. Descending near the station, the catkins of a tree growing out of a wall turned from furry to fuzzy. In the park, a delighted family posed below cherry trees. “They’ll be on Insta pretending they’re in Japan rather than West Yorkshire!” I joked. The delicate petals waved about in gusty draughts, making them very difficult to photograph. Phil berated himself: “what a stupid day to suggest a blossom mission. I might come back on a less windy day.” “You’d better be quick. It doesn’t last long.” In front of the café, families picnicked very close to the path as a large line snaked towards the serving hatch. We popped in the town centre shop, warily approached the white cherry in the carpark and gawped at people queueing at a plethora of smoky street food stalls, dawdling coffee-cuppers and a crowd in the middle of the pedestrian street dancing and singing along to a busker. “That’s all you need for a festival – a man with guitar, a kebab and a can of beer!” “It’s such a contrast to last Easter during lockdown 1. Do you remember dancing in traffic-free streets?” Meanwhile, Elder Sis posted pictures of her walk through a deserted central London. Thinking the world had descended on our little town, I later discovered there’d been a Kill the Bill demo (and also in Birmingham and Bristol, with inevitable crowds and arrests), so maybe all the Cockneys were in Finsbury Park.
Back home, Phil wrangled the bread without touching the wrapping at all like a total ninja so we could have butties for lunch. I was shocked that I’d taken tons more photos than on a country walk. Many featured blurry blossom and went straight in the bin but I found inspiration for a haigaii. At bedtime, an incredibly loud wind whipped up the second my head hit the pillow. It took some time to drop off. I dreamt I was pregnant but in denial. On waking I recalled this was often a metaphor for new projects then realised it was probably because the book I was reading featured a pregnant girl!
In his Easter message from Canterbury cathedral with a distanced choir, arch Welby said we could go with the light of Jesus and choose a better future for all. St. Peter’s square eerily empty, The Pope took mass inside the basilica. Vaccines reached 31.5m and 5.3m had a second dose. On the eve of a cabinet meeting and a Boris briefing there was speculation on traffic lights for travel and Covid passport trials (at events later in April including the FA cup final and Snooker). Tory MP Nigel Huddle said it may enable venues to open without social distancing but David Daves moaned it wasn’t ‘freedom to have a normal life’ – whatever that was…
“Boris Johnson appears to have finally learned a lesson about the dangers of overpromising and underdelivering” (Devi Sridhar)
Magic Monday
Haiga – Popping Out i
Very achy at the start of the week, it was a struggle to get up. A typical Monday mired in nasty jobs was brightened somewhat when I took the rubbish out by sightings of the sun and several neighbours. Exchanging pleasantries with the woman next door, the elderly couple emerged for a stroll. We compared health notes. She’d unfortunately had another fall but celebrated her birthday with balloons and an opera singer performing outside. I’d heard nothing from my sickbed on the other side of the house. Phil later said he had. “She must have been good, it sounded like a recording.” “It’s a pity the rest of the terrace didn’t know. We could have stood on our doorsteps to enjoy the magic.” Enquiring if they’d had the jab, he had. She declared “no chance!” “Oh come on! If they wanted to put chips in us, they’d have done it decades ago. And anyway, Google can already track you.” Chuckling, he said: “I’ve told her, who’d want to track us?” “Good point!” I laughed
Forcing myself to rise again on Tuesday, Phil offered to take on the chores. But fed up with so much time in bed, I persevered with cleaning, writing and a trip to the co-op – not too stressful for once. Paying at the kiosk, my member’s card did a vanishing trick. An old acquaintance appeared just in time to indicate its location on the floor. Aching from the heavy load, I rested in the afternoon which helped my back but not my brain.
As deaths were down almost a quarter, a PHS study found ‘spectacular’ hospitalisation reductions of 94% after a dose of the Oxford/AZ vaccine, 85% for Pfizer and 75% in the over 80’s. Schools in Wales and Scotland re-started and Sturgeon announced the ‘stay at home order’ would end north of the border on 5th April with a return to the system of levels.
The anticipated roadmap out of lockdown dominated English news. Following a Commons session, Boris gave a Monday evening press briefing. Calling the 4-step plan a ‘one way road to freedom’, but undertaken ‘with utmost care’ with 5 weeks between each step to assess the effect on 4 ‘safety tests’ (numbers vaccinated, effectiveness in reducing hospitalisation and death, rates of infection, and emergence of mutants strains). He promised no tiers or curfews but said regional lockdowns were an option to supress surges. Warning of ‘trade-offs’ with more deaths and hospital cases, he maintained there was no such thing as a ‘Covid-free Britain’ and we’d have to live with it like flu. I reflected on the lack of a flu season during the winter. That didn’t happen by magic. Had they learnt nothing from the reduction in touching and breathing on each other? Saying they’d be ‘lead by the data, not dates’, The Bumbler proceeded to reel off a list of dates for each step:
Step 1 – 8th March – schools and colleges to open with twice-weekly testing and masks for secondary pupils. Students on practical university courses could return but the rest would stay on-line, to be reviewed at Easter. We could have a ‘coffee on a bench’ with 1 other person and 1 regular visitor would be allowed for care home residents.
29th March – The ‘stay at home’ order ended but we should still keep local. We could meet as groups of 6 or as 2 households outdoors, including private gardens. Outdoor sport and playgroups could resume, capped at 15 participants. There was no mention of going to the office or using public transport.
Step 2 – 12th April – non-essential shops, gyms and salons would re-open, pubs and restaurants could serve alcohol outdoors and self-catering domestic overnight stays were permitted, including camping. Outdoor venues like zoos and theme parks, indoor play areas, libraries and community centres could also open.
Step 3 – 17th May – indoor mixing of 6 people or 2 households and up to 30 people outdoors, was permitted. All hospitality, cinemas, theatres, concert halls and sports venues could open, with half-capacity crowds. Adult sport and indoor classes were allowed. Hotels and B&Bs could open and foreign holidays may be possible.
Step 4 – 21st June – all legal limits on social contact would be removed thus enabling greater indoor mixing, nightclubbing and larger events such as festivals. There was no mention of face coverings or social-distancing rules, although a review was planned.
There’d be pilots of larger crowds and consideration of a ‘Covid Status Certification’ for international travel, later muted to include access to pubs as well as planes. Foreign holiday bookings jumped 7-fold overnight. As The Bumbler confirmed Tuesday that the Glove-puppet would lead the review, he said he was optimistic but “nothing can be guaranteed.” Mike Tildesley warned: “There are certain areas (inner city, deprived)…where vaccine uptake is not high… if we do get these pockets of infection…we could have a more significant risk.”
4 scientists responded in The Guardian. Devi Sridhar said while Boris had finally learned a lesson on overpromising and underdelivering, there were still problems to overcome. She advocated a measles approach to public health, involving vaccines, mass testing and supported isolation. “The imminent risk now is the full return of schools on 8th March leading to uncontrolled transmission.” Jennifer Dowd of Oxford University added opening schools with little mitigation in place was risky.
SPI-M’s Graham Medley maintained: “Balancing the amount of social contact with the speed of the vaccine roll-out will allow us to exit the epidemic with minimal damage from now on. This will not be the end of Covid-19, and there will be more twists in the tale. But the next few months will be a key step in learning how to live with it.” SPI-B’s Stephen Reicher intoned: “whether this roadmap will ensure an ‘irreversible’ lifting of restrictions is again found in the detail.” A sustainable long-term strategy always was ‘and is still’ lacking. He advocated other measures besides vaccinations including improved TIT, resources to self-isolate, common standards to make places ‘Covid safe’ and proper border controls.ii
Merry Mayhem
Snow Moon
I awoke far too early on Wednesday, fatigued and slightly nasal. Phil also felt a bit ill. After a dose of Echinacea, I got going on life admin and writing. During my siesta, I succeeded in 10 minutes’ mindfulness, promptly expelled copious amounts of wind and felt much better all round. Had I expelled stress too? A much better night-time sleep confirmed the theory.
Keir Starmer was exacerbated by another PMQs ‘with no answers’. Quizzed on financial support, Boris called Kier a ‘rocking stool’, said his agenda was ‘paltry’ and advised he wait for next week’s budget. Ian Blackford wanted to know if there’d be another decade of tory austerity. Boris didn’t answer and deflected the question to rant about the SNP wanting to break up Britain.
Following a campaign by DJ Jo Wiley, some people with learning disabilities would be prioritised in the vaccine queue. It was up to GPs to identify them. Neil Ferguson idiotically predicted the ‘road map’ end-date might be sooner than 21st June if the vaccine roll-out exceeded expectations. Van Dam disagreed: “I don’t want to blow it.” USA deaths reached 500,000 but their vaccine programme was progressing at last. Gwyneth Poltroon shared barmy treatments for long-Covid including ‘intuitive fasting’ and infrared saunas. Top NHS Prof. Stephen Powis diplomatically said her methods were “not really the solutions we’d recommend.” Latitude, Reading and Leeds summer festivals were going ahead. Would revellers need a jab passport? What about under 18’s who weren’t inoculated? It could be a merry mayhem of a Covid-fest!
Thursday was altogether much cheerier. We both felt much better and sun streamed through the windows. Phil helped clear cobwebs dangling from the bedroom ceiling. I spent the rest of the day drafting an article for Valley Life magazineiii, adding layers to the Photoshop collage, and going to the market. No queue at the fish van but a limited choice reminded me of Phil’s experience a couple of weeks ago when there was an absence of shellfish. The Fishmonger blamed the famine on Rick Stein telling everyone to eat it now it wasn’t getting to Europe. One of the veg stalls stocked fabled rhubarb from the magical triangle. The sticks fell out of my bag near the riverside steps. Stopping to re-pack, coffee-cuppers and whooping toddlers made me anxious. In spite of my efforts, they fell out again. A hipster behind me said “you need that.” “Indeed. Ever since it was featured on Sunday Brunch, I’ve been thinking: rhubarb!” Emerging from a late afternoon rest, Phil immediately shut the curtains against the dusk as the temperature plummeted.
The alert level down from 5 to 4, the NHS was at less risk of being overwhelmed. The Queen appeared on zoom and advised people to think of others, but didn’t say they were selfish for not having the jab, as the Daily Mail screamed in typical melodramatic style. Emergence of the SA variant in Ealing led to surge testing while Moderna’s tweaked vaccine could be available soon.
Teachers welcomed school catch-up funding to include summer schools, but wanted a longer-term strategy. Teacher assessments were confirmed in place of exams. With tests optional, some warned of inflated grades. Against a backdrop of rising unemployment, The TUC said it was twice as high among the BAME community compared to whites. Asda announced a ‘structural shift’ due to more internet shopping and less cash use, threatening 5,000 jobs, but 4,500 new online jobs were promised. Dodds said councils should be allowed to take over empty shops. Evil tech villain Musk’s skylink provided super-fast broadband in rural areas at an astronomical £89 per month. It sounded spookily like Skynet in The Terminator. Question Time sparked debate on jab passports. What was to stop businesses having their own? Shats tried to defend The Cock’s claim there was never a shortage of PPE, even though we all remembered the mayhem in over-stretched and under-resourced hospitals. Jo Grady called it blatantly misleading.
An almost-full bright moon mitigated against sleep. Even with use of the meditation soundtrack, my slumber was disjointed. Thus I rose later than planned on Friday and had to get a move on to be ready for the Ocado delivery. Unloading a pile of cans and bottles, the driver observed: “Not many people order Mateus.” “Did you know it was the very first rose wine? “Really? My mum used to drink it.” “She’s probably my age then!” Feeling old, I struggled to get the bags to the kitchen, even with Phil’s help carrying the heaviest. “He sounded like a right Rupert.” “I guess he’s had to redeploy with all the hipster bars shut.” Exhausted, I collapsed on the sofa.
Egg Shelf Notice
Unfortunately, I still needed some stuff for the weekend. Hoping to find treats for Phil’s birthday in the co-op, I declined his offer to accompany me. “After all, grocery shops are virtually the only place I can get your presents.” “I don’t mind extra food.” “It’s a good job!” Searching for items, I saw notices on the egg shelf denoting continuation of the cardboard shortage. I asked my mate at the kiosk if could put the trolley-load through. He apologetically but understandably refused. Avoiding an altercation with the cowbag, cashier, I used the adjacent till.
A lorry at shed boy’s place blocked the steps so I trudged the longer way home. Alerted by the evening news to the appearance of a full Snow Moon, we paused film-night to take photos outside. Phil provided expert tips resulting in superior shots to any of my previous efforts.
Unions blasted the decision not to bump police and teachers up the vaccination priority list. Chair of the Police Federation John Apter said: “This is a very deep and damaging betrayal and will not be forgotten.” Was that a threat? Would there be mayhem on un-patrolled streets? Paul Whiteman, NAHT, whinged: “the government has let them (teachers) down at every turn.” Wei Shem Lin of JCV defended sticking to age criteria: “structuring an entire mass vaccination programme around occupations would be even more difficult.”
In an appeal brought by the Home Office, The Supreme Court ruled that ISIS child-bride Shamima Begum would pose a security risk if she was allowed into the country to appeal against having her British citizenship withdrawn. David Davis tweeted it was a ‘disappointing verdict…the UK cannot simply wash our hands of Brits in Syrian camps’. Quite. And why couldn’t they put measures in place to ensure she wasn’t a threat?
Due to a late night, I had a wobbly start on Saturday and stayed in to finish the collage. Phil went to the shop. He was gone so long I got worried and tried ringing but the call went straight to voicemail. When he rang back, I couldn’t pick up! By the time we spoke, he was almost home. He’d unfathomably gone to town instead of the co-op as I’d assumed, dodging coffee-cuppers and queuing in the convenience store. Due to the delay, dinner prep had to start as soon as we’d had lunch. To compound matters, he said he’d cook but I ended up doing most of it, including rhubarb crumble.
Mystery Unsolved
Mysterious Painted Stone
Sunday, I awoke early to blinding brightness then fell back to sleep until 10. On opening the curtains, the roofs looked white and shiny. Confused, it transpired I’d just missed an intense but brief hailstorm. Wanting to go for a walk in the sun, we bathed and breakfasted as quickly as possible. However, it was past 2 when we were ready. I took some recycling out and spotted a child’s ball in the gutter. Kicking it back to dad, he was surrounded by kids, even though he only had one (to my knowledge) thus not all from the same household.
Walking out in the spring-like warmth, we greeted a neighbour sitting in her back garden. Continuing my research into vaccine take-up, she didn’t know when her invite was due. As she was in our age group, I was able to tell her it would be soon.
On the towpath, Phil commented on the emergence of aging drinkers on benches. “They come out of hibernation around now, like the buds.” Very busy in the park, I observed. “Those native Americans knew a thing or two about the Snow Moon signalling the end of winter.” We climbed up to farmland, finding the fields largely devoid of livestock. We noticed ridges on the slope and a man-made water feature at the bottom for the first time. Subsequently consulting an old map, the site was marked ‘mill pond’ and a mill labelled nearby – a reminder that every opportunity was taken to exploit the landscape in more industrial times. Further up, a decrepit border collie lumbered past. A woman with her own dog asked was it ours. “We assumed it belonged to the farm.” “No, it doesn’t.” As another woman stopped her car, they made a phone call to locate the owner. They obviously all knew each other up there! Resting on a bench at the next corner, a veritable herd of old sheepdogs appeared, this time corralled by their owners. On the way down, we veered off cobbles to cut through the west side of the dark wood. Among the curious arrangements we’d seen in August, we noted several stones of a distinct blue hue with surfaces resembling bubbles. Was it brought here by druids from Wales? We also spotted a painted stone in the hollow of a tree base, deliberately planted holly and makeshift hutments. “Someone believes this place is mystical.” The path became tricky on the last stretch with squelchy mud and a strange channel barely big enough for one foot. Nearing home, skinny catkins sprouted from spindly branches above the river. Inordinately tired after the short walk, we agreed it had been lovely to see signs emerging of the turning of the seasons. (for a fuller description of the walk, see ‘Cool Places’iv).
During a mediocre night, Covid dreams featured tenements randomly populated by strangers and friends. I inexplicably took a pizza to Vegan Friend. She ate it before I realised it wasn’t vegan!
Over the weekend, the numbers receiving vaccinations reached 20m. Between them, the EU, UK, USA, Australia, Canada and Japan had 1bn extra doses. Over 100 poorer countries had none. PHE found 6 cases of the F1 Manaus variant; 3 each in Scotland and England, 1 of whom was a mystery – they’d failed to fully complete the form rendering them uncontactable.
In Yorkshire, a family was found camping on the edge of a cliff on The Cleveland Way. Lambasted by coastguards, the police were alerted to a breach of Coronavirus Laws.
“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
Signs 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!
Twee Figurine
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
Weak Sun
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.
“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
Haiga – Fall Road i
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 2nd 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 24th 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
Straggly Thyme
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 15th 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
Maple Leaves Collage
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 2nd 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 16th 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 16th 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 16th December, another MP vote at the end of January, to publish evidence on which decisions were based, and a ‘sunset’ clause of 3rd 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 1st 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.
“You might very well think that – I couldn’t possibly comment ” (Francis Urquart, House of Cards)
Game-Changer
Haiga – Alchemy
Shouty men wheeling stuff about in the fog on the street made for a rude awakening Monday morning. Waiting until the noise abated, I drifted back to sleep then became alarmed at the lateness of the hour. Phil’s help with the tedious chores was most welcome. I spent the rest of the morning blog-posting, causing minor irritation. The stupid highlights re-appeared in the Word file so whole chunks of the journal had to be re-written and the Facebook link again proved problematic. Continuing with writing after lunch, my eyes went funny so I switched to art. The new painting I started, based on a photo of felled maple leaves last autumn, looked more promising than Sunday’s effort. Placing an Ocado order, daytime slots were still as rare as hen’s teeth. I settled for an early Wednesday evening delivery.
The Welsh firebreak ended. Heddlu patrolled the English border to stem shopping trips. This didn’t prevent massive queues outside Primark in Cardiff and mayhem in Ikea. The number of cases worldwide hit 50 million. Pfizer/Biontec won the race for a vaccine, 90% effective in trials but not yet peer-reviewed. Subject to emergency authorisation, the UK government planned to start immunising in December, having pre-ordered 40m doses, enough for 20m people (with 300m on order in total when others came online). We knew care workers and the vulnerable would be first in line but after that, who was going to get what and when? Although offered more money, GPs expressed concern about the practicalities of vaccinating thousands of people a day and keeping the Pfizer vaccine at the required -70 degrees. Dummy Prof Van Dam took part in the daily briefing and expressed ‘cautious optimism’. “These vaccines will prevent illness, but that’s all we know. We don’t know if they will prevent asymptomatic infection and have an effect on community transmission.” Imploring us to still follow the rules, The Bumbler trolled out one of his moronic analogies involving distant bugles: “I have often talked of the bugle of scientific breakthrough coming over the brow of the hill. Tonight that toot is louder, but it is still some way off.”
Loser Trump blamed his defeat on Pfizer, for not announcing the vaccine’s success before the election. A true hallmark of a narcissist, thinking the world revolved around them!
Meanwhile, venture capitalist, wife of tory minister Jesse Norman and Head of the Vaccine Taskforce, Kate Bingham, spent a fortune on PR consultants Admiral Associates. The Director, Angus Collingwood-Cameron, was also coincidentally (sic) a director of The Scumbag’s in-laws’ country estate. This came after she revealed sensitive info to America the other week, with another money-spinner of a virtual conference for capitalists planned next year. It was subsequently reported she was stepping down at the end of year.
Panorama covered Liverpool during the tier 3 restrictions including gyms flouting the rules before being allowed to re-open and demos involving the predictable assortment of tin-foilers and naysayers. I learnt a new word: ‘coronacoaster’.
Getting out of bed continued to be difficult throughout the week but I forced myself to do so. On Tuesday, I checked the Valley Life proof, worked on the journal and did a big top-up shop. I got stressed in the co-op as my glasses steamed up so much I could hardly see. The kiosk cashier was as cheery as ever – not! A crowded draining board made washing tricky causing further stress. Hearing me swear, Phil asked what was wrong. “The same old annoying routine. What do you think!” I flopped on the sofa, then on the bed. Another faff ensued at coffee time, trying to tip biscuits into a tin. A piece of uncleansed plastic tumbled out with the yummy treats– grr!
The Cock boasted that the UK would be among one of the first countries to get vaccines, with the NHS and army involved in delivery. COVAX (The Global Vaccine Alliance) might have something to say about that. People in poor countries unable to social distance and access clean water, suffered more, not to mention those in refugee camps; surely they should be prioritised? Prof. Bell of Oxford University told a joint session of the Commons Health & Social Care and Science & technology Committees there was a high probability of 3 vaccines being available by spring and of immunising the vulnerable by Easter – if distribution wasn’t ‘screwed up.’ Who could he mean? Surely not our wonderfully competent government! John Penrose MP self-isolated after being contacted by his wife Dildo’s TIT. Facing the same committee, she insisted she was doing a great job. While admitting that demand outstripped capacity in September, she couldn’t answer questions on when the next peak was expected. A record 314k redundancies between July and September helped raise unemployment to 4.8%. Wales cancelled all 2021 school exams and Scotland some of them. Westminster insisted this wouldn’t happen in England but how long until that changed? Amanda Spielman of Ofsted said pupils might not go back in the spring term if there were no exams. Where did they find those odd kids that loved school?
Northern Plaguehouse
Plague House
Wednesday morning, I continued work on the journal and watched PMQs. Keir quizzed Boris on the use of PR consultants. A scandal with self-employed people still falling through the cracks. I spent the afternoon listening to my own music (much better than the radio), painting ‘Maple Leaves’ and doing yoga. Meanwhile, Phil gave himself a buzz cut. After a rest, I sorted bags ready for the Ocado deliver which was a good job as it arrived slightly early. I almost froze my fingers off stuffing food in the freezer.
In scaled-down Armistice Day commemorations, a fat, grizzled Poet Laureate Simon Armitage recited a tribute. “It’s the crap Ted Hughes!” laughed Phil. In another world-beating feat, the UK headed the death league table. The Cock told MPs mass testing would be rolled out to 67 other local authorities after the Liverpool pilot. Universities were to close on 1st Dec, with rapid testing and travel corridors to allow students to go home and study on-line until Christmas. Universities Minister, Michelle Donelan, told them to display ‘refined behaviour’ before moving about the country – what a joke! In an attempt to allay safety concerns, Dummy Prof Van Dam wittered about the ‘mum test’, said he’d have the vaccine himself if he could and offered to help give jabs. While Europe ran out of ICU beds, local news reported that the north was disproportionally badly affected by coronavirus. Newsnight included a segment on our local TIT. Calderdale Director of Public Health, Debs Harkins, said it reached 95% of contacts but most didn’t qualify for a £500 grant to self-isolate and called for eligibility to be reviewed. A man working on the system told us they were ridiculously not allowed to approach people contacted by Dildo’s TIT. Taxi drivers got free PPE with the possibility of routine tests in the near future. I’d seen tweets from Debs with the weekly Covid infection updates but didn’t realise that during summer, the area had 20 x the average number of national cases. Workers in low income public sector jobs took the infection home to multi-generational households. Still low in our rural patch, I guessed they were mainly in Halifax.
‘We Own It’ set up a letter of support to the Covid Recovery Group (a group of 50 tory MPs). Before signing, I added: “Here in Calderdale, I understand that the track and trace system, set up by the local authority, has reached 95% of contacts. This demonstrates that local teams are far more effective than the woeful and expensive privatised system set up to line the pockets of the Prime Minister’s cronies.”
Has Anyone Seen The Level Playing Field?
Level Playing Field?
A bright Thursday morning was spent bathing, hoovering and a modicum of writing before an early lunch and long-overdue afternoon walk. Leaving the house, Phil had to go back for a mask. I bemoaned the palaver to a passing friendly neighbour: “it’s one more thing to remember isn’t it? keys, money, phone, mask…” “Put them on a hook near the front door.” She suggested. “I can’t guarantee they wouldn’t get contaminated.” That made her laugh.
Phil nipped in the co-op while I hung around near the back door. A friend greeted me, unrecognisable with his face covered. As his partner emerged, she said “I just said hello to your Phil. “Oh. Was he in there?” “It’s these bloody masks!” We headed through the park, resplendent in the afternoon sun. Climbing past the station up to farmland, large cattle had replaced sheep and goats in the fields. As I panted from the effort of the ascent, Phil said. “You sound like a killer cow.” “Charming!” We then ascended to the top path above the quarry, made tricky by errant trees, fast-flowing water and squelchy mud. Down in the wood, the small waterfall was inundated, We clambered to rest near the wall. Copper and bronze carpeted the paths and adorned spindly branches reaching towards the light, giving inspiration for the week’s haigai. Phil refused to believe it when we reached our usual return path and continued into uncharted territory. “It’s all different,” he said. “Don’t ask me; I never come this way.” We descended a horrid stony path. Finding it hard-going, I cautiously picked my way down to avoid a mishap. Phil raced ahead, only stopping when he espied a lenticular cloud hovering above. Back on familiar territory we took the easiest way home, where I slumped on the sofa with fatigue. (For a fuller description of the walk, see Cool Placesii).
Coronavirus cases jumped 46% across the country with Hull now top of the English infection charts. Val Vaz MP quizzed Rees-Moggy on the awarding of contracts during the pandemic and called for a public enquiry. In a web even more extensive than I’d imagined, ‘My Little Crony’ illustrated the number of contracts awarded to Tory family members, friends and donors. Great work by Sophie Hill!iii
Tired from the outing, I went to bed to watch QT (dominated by The Cock on the vaccine), and Brexitcast – yes, it was back! They knew nothing I didn’t already but highlighted a tweet from Michel Barnier in a playing field, joking: “Short break from intense EU-UK negotiations in London… Went looking for level playing fields…” Good luck with that, mate!
Unlucky for Some
Book Kiosk
I woke early on Friday the 13th to the gentle hum of traffic in the rain. Were people fed up working from home after only a week of lockdown? By the time I rose, the rain had stopped, becoming sunny and freakily warm for the time of year. Feeling lazy after a week of mediocre sleeping, I dithered over small chores and wrote ‘Autumn Rainbow’ for Cool Places. Posting the blog later, I again had trouble with links. Due to Ocado not having everything in stock that we needed, I annoyingly still had to go to the co-op. Why was our preferred coffee so elusive? Was it because of Brexit? I later relaxed with yoga and practiced guitar.
Infections slowed but still stood at 5000,000. Sage said the ‘R’ rate was between 1.1 and 1,2, higher than Kings College’s Zoe App rate of 0.8-0.9. At any rate, cases and deaths still rose, due to manic mixing before lockdown #2. While rates fell in the young and rose in the old, over 1k school clusters led to 12-16 year olds infecting households. My mind whirled trying to reconcile the differing data. Yorkshire Ripper Peter Sutcliffe died of Covid-19 after refusing treatment. Phil said: “I’m not surprised. He was probably a tin-foiler.”
The resignation of top adviser Lee Cain the previous day caused chaos in Downing Street. His bezzy mate Scumbag was predicted to be gone by Christmas, then made a very public exit with his box, from the shiniest front door in the land, Friday teatime. The Daily Mail predicted a ‘vicious attack’ between now and when he was officially severed in December. Wondering what on earth Boris’ girlfriend had to do with it all, it transpired The Symonds texted Boris 25 times an hour and called his office 20 times a day with her thoughts on policy, leading to her being nicknamed Princess Nut-Nut by Scumbag and his cronies. He’d forwarded a text with that moniker thus told to clear his desk. Would The Symonds and Allegra Stratton become The Bumbler’s key advisers, the latter seen flouncing outside Number 10 in a fancy car?
In spite of a stuffed freezer, Phil hankered for pheasant and went to the butchers on Saturday. I pottered round the house until he returned to cut and dye my hair. In anticipation of a lengthy cooking time, I started pot roasting the pheasant almost straight after lunch but it was much quicker than previous efforts.
On the main day of the 5-day Diwali celebrations, Rishi was seen decorating Number 11’s doorstep and urged fellow-Hindus to keep to lockdown rules, even if it was difficult.
Incredulously, in an interview on Sky News Thursday, he didn’t rule out the return of ‘eat out to help out’ in January. Had he not seen the figures on how infections shot up after the summer meal deal? When would the government learn they couldn’t have their cake and eat it? They either had to prioritise public health or the economy, instead of see-sawing between the two. As Boris had already said, you couldn’t negotiate with the virus. I subsequently composed a tweet to that effect.
I awoke Sunday morning with cramp in the instep area of my feet, which was odd. Phil planned to do a job for his AI boss – posing outside. In a fine spell between showers, he set his tripod up in a gap in the parking area of the street. Passing neighbours looked bemused “He’s got a new job. Working for an AI. It’s the modern world” “Exciting!” they exclaimed. Not sure Phil would agree as he later had issues uploading the photos. Much swearing at his Apple browser ensued. I headed for the so-called Farmer’s Market, where the rustic veg stall had a good selection of home-grown produce. Violent gusts suddenly whipped up. The server complained her colleague had removed the windbreak. “Mind you, it was as much use as a chocolate fireguard.” “Or chocolate windguard!” I suggested. Since the hipster bakers had deigned to accept cash again, I got an artisan loaf and perused the nearby red telephone kiosk. Persons unknown had thoughtfully turned it into a book exchange. Finding something to take, I vowed to return with my cast-offs Going home, celery leaves trailed in my wake. The market veg required extensive washing after which I needed a break, before starting the process of pickling shallots. Phil joined in as a distraction from his tech woes.
Useless George waffled on The Marr, denying Brexit meant the death of UK farming but with 95% of sheep exports going to Europe, it wouldn’t be so lucky for our locality. Despite “Sticking points,” he said “(it) should be possible to reach that agreement,” but we needed to prepare for no-deal. “How?“ I shouted at the telly, “those stupid government ads don’t say what we’re meant to do!” Back in Brussels, Lord Frost claimed there was “some progress in a positive direction.” I wondered how you could have progress in a negative direction. Prof. Ugur Sahin creator of the Pfizer/Biontec vax warned of a hard winter as the vaccine wouldn’t make an impact until 2021. He said we must have mass immunisation by next autumn/winter and due to mutations and uncertainty on how long it would be effective, jabs might be required every 6 months. They just didn’t know! After a meeting with MPs, Boris self-isolated for a second time. As several others self-isolated, the Infecting MP was labelled a ‘super-spreader.’ Questions arose about why the meeting had been held face-to-face, why they weren’t standing 2 metres apart during photos and why Boris flitted between his flat and desk in number 10. Smelling something fishy, Phil cried: “he’s gone into hiding again, the coward!” “That’s because he has no clue what to do without Scumbag pulling his strings!” “You might very well think that – I couldn’t possibly comment.”
“We must learn now that people who went to Eton can’t run this country ” (Danny Dyer)
Political Football
Haiga – Flare i
Disorientated by the clock change, I awoke to the sound of traffic Monday morning. Fine rain shrouded the valley. Changeable all day, I caught a bright but blustery spell to put recycling out and exchange a few words with neighbours from across the street, unseen for several months. Blog Posting was quite efficient apart from sharing links which proved problematic The owner of Valley Life Magazine sent an e-mail requesting copy for the final issue of 2020 and asked me to continue contributing next year. Phil went to the shop and re-entered the house with birds tweeting behind him. “Just like Snow White!” Meanwhile, I accepted it was time to put summer clothes away and fetched winter jumpers down from the top cupboard. Luckily, the moths had left them intact this year which made a nice change. Meaning to do some yoga, I felt exhausted from the task and lay down to rest. A heavy shower arrived just before dusk disturbing my repose. As the skies cleared again, Mars and a wobbly moon re-appeared in the dark night.
Warrington was due to join tier 3 from 00.01 Tuesday, followed by Nottingham from Thursday. Two days later, the move was delayed as the whole of Notts was included. The Oxford vaccine showed a promising ‘strong immune response’. Some comfort maybe, with publication of Imperial College research the next day suggesting natural immunity post- infection only lasted a few months.
Tuesday signalled the start of a grey, wet week. Taking ages to get going in the gloom, I set about cleaning the kitchen to find a coffee spill on the worktop. By the time I’d expunged the nasty sticky goo, I needed a break. In the afternoon, I went to the co-op and tried to joke with the normally-friendly cashier at the kiosk: “Lovely weather we’re having!” His face stayed a grim mask.
Speculation mounted that West Yorks would go into tier 3. 50 backbench tories formed the Northern Research Group and wrote to Boris requesting an exit roadmap. Was the red wall crumbling? As Marcus Rashford’s petition reached 1m signatories, Food Tsar Mr Leon Burger expressed incredulity at the government’s inaction on child hunger, setting out a plan including The Holiday Activity and Food Programme: “Their mission is to level up. Clearly there was a massive bear trap that they walked straight into.”
A refugee family drowned in a boat off the Dunkirk coast. Nasty Patel expressed condolences. The chutzpah of the evil bitch who together with her cronies, created the problem by not providing safe routes to the UK for asylum-seekers was unbelievable!
Rants and Raves
Halloween Tree
The icons spookily disappeared from my phone screen overnight. I thought it was another step in its slow suicide, but Phil ascertained it was due to an update of MS launcher. Reverting back to the default launcher, icons returned in a muddle. I later tried to get it back how I wanted but had to give up as it gave me a headache. A sunny spell Wednesday morning brought an opportunity to shake sofa throws out. The decorating neighbour had a spot of car trouble and fiddled with his engine. Agreeing it was nice to see the sun, he took heed of my prediction the rain would soon return, retreating indoors to await assistance. Aiming to go into town, the cold heavy rain put me off. Instead, I worked on my article for Valley Life Magazine and a plan for 2021. In the evening, I installed the traditional Halloween tree, purchased a couple of decades ago from the Smithsonian catalogue. Already a mish-mash of crepe paper, tape and foil sweet wrappings of Halloweens past, the stem needed further patching. However, the base and figurines still looked freakily new.
Danny Dyer appeared on BBC Breakfast via Zoom to rant: “We must learn now that people who went to Eton can’t run this country… we need some working class people who have lived a real life, people that are in touch with what’s going on in reality.” Asked if he was entering politics, he said he was too busy and added: “Let’s just watch the government unravel themselves.”
West Mids PCC, David Jamiesone said police could enter homes to break up Christmas dinners if families breached lockdown rules (whatever they were at the time): “We’re sitting on a time bomb here. We’re getting very near the stage where you could see a considerable explosion of frustration and energy. Things are very on the edge in a lot of communities and it wouldn’t take very much to spark off unrest, riots, damage.”
Thursday, it rained all day. Feeling under the weather, I forced myself up. I posted ‘Copperopolis’ on ‘Cool Places’ii then donned the anorak and ventured into the maelstrom. Despite school half-term and foul conditions, the useful market stalls had turned up. I rushed round for essentials and back home to divest my sodden outwear before slumping on the sofa. Phil had compensated somewhat for declining to help with shopping by washing up. I spent the afternoon working on the journal and recovering from the ordeal.
Breaking news confirmed that West Yorks was due to enter tier 3 from Monday, along with the West Mids. As 3 people were stabbed in Nice, France declared a state of emergency. I wondered how that interplayed with the lockdown due to start the next day.
Very tired Friday, I did no housework or writing but managed to get to the co-op. Phil met me at the tills, to assist in carrying and sorting groceries. After lunch, I baked proper Lancashire parkin. Unable to resist the yummy aroma, we ate some still warm with coffee. Ideally, it should be wrapped and kept in a tin for a week to go squishy but what the hell.
Covid-19 cases jumped by 47% cases in a week. With 1/5 of England due to go under tier 3, Rabid Raab said a new tier 4 was ‘an option’. On the eve of entering tier 3, Nottingham students in Halloween fancy dress raved in the street. Police said “You will be punished.” In other sad news, an earthquake in the Aegean killed several people in Turkey’s Izmir region.
Spooky Saturday
Blue Moon by Phil
Awoken by the sun Saturday morning, it soon reverted to grey before Storm Aiden brought wind and heavy rain. We rushed our ablutions as the hot water ran out and the window flew open, in a violent gust (caused by the wind, not a ghost). Tributes poured in for the football 1966 World Cup star Nobby Stiles who died Friday. Football Focus included hilarious footage of the legend, with no hair or teeth, running round the pitch. When asked if he would be any good in the modern game, a pundit quipped that there wasn’t a single player from the 1960’s who wouldn’t find it a doddle now. How true!
Bathroom cleaning well overdue, a bottle of posh shaving gel had leaked all over the shelf. It turned out the plastic was disintegrating, showing how long it was since we’d shopped at duty free (the only place we’d buy such an extravagance). Chore done, I set about cooking beetroot to pickle while Phil popped out for more sugar to make fudge. Following a BBC recipe to the letter, the confection turned out more like toffee but very tasty. It also created more goo to clean up.
Phil spotted the news early that another national lockdown was on the way. Leaked overnight by a so-called ‘chatty rat’, the government had no choice but to bring the official announcement forward by 2 days. Newscasters waited with bated breath for the anticipated briefing as the time kept being pushed back, eventually taking place early evening. Witless and Valance presented an interminable series of mind-boggling graphs before The Bumbler stepped up to the podium. From Thursday 5th November-2nd December, there would be no pubs or non-essential shops, cafes and restaurants could only serve take-aways. Working at home was again to become the norm with only essential travel allowed, but schools and universities would stay open. We could only meet 1 other person outside of our household (or ‘bubble’) in a public outdoor space. West Yorks wouldn’t now be entering tier 3 on Monday but we could be back there in December.
Although subject to a commons vote Wednesday, the government couldn’t lose regardless of revolting backbenchers. On Marr Sunday morning, Glove Puppet changed the message from it will end on 2nd December to it ‘will be reviewed’. Still making it up as they went along, then!
Predictably, no-one was happy. Pubs complained about not being allowed to sell carry-outs (prompting a U-turn). Sporty types whinged about gyms and pools shutting, regardless of the safety measures they’d put in place. I railed against the closure of charity shops and flea markets, which I’d been banking on for cheap Christmas gifts. It seemed unfair to be penalised after being really good since March. If they hadn’t told people to travel about, fly off on holiday and go to the pub over the summer, at least until they’d fixed the awful TIT system, we wouldn’t be in this mess. And then to follow it up with the absurdly complicated tier system, which you couldn’t keep to even if you tried. Gross idiocy! “Tiers of a clown” indeed, as Phil said!
Telly schedules filled up with horror films, more than usual for the time of year. Finding them mainly ridiculous or gross, we came up with a shortlist of our favourite classics: White Chamber (a post Brexit prediction), The Babadook, Hellraiser and Errementari – The Blacksmith and the Devil. NB: The Nightmare Before Christmas was categorised as a Christmas film in our house. Saturday night, we escaped the horrors of reality with red wine, chocolate pudding and a double bill of the first two. Outside, the blue moon hung over an eerily quiet scene. Were the revellers too depressed to go all-out for Halloween?
Soggy Sunday
Knobbly Produce
Inevitably hungover from the wine, it took some time to face the outside world on Sunday, by which time the early sun had been replaced with gloom. I disposed of the empties, which clattered satisfyingly into the recycling bin in true alcy style.
We then ventured into town for a dash round before Lockdown Thursday. Hollowed-out pumpkins on doorsteps turned to mush in the damp air. We wondered why they were never made into lanterns anymore. A fast walker harassed us to rush down the steps. Al fresco café-goers abounded although the pubs didn’t seem overly packed. A few codgers huddled under a gazebo outside the imaginatively-renamed micro bar, now called ‘The Pub’. Amongst largely needless stuff on the Sunday Market, a rustic veg stall supplied excellent knobbly produce. So good I was almost tempted to keep the roasting veg for art purposes. I settled instead for a few photos. The expected rain arrived. Like an idiot, I had neither hood nor brolly. We hurried up the riverside path past the fast-flowing waters in the dismal conditions. The larger charity shops both offered many items at half-price in an attempt to clear stock. The first shop was too crowded on entry. I complained about the lack of staff intervention. Quieter upstairs, I found a couple of Xmas gifts to buy surreptitiously and shooed Phil out. As I struggled to hide them in bags, he hovered just outside the door. I shooed him off again. He then wanted to go back in and look at cameras in an inaccessible corner, leaving me to soak outside. We scooted round a couple more shops then sheltered under the Med café’s awning. It looked shut but a woman came out to ask if we wanted drinks. We made our excuses and hurried home for lunch. The toffee had got softer overnight. A cross between toffee and fudge, we agreed it would be good in ice cream – a homemade Ben & Jerry’s. The roasted veg and Yorkshire pudding dinner was very filling. We ate too much and Phil’s tummy grew. “You’ve got a baby!” Since my healthy eating plan to ward off diabetes had entailed him losing weight too, I was pleased to see him putting some back on. Pumpkin seeds roasted while we ate and we forgot to check on them. Phil hurried back to turn the oven off. “They’re a lovely autumnal nutty brown.” He declared. In other words, burnt.
“Watching the people get lairy. It’s not very pretty I tell thee” (Kaiser Chiefs)
Batman Returns (And Goes Back Again)
Haiga – Skulking i
On a typically dismal Monday, I waded through fatigue and spells of light-headedness to get on with stuff. Phil kindly made a dash to the convenience store for large envelopes to post calendars. Having braved the nasty weather, he’d forgotten to take money so had to do it again! As my head drooped from writing, I went upstairs for a spot of yoga and relaxation which didn’t help. Neither did evening viewing of 3 episodes of the insane but compulsive Preacher on Prime.
200 days since the first official case in the UK, 4k Covid patients were in hospital; more than ever. With 60% of those in the north, Nightingale hospitals in Manchester, Harrogate and Sunderland went on standby. The government briefing confirmed the tiers: 1 – Medium – national measures. 2 – High – local restrictions but we could now socialise outdoors; affecting the same areas as before plus South Yorkshire, Notts, East and West Cheshire and some High Peak. 3 – Very High – no household mixing in or outdoors, advice against travelling, no pubs unless food was served. “Bring on the plates of chips and pickled eggs!” we suggested. In an effort to clarify, Minister Jenrick said a pasty on a plate with side salad would qualify as ‘a meal’. Who on earth ever ordered that? Maybe they could copy an idea from the states where food was rented out to boozers. Liverpool City Region immediately went into tier 3. The local authority also closed gyms and casinos in return for a tailored financial package. This prompted other areas to request being moved up the levels to get the dosh. It was bad news for The Batman as he’d just recommenced filming in Liverpool, postponed from March. The cameras packed up again after 3 days.
The tier system would come into force Wednesday following a commons vote on Tuesday, to be reviewed every 4 weeks. Witless displayed his daft curves again and Rishi Rich announced premises grants and ‘more generous’ benefits without spelling them out. There would also be more money for local areas to enforce the rules and carry out TIT (about bloody time!) Kier expressed scepticism: “… that the government has actually got a plan to get control of this virus, to protect jobs or retain public trust.”
I Predict A Riot
Next Job Memes
Mixed messages between the ‘Rethink, Reskill, Reboot’ scheme and the Culture Recovery Fund caused a clash. Oliver Dowdy said the advert suggesting a ballet dancer retrain to cyber was ‘crass’. Inevitable memes followed. I had a go at the questionnaire aka Covid job re-training quiz. Simplistic at best, it picked up I was creative but suggested boring jobs like advertising exec rather than writer, photographer, or painter. iii
I woke on a wet, miserable Tuesday with a bunged up nose. Embarking on my morning exercise routine, light-headedness soon returned, coupled with dizziness. Lying down again, I assessed the symptoms, which varied from the usual sinusitis. My temperature stayed normal but I felt deep-down weary and the dizzy spells were new. A quick google allayed my fears of anything serious. Resigned to the day in bed, I fetched the laptop and worked on the journal. Phil set off late afternoon to mail calendars, discovering the post office shut at 3 p.m. We had no idea why. Failing to rest properly, I went to the kitchen to find he’d cleaned it. Unhappy at being debilitated again, it cheered me slightly that the chores were getting done.
Deputy Chief Medic Van Dam admitted there’d been a focus on London and the South East when national lockdown was lifted in the summer – so not the virus targeting Liverpool as some idiot on BBC Breakfast said. In parliament, the government won the voting on the 3 tier system and the pub curfew although 42 tories rebelled.
The Cock rubbished the Great Barrington Declaration – a global petition calling for a variation of herd immunity, originating in the USA and signed by 6,000 scientists worldwide including the Guppy-Fish. Surely I couldn’t be agreeing with him? Khan said London would reach a ‘trigger point’ invoking stricter measures within days. As scientist’s pleas for a ‘circuit breaker’ was only just raised in parliament, Keir said the government no longer “followed The Science”. The bods wanted a 2 week national lockdown, to allow TIT to be fixed, possibly over half-term. They also called for working at home to be the norm indefinitely, on-line university lectures and pub closures.
NI was implementing the idea by adding an extra week to half-term with pubs shut for 4 weeks. Polls showed that most people would support the ‘circuit breaker’, putting health before economics, in spite of unemployment being the highest for a decade.
Phil joined me in feeling unwell Wednesday. I went to get the breakfast cereal, testing my legs. The achiness and fatigue this induced confirmed I needed to stay in bed; for several days as it turned out. Headaches predictably returned after a spot of writing, even though the Cool Places entry didn’t take longii. During quiet time, I read a lot but relaxed little. When I stood up, my headache was worse.
Turning up to PMQs in a wrongly-buttoned shirt, The Bumbler unbelievably accused Keir of opportunism and insisted the tories were working to effectively defeat the virus – what? Like you had done since March, you doofus! With worries that Christmas would be ‘cancelled’, Boris made jokes about not seeing the in-laws – people with dead relatives didn’t find it funny. Packed streets in Liverpool on the last night for pubs, brought ‘shame’ on the city, said the mayor and the police chief. Speculation grew that Manchester and Lancs would be next to move into tier 3. Wales threatened a border to stop people going on holiday from English ‘hotspots’, Scotland’s central belt and NI. A Sage bod said it was now too late for a ‘circuit breaker’ during October half-term but one in December could still help reduce deaths. We discussed the daft patchwork of restrictions. So-called journalists added to the confusion. Some still referred to the ‘traffic lights’ even though the colours didn’t match and when asked to clarify which postcode areas were included in tier 2, a Look North reporter advised: “check your bins.” Very scientific I’m sure! So far, dissent had entailed milling about drunk after closing time. Surely it was only a matter of time before people cottoned on that they were not going to be arrested and come up with other ideas to push the envelope. How much would people take before there was outright dissent?
Go Fish!
Highway Maintenance
Thursday, I expunged the worst of the dust from the bedroom. Becoming breathless, I planned an art day, and went to fetch materials. Conscious of wearing bedclothes with workmen right outside the front window (where they’d been all week), I got into a strop when I couldn’t find the coloured pencils. By the time I got back to bed, I was exhausted. Noise on the other side of the house signified more workmen. Noseying through the window, I got a good view of lampposts being replaced by Highway Maintenance on the street below (as they’d done on our street last Friday). A large crane fished the old one out, to be replaced by what looked like a re-furb. The procedure entailed cutting down a washing line. I wryly commented: “I’m surprised the residents haven’t come out and complained it’s a private street” (as they often claimed. It was in fact unadopted but try telling them there’s a difference!) Even more surprising, someone returned to the house and didn’t bat an eyelid. I took photos of the colourful autumn trees, posting a panorama on Facebook. On what would have been mum’s birthday, I meant to post something in memoriam but with a dearth of family snaps, had nothing suitable. Elder Sis did the honours with a lovely photo of mum. After dinner, I stayed up to watch a telly film but as my back ached mightily, I went back to bed and had an exceptionally good night, only waking once.
Birmingham council disgustingly dished out used tests to student in Selly Oaks. With no agreement on Manchester or Lancs moving up to tier 3, the government said it would happen ‘with or without you.’
Burnman retorted that the north was being treated like “the canary in the coalmine” and threatened legal action. London, Essex, York, Barrow, NE Derbyshire and Chesterfield would move into tier 2, as of midnight Saturday. As cases rose in Europe, Germany called for a unified rather than state approach and France imposed a 9 p.m. curfew in several regions. Medical experts told us so-called ‘Long Covid’ was actually 4 different things: long-term Covid syndrome, post-intensive care syndrome, permanent organ damage and post – viral fatigue. Good grief!
After 3 days of ‘intensive talks’ before the deadline Boris had set for a Brexit deal, he wimped out to await the outcome of the EU summit. Friday, the sticking points of state aid rules and fishing remained. The Bumbler declared no deal unless the EU ‘changed their approach’.
Meanwhile, 18 French trawlers attacked 2 British boats fishing for scallops in the Channel, firing flares and throwing oil, rocks and even frying pans at them. Apparently sparked by British scallopers being allowed to fish year-round while the French were banned between May and October. Well, at least they’d be able to fry the scallops!
Mind Your Own
Apple Art – Cute Robot
Really fed up Friday, Phil made a sterling effort to raise my spirits with his apple art, creating a very cute robot. After a bit of writing, I designed a Christmas card. With no snow last winter, I used a photo of bare trees and gushing water. Some Photoshop magic produced pleasing results. Although I still developed ‘head fug’, it made a change manipulating pictures rather than words. Meanwhile, Phil went out to the co-op and the post office in good time. Even worse than anticipated, the queue stretched along the street and onto the towpath. Unable to rest in the afternoon, my head felt even heavier making me miserable again. I ventured down to get snacks, became incensed at a series of minor irritations and swore loudly before stomping back to bed. Phil, still resting, started in his doze. He later crept about like a mouse saying “sorry” in a tiny voice. “It’s not your fault. This fatigue and splitting headache is getting to me.”
Lancs agreed to move into tier 3 restrictions with a ‘bespoke deal’. Liverpool mayor Joe Anderson complained they’d been offered more and the new system was already an “inconsistent mess” #shambles.
A dull weekend ensued, inside and out. Saturday, I chanced getting dressed and made a start on breakfast but as Phil came to help, we got in each other’s way and it became fractious. I brooded on the sofa, berating myself for getting so worked up over so little – it only made me feel worse and Phil feel bad too. I again explained to him it was due to being fed up with my own feebleness rather than anything he’d done. I went back upstairs, and felt a bit better by evening so hoped that was a good sign.
However, I hardly slept. Thus on Sunday, I felt worse and sunk into deeper depression. Despite ailing himself, Phil brought breakfast in bed. I should have given my eyes a rest from PC-based stuff, but had an idea for the journal and worked on finding salient quotes for most of the day.
On The Marr, Burnman perhaps disingenuously, said resistance to GMC moving up the tiers wasn’t about money and called for a commons vote on extra support in high risk areas. He claimed infection rates in his patch had actually dropped and the earlier spike had most likely been caused by the biggest student population on the planet. Glove Puppet accused him of ‘political posturing’ and went on to lie through his teeth about Brexit, saying they didn’t want a no deal which would be ‘no picnic’ – unbelievable! Adam Marshall, Director General of the British Chambers of Commerce, called it a pantomime. Southern tories in tier 1 areas wrote to Andy Burnman telling him to stop being selfish. Northern tories told them to mind their own business. Former chancellor Lamont said the cycle of tightening and loosening restrictions was “deeply damaging to business and not really a strategy…. The government ought to set out how it intends to exit.”
Weekend crowds abounded. A convoy of Hells Angels roared through the valley – were they on the rampage? Twitchers flocked to Norfolk for the sighting of a bird not seen for 40 years. The rufous bush chat looked like a scruffy sparrow to me; maybe not surprising if it was 40 years old! Drinkers drunk outside pubs in tier 2 areas. The curfew rendered French bars deserted after 9 but populous rallies were held across the country over the beheading of teacher Simon Paty by a Daesh nutter.
“The urge to destroy is also a creative urge” (Bakunin)
Trumpzilla
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
Mellowing Tones
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
Haiga – Pitter Patter ii
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.
Even tempers and co-operation persisted into the last days of September. As usual, blog posting and chores took most of Monday morning. In the afternoon, Phil composed restful tunes on his ipad. They made me sleepy but this didn’t mean the siesta was any better, thanks to untuneful noisy workmen outside.
Reports of weekend mayhem caused by the 10.00 p.m. pub curfew were greatly exaggerated as young people milled about in the street. What did they expect? Calls for the policy to be abandoned fell on deaf ears. New restrictions made it illegal to meet indoors from Wednesday in the North East, punishable with fines. Scottish students were now allowed to go home as long as they stayed there.
Tuesday morning fog lingered in the valley bottom. Clouds visibly floated off above the hills, to reveal the sun. BBC Breakfast weather featured a posh stately home, where flowers from the estate were donated to a food bank. We couldn’t see the residents of the council estate down the road jumping for joy. To paraphrase Marie Antionette: “let them eat flowers! In the kitchen, I was overwhelmed by grease and left the cleaning half done to work on the journal and ring the printers, ensuring it was okay to collect the calendars. My phone mysteriously had no signal requiring use of the land-line. Phil later used his ‘phone whispering’ skills to get it working again but said “It’s gone a bit flaky hasn’t it?” Guiltily hiding my face in my hands, I agreed. “I might have to ask Father Christmas for a new one.” (i.e., Phil).
I took the shopping trolley to town, faffed with hand-gel and face-mask outside the printers saw a TIT QR poster for the first time and decided it didn’t apply to me. Calendars weighing heavy in the trolley, I wheeled round to Boots. As I waited to enter behind a woman, a pair of schoolgirls brazenly barged past us both. When they came out, I said: “next time you go in a shop, check there isn’t a queue, will you?” I tipped the contents of two needless delivery boxes into the trolley. Now too heavy to lift up steps, I took the long route home, greeting an old friend on the way. Exhausted, I collapsed on the sofa listening to another of Phil’s plinky ipad tunes. Again, it made my eyes close but when I went up for a lie down, I failed to relax.
Boris claimed he ‘misspoke’ concerning the regional measures in the North East, causing confusion over beer gardens and the ‘Rule of Six’. Angela Rayner called him ‘incompetent’ as he didn’t even understand his own rules! Amidst chaos on campus, Gavin Salesman finally spoke to say English students could go home for Christmas but might have to self-isolate for a fortnight. A rave at Coventry University was condemned but I couldn’t help sympathising – what an awful time to be a teenager!
It was an eventful Wednesday in Westminster. The Speaker of the House stated the PM had contempt for the commons in passing Coronavirus Laws without consultation, let alone votes. But he stopped short of allowing the Tory backbenchers’ amendment to be debated due to a lack of time, danger of more confusion and ‘undermining the rule of law’. The Cock conceded to allow MPs a vote before further changes were introduced ‘where possible’. At PMQ’s Keir criticised Rishi for calling jobs affected by the pandemic ‘unviable’. In the 100th plague briefing, Boris was flanked by his pet scientists who spoke of an ‘uptick’ in new cases among young and older people, including hospitalisation and intensive care. Rises of 15% in the North East and North West, were the biggest. Why was the former undergoing stricter curbs on freedom than the latter? And of course, no added restrictions at all in the South, below what Phil called ‘The Waitrose Line’. The Bumbler bragged about numbers of tests, Nightingale bed capacity, ventilators and PPE (the majority now sourced within the UK which was something). He said ‘more costly’ restrictions would come if the escalation continued, but insisted a second national lockdown wasn’t planned. TSB planned the loss of 900 staff and 164 branches due to ‘remodelling’
The Bean Book by Rose Eliot
The most exciting event of my day was inventing a new dinner. After the stupid amount of shopping last week, I was determined to make do with what was in cupboards. The improvised lentil and bulgur wheat gratin, inspired by Ye Olde Bean Book, was very tasty if I say so myself.
On Thursday, we stocked up on the groceries. Thanks to the re-vamped co-op app, I got a free bar of yummy chocolate! Back home, we sorted the purchases, Phil declared: “job done, with blistering efficiency!” and went to sit down, only for me to discover several items left in rucksacks. Efficient my arse! At least he was still being helpful.
As I rested in the afternoon, it was quiet outside for once but attempts to relax were stymied by my mind churning with random crap, including scenes from the book I was reading. Set in Germany after the war, flashbacks to horrors of Nazism were deeply affecting. Not the positive forward-looking story I’d expected, but still good.ii
In the evening, Phil randomly presented me with a large smelly candle acquired during his recent visit to Leeds. A gift from a woman who lived in a tent, it sparked discussion on a possible project for him to document the city’s homeless during the plague. I thought it might be of interest to local libraries, museums or possibly The Big Issue.
Making Waves
Floating Wall
As the government refused demands to withdraw provisions that undermined key elements of the Brexit Withdrawal Agreement from the Internal Markets Bill, the EU started legal proceedings. Nasty Patel apparently instructed civil servants to research madcap schemes for deterring migrants travelling from Europe. Preposterous ideas included a wave machine to propel dinghies from UK shores (not new) and a floating wall (similar schemes in Greece were lambasted by Amnesty International for risking lives). Migrant centres were considered on disused ferries, oil rigs, the Isle of Man, Isle of Wight, ‘small Scottish islands’ and Ascension Island 4,00 miles away. Why not Kent? Then it really would be Children of Men!
Our elected representatives were caught flouting the rules again. The bumbler’s dad escaped sanctions for shopping without a mask, but Jeremy Corbyn was fined for going to a dinner party with more than 6 guests. MP Margaret Farrier took the biscuit. She felt ill on Saturday, had a Covid test, felt better, took the train to Westminster Monday to talk about Covid, got a positive test result, and went back to Scotland by train! Amid calls for her to stand down, The Speaker was ‘very angry’ and the SNP withdrew the whip.
The North West underwent the same additional measures as the North East where Hartlepool and Middlesbrough were added. In the face of lack of consultation with local authorities (counter to Matt Cock’s claims), the mayor said they’d gone too far: “we defy the government.” This sounded like he wouldn’t enforce the local lockdown but when interviewed on Newscast he said he would follow the law. As areas of North Wales were added to the growing list, up to a third of the UK population were now under tighter restrictions. Another raft of tiers was muted, with a formal announcement due in a week or so. ‘Just shut the pubs, dammit!’ I screamed at the telly. It was as if they’d do anything apart from the obvious!
A cold, windy Friday with some rain, suggested Storm Alex arrived early. Glad the shopping was done, I spent the morning writing up walks for my Cool Places blog iii. In the afternoon, we braved the storm to visit the Open Studios preview in the Town Hall (postponed from July, it would be on-line next weekend). A couple of good works amongst the sample pieces, there were also some horrors. As we knew quite a few of the artists, it prompted a discussion about peer group validation. For example, a good photographer switching to painting (mediocre at best) being told the art was great. Walking through the square, the weekly flea market (which I usually forgot about) was packing up. I scooted round and haggled to knock down the price of a pot (a potential gift). Meanwhile, Phil spent ages at a camera stall and bought a Nikon lens – apparently all interchangeable since 1959; gotta love the Japanese long-term thinking! The friendly and knowledgeable stallholder told us his dad had a shop in Nelson until he retired early this year, hence the great selection of models. As Phil spotted a possible Christmas present, I said I’d be back.
A Lull in the Storm
Insta-Dog
Saturday, the weather was even more horrid with persistent rain. We stayed in all day, and I continued writing for Cool Places. In a rare appearance on Andrew Marr Sunday morning, The Bumbler mainly spluttered the usual waffle. He admitted the August meal deal was partly responsible for a surge in cases and said the curfew made no sense if people were then ‘hobnobbing’ in the street at pub chuck out time. You said it, you idiot!
While Storm Alex caused flooding in South East England, Italy and France, the rain stopped in the valley, giving way to sunny spells. slightly annoyed at lack of help with weekend cooking, I silently fumed over brekkie and took my coffee to drink in front of the telly. I then heard Phil wash up and take a pile of recycling out – the silent treatment seemed effective! In the afternoon, we had a short walk to the nearest clough. A small bulldog looked at us expectantly. The owner said he’d spotted the camera. Laughing, I called it “Insta -dog!” We indulged the attention-seeking animal with portrait shots and asked the owner: “does he have a Facebook page?” “No, but he should!” In the clough, the brook had widened, flooding the islands. Better there than town, I thought. We took the top path to a stone bridge, arresting in early autumn colours.
Resting briefly on a memorial bench, we discussed replacing those lower down, often deluged. “I’m sure they’d welcome a donation.” I suggested, to which Phil replied: “I’m not dead yet.” (For more details see Cool Placesiii)
Although a short spell outdoors, it made us really tired. I went to bed early that night but needed the meditation tape to drop off.
5 welders went to work on the Isle of Man, stopped at Tesco for a spot of lunch and got imprisoned for breaching quarantine. When released, they would be sent straight back to England and banned from the isle for life. Harsh! As the latest James Bond movie was postponed again, Cineworld announced ‘temporary’ closures, without informing staff.
Trump Drive-by
It had emerged on Friday that Trump had Covid, later being pumped with Remdesivir in hospital. Over the weekend, it was revealed he’d also received ventilation and dexamethasone, normally used on patients who’d been ill at least a week, with low oxygen levels. Amidst speculation the severity of his illness was downplayed, he rose from his hospital bed for a drive-by past adoring fans, thus putting countless more people at risk! (It later transpired he’d been given the experimental drug Regeneron).
Over here, it turned out that Covid-19 cases were under-reported from 25th September to 2nd October. 15,841 test results hadn’t been input on an Excel spreadsheet. Thus TIT didn’t happen. The ‘technical glitch’ was in fact caused by PHE using the file extension .xls. Dating from 1987 and superseded by .xlsx in 2007, it had a limit of 64,000 lines of data, as any techy worth their salt would know. Phil pointed out it was “so old, Bill Gates wrote the code!”
The Corvus Diaries 