Corvus Bulletin 5: What’s App, Boris?

“Boris Johnson has been allowed to hand out gongs to his partygate pals and Rishi Sunak has just waved it through” (Daisy Cooper)

Late May 2023, Cabinet Office (CO) found entries in Boris’ ministerial diary showing family and friends met at Chequers June 2020-May 2021. A clear breach of lockdown rules, they handed it to Thames Valley police. Livid that material was given to cops, The Bumbler called it ‘bizarre’ and appointed new lawyers to represent him at the covid inquiry. The inquiry requested his WhatsApp messages unredacted. CO argued they were irrelevant but Baroness Halibut said non-compliance was a criminal offence. CO then claimed to not have all the notebooks, diaries and messages in question. Boris insisted they did. Was he dobbing on Rishi Rich or was Rishi being protected over ‘eat out to die out’ or his own flouting of lockdown rules? The deadline for submission of documents or witness statements from senior officials explaining why not extended to 4.00 p.m. 1^st June, the CO sent the inquiry a letter instead saying they were bringing a judicial review. It then transpired there were no messages predating May 2021, when, it turned out, it was discovered Boris’ phone number had been public for 15 years so he got a new one. Labour suspecting a coverup, Number 10 denied it. Boris then said he’d provide unedited messages direct to the inquiry and asked CO to help access those from his old phone. CO lawyers subsequently warned he risked losing publicly-funded legal advice for ‘knowingly’ frustrating or undermining the government position. Why were taxpayers forking out for it in the first place? Doing the media rounds, a faceless tory minister said WhatsApp was private, not official (so don’t use it to set up meetings!) and ex-lawyer Robert Jerk claimed it wasn’t ‘common practice’ for an inquiry rather than government to decide what was relevant. Since when?

On an annual stateside visit to keep his green card, Rishi went to Washington early June to suck up to Uncle Joe and be mistakenly dubbed Mr President. Discussing co-operation but not free trade, Andrew Neil informed Newscast the so-called Atlantic Deal was designed to stop China beating the west on tech – according to the Yanks, the UK was the only European country that could do so. Rishi’s jaunt meant missing a fourth PMQs. Rayner quizzed Dowdy on the covid inquiry, which he said they’d furnished with all the resources to ‘learn the lessons’. She retorted working people wouldn’t thank them for spending hundreds of thousands on ‘loophole lawyers’. Boris’ long-awaited honours list was published the next day. Amongst other pals, it made Nasty Patel a dame, Rees-Moggy a knight, Shaun Bailey, Simon Clarke and Jack Doyle peers, gave Dan Rosenfield a CBE, Ben Mallett an OBE and Martin Reynolds – who sent invites to the notorious lockdown number 10 garden party – Order of the Bath. More evidence later emerged of 30 of Shaun Bailey’s mayoral campaign aides invited to ‘jingle and mingle’ at tory HQ 14^th December 2020. Ben Mallet said he didn’t send the invite but was captured on video falling onto the lavish party buffetⁱ.

Not on the list, Dreadful Doris resigned as an MP in a fit of pique then changed her mind. Rayner was incandescent at rewards doled out to those who broke covid rules and ‘toady’ Rishi granting “prizes to this carousel of cronies.” Daisy Cooper agreed. It was later suggested HOLAC* blocked peerages for Doris and Nigel Adams, and Rishi claimed The Bumbler bade he overrule them. Warned it could mean more by-elections, Rishi reportedly said ‘so be it’. Boris called it all rubbish. Then Nigel resigned from his Selby and Ainsty seat. Not technically possible for an MP to resign, we wondered what the hell was going on!ⁱⁱ

A letter from The Privileges Committee saying he misled parliament and recommending a lengthy suspension, late Friday 9^th June, Boris resigned with immediate effect (for now). In a verbose statement, he railed at a ‘kangaroo court’ and a ‘witch hunt’ to drive him out over Brexit. Most members tories, a flummoxed Chair Harman blasted back he “impugned the integrity of The House.” Silly Bob still wished he was PM while from a ‘beautiful’ Ashton (according to Charlie Stayt), Rayner named him a coward for not staying to face the consequences or contest the findings before publication – delayed in light of Boris’ rebuttal, amounting to contempt of parliament. Asked if labour would abolish The Lords, she cited Gordon Brown’s report advocating reform. A ‘disgusted’ public not accepting the current situation, an elected second chamber would be in their election manifesto. Lord Dracula Howard laughably told Laura K. Boris ‘unquestionably’ did good things and Shatts maintained he was a man of many qualities but people wanting to ‘move on’ from the drama, there was no chance of his return.

Inundated with threatening messages from Boris’ supporters, committee members were offered additional security. The damning report was released at 9.00 a.m. Thursday 15^th. Written evidence revealing an ‘oasis of normality’ in Downing Street, they concluded Boris was guilty of deliberately misleading The House and The Committee, breaching confidence, impugning The Committee thus undermining the democratic process, and complicit in a campaign of abuse and attempted intimidation of members. If Boris hadn’t resigned, they’d have recommended an unprecedented 90 day’s suspensionⁱⁱⁱ.

Griping that Harman and Bernard Jerkin (under investigation for attending his wife’s birthday party during tier 2 restrictions) had ‘prejudicial views’, Boris said the findings were ‘deranged’ and ‘the final knife-thrust in a protracted political assassination’. Rayner likened his rant to a ‘Pound Shop Trump’ and Bereaved Families said Boris should be banned from ever standing for public office again. But Dreadful Doris wanted tories who voted to accept the recommendations to be booted out and David TC Davies questioned how he could be found guilty of events The Met didn’t prosecute. Err, Lying to parliament was a different thing, you moron! Boris then asked supporters not to vote against the report because the world needed to move on, as he’d moved onto a weekly Daily Gammon column. When it came to it, only 7 MPs voted no. 225 abstained and some didn’t even turn up including an apparently ‘too busy’ spineless Rishi.

Update:

29^th June, a follow-up Privileges Committee report accused seven Boris allies (Dreadful Doris, Rees-Moggy, Nasty Patel, Mark Jenkinson, Michael Fabricant, Brendan Clarke-Smith, Andrea Jenkyns, Zac Goldsmith, Lord Cruddas and Lord Greenhalgh) of a co-ordinated campaign to interfere with their work. Saying they had no right, they lambasted Dreadful Doris and Rees-Moggy for ‘vociferously’ airing warped views on their TV shows which had a significant impact on individuals, hence the need for increased security. Batting off journos, Rees-Moggy was off to church then the test match and urged they do likewise. Early next morning, Goldsmith resigned from government, allegedly due to apathy over environmental issues and nothing to do with being named in the report as Rishi Rich claimed. The first time I’d ever agreed with him, Ed Millipede maintained Zac’s resignation letter rang true.

4^th July, The Met re-opened Partygate investigations, not into Boris’ shindigs at Number 10 or Chequers but the Jingle and Mingle bash and another on 8^th December, attended by Bernard Jerkin according to Guido Fawkes.

* House of Lords Appointments Commission

References:

i. More on the lavish buffet: Part 98 – This Page Intentionally Blank – The Corvus Diaries (wordpress.com)

ii. Commons Resolution on MP resignations: Resignation from the House of Commons – House of Commons Library (parliament.uk)

iii. Privileges Committee report: Matter referred on 21 April 2022 (conduct of Rt Hon Boris Johnson): Final Report – Committee of Privileges (parliament.uk)

The Corvus Papers 2: Out Of The Frying Pan, Into The Pyre

“It has sometimes been observed that what leaders do for their people today is government and politics. But what they do for the people of tomorrow – that is statesmanship” (Queen Elizabeth II)

Pomp And Circumstance

Phil started work at the convenience store on 1^st September. I tackled chores and admin, ringing the GP surgery twice. 29^th in the queue, I hung up to try again later to be 50 something in the queue! I didn’t have time for a third attempt before the booked pension advice call. The nice Moneywise man provided tons of info, giving me head fug. Going out for air, an acquaintance dumped garden waste. I bit my tongue, even though she was still doing it on my return. I got nothing on the rammed but sparse market but ordered smoked salmon from the fishmonger. Phil interrupted my writing in the evening, asking where AJs was (who delivered bacon butties to The Store staff). “No idea. Ask them!” A very early start Saturday, he got home knackered but with interesting facts about supplying local cafés and specialists sorting newspapers. How quaint! A fellow photographer mate who worked there years ago, wasn’t surprised to see him, but my old art teacher was. Well, he was a bit pompous.

After e-mailing siblings about my birthday fundraiser Monday, Elder Sis made a generously commensurate donation to mark my 60^th and Big Sis donated a tirade on DEC corruption. I delayed replying to devise a diplomatic answer. As I hung washing, our old next-door neighbour and companion sat out, during a visit while the Polish woman visited her homeland. We shared tips on upcoming seaside trips and news of Phil’s job. She reckoned the boss was a bit of a B… Warm and sunny late afternoon, Phil asked if I wanted to go out. I snapped at another thoughtless interruption, he stomped off, but came back for an apology. Feeling uncomfortable, stuff to do and unable to think where we’d go at that time of day, I suggested sitting outside for vitamins. He squatted on the kerb chatting with old next-door neighbour. I joined in discussing health, languages, Europe and Brexit when The Widower came past. Next-door asked had he seen The Student? She then turned up with the rest of the tribe, having got back from Germany last week. “Zer gut!” The put-upon stepdad ferried stuff from the car. “Have you been camping?” “No, a cottage for a few days but we needed to take tons of stuff.” No idea why! Tuesday, workmen fixed the step at long last. Phil on the early shift again, in the afternoon, he rested and showered. “That’s better. I’ve got a week off, even though I’ve only been there a week.” “Yes but you weren’t supposed to be working till after our hols. Does it still feel weird going to actual work?” “Yes.” “It’s when it doesn’t feel weird you need to worry.” “Why?” “Cos you might give up other pursuits and think: ‘I’ll just work in the shop’.” “Like people in the pub?: ‘I used to be a photographer’.” “Exactly! It’s a slippery slope!” Starting Wednesday wobbly and itchy, I took medicines and persevered with housework. Phil amicably helped change bedding but unkindly mocked me tripping on the bedframe. I then slipped on a large letter on the doormat – more stupid pensions crap! Phil went secret shopping and I went to charity shops. Dumping books, I found nowt, but the community shop’s free school uniform rail was a good idea. In the evening, Phil insisted on toasting my birthday with fizz.

Boris went to Suffolk to gush about £700 million for Sizewell C, 1 of 8 nuclear power plants, not yet agreed with EDF and not operational until the 2030’s. Blaming labour for lack of planning, he obviously forgot Gordy Brown signed off 10 new plants in 2009. As he also suggested we buy better kettles to save £10 a year, Rayner said he wasn’t living in the real world, evinced by him embarking on a farewell tour! On the new Laura K Sunday prog, having ditched her promise of no direct help, Trussed-Up (who I’d just discovered shared my first name in real life) said it was good that rich people benefitted more from tax cuts and she’d have the energy crisis sorted in a week.

Raucous applause from Joe Lycett, the Daily Mail were incensed at him mocking their incoming leader. He kept up the pretence on Jeremy Vine the next day. As Truss was crowned Queen of Gammons Monday, she said ‘deliver’ a lot, Nasty Patel resigned and Big Ben ominously stopped. A Cabinet from Hell included Swellen as home sec and Therese Coffee-Cup as health sec FFS! Jeremy Vine asked if the morbidly obese, cigar-smoking boozer was a good role model. Clearly not! Farage gin trended on twitter. At 7.30 a.m. Tuesday, The Bumbler orated on it being time to pass on the baton, likening it to a relay race when someone changed the rules halfway through. Look who’s talking! Invested at Balmoral Tuesday, Trussed-Up flew back to stand at a wet lectern and ape Churchill, saying she’d take action every day to encourage growth by cutting taxes, deal with gas prices and get us all GP appointments (if only!) In fact, nothing happened for a fortnight apart from a very boring PMQs.

Dutch scientists used data from the Cambridge University Covid-19 sounds app (ongoing for 2 years, I’d never heard of it), to develop one that could detect symptoms, possibly more reliably than LFTs. Bristol Zoo closed due to falling numbers during lockdowns. Tracy Dustbin announced the promised low West Yorkshire bus fares. Starting Sunday, the maximum single fare was £2 and a day fare £4.50. BBC breakfast highlighted the plight of those in sheltered housing not covered by the price cap and OVO energy founder Stephen Fitzpatrick published a 10-point plan including subsidies. Benefitting low income households, with less help for those who used more energy, he had some good ideasⁱ. Unlike Edwina Currie, stupidly suggesting putting foil behind radiators. That’d do a lot of good seeing as we would hardly ever have the heating on; how about tapestries? The Guardian suggested cooking a baked potato in the microwave. Did they have Sean Bean’s recipe? The Which? column in Metro called for a minimum geographic baseline for access to cash. Almost 1,000 migrants intercepted crossing the channel Saturday, refugee minister Lord Harrington resigned saying the job of helping Ukrainians in need was done. As it was revealed Shamima Begum was smuggled into Syria by a Canadian spook, lawyers challenged the removal of her citizenship on the grounds that she was a trafficking victim. It reminded us of a film we saw where those nasty Canadian spooks left a kid rotting in a Thai jail.

Orangeoke

Alcohol and insomnia led to a groggy start Thursday 8^th. Phil also discombobulated, he made 3 attempts to say happy birthday. I treated myself to a mini-spa while he fetched the salmon to cook a posh brekkie. Pouring the end of the fizz for a toast, we had 1 sip and spent the morning trying to finish it – we couldn’t hack morning drinking anymore! He made a card from a cute classic car photo, complete with number plates labelled ‘Happy Birthday Mary’ and matching gift tags for more pressies than I expected. After unwrapping, I read Facebook messages and sent one to a cousin who shared my birthdate. Walking Friend called with sunflowers and a gift bag of goodies before a filling 2-course lunch deal at The Cypriot. Fuddled by cocktails, we palavered over splitting the bill and finished the drinks out on the street. Too quiet for after-school time, the reasons became clear later. Walking Friend came back for coffee, cake and Count Arthur Strong on DVD. Facing the grim prospect of coming home between rail strike days, I didn’t blame her for not visiting us in Scarborough the following week. Unbeknown to us, industrial action was postponed, explaining no altered schedule, but a medical emergency at Scarborough station delayed our return. Feeling stuffed and sleepy, I managed to edit celebratory photos and take a phone pic of a postcard stuck on the bedroom mirror, but recreating the vintage North Cliff view proved nigh impossible. The friendly seaside town offering much more than we remembered from our youth, we had a great holiday, avoiding scary Orangeoake at an unfathomable loyalist pub! (See Cool Places 2ⁱⁱ).

The queen’s demise confirmed at 6.30 p.m., Phil reckoned she died around 3, hence the hush, the royals flying to Balmoral and the palace saying she was ‘under medical supervision’ (a euphemism for euthanasia; protocol to prevent hanging on). Weirdly only 2 days after investing Trussed-Up, not only had a monarch never died in our lifetime before, a new PM and King in the same week was unprecedented. I’d never forget the date but at least I dodged a big 60^th celebration which would’ve been totally overshadowed.

Cue interminable toadying and suspension of parliament – so much for deliver, deliver, deliver! Saturday’s proclamation by King Charles III a load of pompous guff, it was historically made public for the first time. Appointed leader of the house and lord president of the privy council only 4 days ago, Penny Mordor led proceedings. It was followed next day by proclamations across the land (hence spotting a man in a funny hat in Scarborough), a King’s address Monday at Westminster Hall to both Houses, and Jeremy Vine observing Queenie had met more people than anyone else on the planet. By the week’s end, queues to see her lying in state grew to 24 hours, snaking into Southwark Park and forcing its closure. Among the throngs, a woman unbelievably with her mum’s ashes, David Beckham and Jacinda Ardern filed past. Jacinda subsequently gushed about the dead queen to Laura K, who showed a good snippet of her saying doing stuff for people today was leadership, but doing stuff for tomorrow was statesmanship. Touché! That’s why there were no statesmen these days. In contrast to the virtue signalling, Philip Schofield and Holly Willoughby were accused of queue-jumping. Defending their actions as a segment for This Morning, Holly was in bits. Sky News presenter Sarah-Jane Mee mistook people protesting The Met fatally shooting Chris Kaba for royal mourners, prompting 598 Ofcom complaints.

The least global deaths since March 2020, WHO Dr Tedros saw the end of the pandemic in sight. Having clicked links in texts received before our hols to find covid boosters unbookable, Look North urged so to get them! SNP MP Margaret Farrier received 270 hours community service. GDP rose 0.2% in July; less than expected because of the heatwave.

Retail sales fell 1.6% in August and the pound fell to a 37-year low of $1.13. Unemployment down to 3.9% in the last quarter, inflation was 9.9%, mainly because petrol fell 7.5% but food prices went up 1.5%. The John Lewis Partnership ‘forgo profit’ to give staff £500 each and raise starter pay by 4%. Amazon warehouse staff in Coventry were balloted on strike action. An EU windfall tax would raise more than €140bn towards energy bills. Meanwhile, the UK government said post-Brexit Northern Ireland border check suspension would continue and promised to backdate support for businesses, giving no details. Rich twat Chancellor Kwasi Modo planned to lift the bankers’ bonus cap. Labour 17 points ahead in some polls, idiot Lizzie Chat-show said they had one problem: Keir Starmer who didn’t even know what a woman was. Say, what now? At the party conference, Keir pledged to create a state-owned Great British Energy corporation to invest in green infrastructure, gain independence from Russia, drive growth and create a million jobs. IMF watching the dire UK situation, he said the tories had not only failed to fix the roof but “ripped out the foundations, smashed through the windows and blown the doors off for good measure.” He was met by standing ovations and a race row as MP Rupa Huq was suspended for calling Kwasi ‘superficially black’. She stopped shy of calling him a coconut and later apologised for ‘ill-judged comments’. Ukrainian gains in Kharkiv, Olena went to Strasbourg for the EC president’s state of the union address where Von Hitler said Vlad the Impaler would fail and declared solidarity with Ukraine, and husband Vlod went to Izium, crashing his car driving back to Kyiv. Turkish cargo ship Anatolian was allegedly fired on by Greek coastguards. New Met chief Mark Rowley started work.

A Huge Gamble

Tired from the prolonged train journey, I’d retired early Friday and spent most of the weekend writing up diaries, editing photos, washing and buying groceries. After sitting around for 3 hours Sunday, Phil declared he didn’t have time for lunch before his shift. Irked by unnecessary stress, I fed him coffee and cake then tidied the garden, seeing The Student to-ing and fro-ing in different coats in case it rained. Unaware The Woman-Next-Door sat in her parked car, she made me jump opening the door. Her Polish trip part holiday, part treatment for olfactory issues, she was a veritable ‘I saw you coming’ mug for every New Age therapy going! Fatigued, I went back in but at least I’d had fresh air and social contact.

Monday declared a Bank Holiday, media covered nowt but the dead queen. Deathly quiet, we heard 1 car, 1 train and bickering crows. Even The Store, open on Christmas day, shut 10-1. I stuck telly on as the state funeral procession set off from Westminster Hall for the abbey service with posh singing and an idiotic speech from Trussed-Up. The gun carriage slow-march to Admiralty Arch interminable and hypnotic, we wondered where all the Quality Street soldiers came from. World leaders told to catch the bus, Uncle Joe brought The Beast and Queen Margarite of Denmark caught covid.

Forcing myself to rise Tuesday, I made good progress with the new ‘corvus papers’ method. Phil asked if I needed any shopping. “Yes, There’s a list. I suppose you want smoking stuff.” “Yes I was going to town but I’ll go co-op.” In the end, he went on his errand then met me to help carry groceries and call me cheeky for chucking things in his rucksack. Still avoiding fuel use and experimenting with clothes-drying techniques, I realised I’d worn the same socks 2 days solid! Wednesday, I did boring stuff and Phil worked late. Slamming the front door on his return, the living room door swung open, bringing in a mass of cold air. I didn’t get warm all night. After cleaning the bathroom Thursday, I collapsed on the bed with a sigh. Phil asked what was wrong;, leading to a tirade on the wearisomeness of everyday life. Hard getting back to normal after the break, I’d just started to feel less overwhelmed by drudgery, when he’d dropped the bombshell he was working all next weekend. It wasn’t his fault but an inability to plan was stressful. He promised to ask why he was doing far more than the alleged 16 hours a week, made coffee and proffered choc biscuit misshapes, which he’d got from The Store (along with 3 packs of gammon steak) and already scoffed loads. Going to town, beech nuts on the street crunched beneath our feet and confetti festooned the old bridge. He checked his shifts and I perused the market. Toiletries scant, I scowled at a woman with sharp elbows rudely stretching over to pay while I was transacting. My mind went blank buying veg. Phil caught up to take photos of Chantilly carrots, making Jolly Veg Man laugh. As Phil strode across the square towards a parliament of corvids, I felt faint, flopped on a seat and decided lunch was overdue. Going home via the new bridge, he mused: “what’s in the river today?” “Ducks, sticks, an air freshener, an orange plastic thingy, a carrier bag…it’s like one of those memory games, or dementia tests.” Maybe I needed one after the brain freeze! QT from Grimsby the usual unbalanced nonsense, loony Clare Fox who started out in the RCP and ended up a tory-nominated peer, got too much airtime. On Newscast, rich git Cobra Billamora looked forward to the mini-budget giving him more dosh.

Friday 22^nd marked the autumn equinox. Seeing a light on early morning, I assumed Phil had gone to work, turned it off, then heard him rise. Checking the clock, it was actually 6 a.m., not 7. He later complained I’d woken him but got his own back waking me at 5.30 the next day. I exchanged texts with Walking Friend about free curry, The Poet’s fire party and a cinema trip. Shopping in sunny warmth, I felt overdressed, especially as Woman-Next-Door sat out in a sundress. Another neighbour also too hot, she’d prematurely stowed her summer clothes. I’d not even washed mine after our hols! At least my swimming cosi was unused, unlike the Scarborough Diving Belle. I potted a cutting in a cute pot for Walking Friend then got achy and tired pruning.

GP numbers still dropping and seeing one impossible, Therese Coffee-Cup said there was too much variation in the care people got across the country, and unveiled underwhelming plans for the NHS including a 2-week wait to see a GP; it was 2 days in 2010! Coming up with a moronic ABCD mantra (ambulances, backlog, care, doctors and dentists), she promised £15m more for carers and pension changes to stop doctors leaving the NHS. Holidaymakers were urged to cash in vouchers worth £30m before they expired at month’s end. Dunoon grammar school, Argyle, was shortlisted as among the best in the world for community help. Kids had streamed bingo into care homes during lockdowns and presented ideas to Cop26.

A cap would halve firms’ energy bills for 6 months from 1^st October. Long-awaited and welcome, businesses wanted more, but Rees-Moggy said they’d have to wait. Cost estimates varied from £25-40bn, depending on gas prices, on top of £150bn household support. IFS predicted £231bn government borrowing this year and debt rising for many to come. Reckoning the UK was already in recession, BOE raised interest to a 14-year high of 2.25%. At the UN in New York, Trussed-Up told the BBC she was prepared to be unpopular for ‘taking difficult decisions’ such as allowing bigger banker’s bonuses, to ‘attract investment’ and grow the economy. Labour said it was the wrong priorities. Doing 2 weeks’ business in 3 days, amid a glut of government proclamations, Rees-Moggy lifted the ban on fracking in England. Dismissing earthquake concerns, even as one happened in Mexico, INEOS claimed reserves could equal the North Sea. No cheaper and not enough for everyone, Greenpeace called for a nationwide solution to the energy crisis.

Trussed-Up gloated on the front bench as Kwasi Modo presented his Kamikaze budget. Besides what we already knew, he postponed the alcohol duty rise, increased the stamp duty threshold to £250k, cut basic income tax by 1p, abolished the highest 45% rate and defended banker’s bonuses as we needed global banks here, not Frankfurt. Total tax cuts equating to £45bn, Universal Credit claimants earning less than £142.50 a week (15 hours on the living wage) must prove they were trying to work more or face benefits cuts! Rachel Reeves called it the last roll of the dice after 12 years of tory failure, by “desperate gamblers in a casino chasing a losing run.” Allowing huge banker’s bonuses while axing nurses’ pay, Frances O’Grady wanted to know what planet they were on. Wearing ludicrous clod-hoppers with a suit, Kwasi told Chris Mason there was technically a recession but hoped it’d be shallow and then denied there was one! His former boss, hedge fund manager Crispin Odey, confirmed Phil’s belief that crashing the pound was a deliberate ploy to benefit his rich scummy mates by cashing in on betting against it, and gilts. Economists thought vastly disproportionate gains for the wealthy may artificially boost the economy but if the BOE responded with bigger interest rates, could prompt a boom and bust cycle. Avanti restoring some west coast services, RMT would strike again 8^th October. 30,000 had made dicey channel crossings this year.

NY attorney general Tish James accused The Trump and 3 sprogs of fraud by exaggerating how much they were worth. An appeal court ruled the papers could be reviewed and Trump bragged he could declassify state documents ‘just by thinking about them’. Referenda to be held in Russian-controlled regions of Ukraine, Vlad the Impaler openly accused The West of nuclear blackmail and announced a major escalation mobilising reservists, to ‘defend the motherland’ and ‘liberated territories’. 13,000 anti-war protestors were arrested and amid a rush to escape the call-up, queues formed at borders, outbound flights were full and Ruslan Zinin shot a military official at a Siberian enlistment office. At the UN, Uncle Joe called the referenda a ‘sham’ and the war ‘brutal’. Reports later emerged of households being forced to vote at gunpoint and Ukrainians fleeing Russian-controlled areas to avoid fighting fellow countrymen. On her way to meet Uncle Joe, Trussed-Up announced the return of 5 British nationals, thanks to Vlod and Saudi Arabia. As the sea monster in Weston was finished in the last days of Unboxed (aka Brexit Festival), Julian Knight of the DCMS committee, questioned how many visitors the ‘monumental waste’ had attracted. Creative director Martin Green insisted it was value for money. 95% of 12,800 saplings planted by Gloucester City Council to celebrate the jubbly, perished during the hot summer because there was nobody to water them.

At A Crossroads

Saturday, I went to a print fair at the town hall, to compliment The Printer on an image of Scarborough (similar to my photo panorama), speak to another affected by the fire and quiz a third on her etchings. I mooched round charity shops, the crap market where a posh woman exclaimed: ‘ooh mushrooms! Just like the dress I bought last week!’ (she meant toadstool earrings) and the wavy steps (eyed by a cute jackdaw). All heaving, I sought quiet in the library where an old pub mate exiting helpfully told me it was closing in 10 mins, confirmed by a notice. I got reduced items from the rival convenience store and lay in wait for Phil. As I hid in a doorway, a hippie parked her car with taped-over lights on the double-yellowed junction, went barefoot into The Store and emerged with a vape (aka the new crack). The plethora of highway code infractions almost tempted me to report her. Finishing at 3 on the dot, Phil headed up the street. I yelled “Oi!” We wove through the packed square to sit riverside and chat. Though a challenge lugging ice at 7.00 a.m., it was quite jolly on a Saturday and didn’t feel like a full working day (no commute helped). The NHS had sent me a birthday gift of a home testing kit. Sunday, I duly put poo on the stick and set out to post it. Drumming as soon as I left the house, the handmade parade was in full swing. Just my luck! Picking what I hoped was a less busy route, I was hemmed in by crowds, fought my way across the square and looked for the post-box. Remembering it went years ago, I bought knobbly veg and nipped in The Store where Phil was re-stocking shelves. “Have you *** seen it out there!” “Shh! Don’t swear!” “Sorry, see you later.” Over at the post office, there was no evading the parade as it went down the cul-de-sac. I knew it was a fun family event and I was being peevish but the throngs and drumming made me weary and headachy. Narked by Phil’s lack of sympathy later, I conceded he must be more knackered after 3 earlies on the trot.

Monday a chilly mix of sun and showers, one literally stopped after our house! Still tired, I struggled with a communal food wastebin that wouldn’t shut. Fixing the hinge, I muttered. The Widower appeared: “Talking to yourself?” “Yes, it’s the only way I get any sense, ha, ha!” Ahead of the new price cap, Octopus Energy boss Greg Jackson urged Ofgem to lower standing charges and BG helpfully e-mailed that our bills would be over 3 grand next year. Not if I could help it! I sent meter readings forthwith. Sleeping later Tuesday, I briefly felt the benefit, shopped speedily in a tranquil co-op and sorted documents to renew a PTL,* faffing to print a profile pic (needlessly, as it turned out). During a cold night, loud machinery disturbed me and condensation coated the windows Wednesday. I put the heating on for the first time in months, hoovered discarded cobwebs and spider skins and exchanged a string of texts with Walking Friend, agreeing to meet in the library before free curry. Then Phil messed with the hoover, claiming I’d missed a cobweb, then the Ocado driver rang to say he’d be early. Head spinning, I managed a few notes before the jolly Geordie arrived. Phil was asked to work earlier for a colleague’s GP appointment (how did she get that?) Soon after going, he phoned saying it was next week. “Shall I come home or sit in the sun? It’s nice out.” “Just chill then.” Also wanting sunshine, I took chilli plants out to repot but defeated by entangled roots, gave up, and went to town.

Infantile graffiti covered the squat’s boarded-up windows. The Ice Cream rep didn’t turn up in court next day, so the anarchists weren’t evicted. In the library, I was told to renew my PTL online. “Where are the collection points?” “Not sure. Do you need an orange dot?” “Yes.” “I’ll look in the drawer.” The librarian kindly made the pass for me (minus photo after the palaver) I chose a book and returned to the desk to find I was de-registered. Re-registering took longer than getting the pass! Meanwhile, Walking Friend arrived. We discussed Scarborough and what to expect from free curry night. Seeing nobody at the front of the chapel, she suggested we go to the side entrance where a woman I recognised from Vegan Friend’s pre-covid party greeted us. Walking Friend uneasy accepting charity, I searched for my mates to put her at ease but saw no sign of them. Three lovely people took our order, then repeatedly apologised for the wait. The room’s buzz Initially enjoyable, as it filled up, the noise made me light-headed and fatigued (not helped by a missed siesta). Chaotic and too many helpers, I ditched the idea of volunteering in future. We made for the exit, told an acquaintance to watch out for cardamoms and heard someone ask if there were containers for the cake. “Cake!” we cried in unison. The door-greeter opened a side door for easy access to the cake table where there was also a donation tin. Inviting her in, I assured my friend I could cope with a cuppa and cake despite tiredness. We nattered some and I gave her the plant cutting before she wended home via the hidden path before dark. Finding her scrunchie on the bathroom floor, I thought I’d better wash it.

Stunned by another long sleep Thursday, I ignored my woes for a walk and lunch at the Hilltop Village, agreeing with a friend en route, on the awful state of the country and the joys of life on a stunning autumn day (see Cool Placesⁱⁱⁱ). In a bright night sky, Neptune and Pluto vied for attention with a glowing orange Jupiter (at the nearest point to Earth for 59 years). Plagued by backache, I needed the meditation soundtrack to aid sleep, then got woken in Friday’s early hours by Phil getting up and a racket outside. Knowing the pretty but yellow watery dawn presaged a wet, grey day, I dug out a parka before venturing out. The co-op quiet again, my namesake asked was I going walking? “Not in that! But it’s warmer out than in the house without heating.” I agreed we’d need it sometimes to prevent mould and burst pipes.

Concluding coronavirus killed an A&E worker, a coroner was flummoxed that only staff on red wards got face-masks in May 2020. According to Zoe Health Studies’ Tim Spector, hospital admissions were up 37% on the previous week, the highest since 19^th August. A 7% rise in fatal road crashes in 2021 was blamed on lockdown easing. Trickle-down economics a pile of poo and markets jittery, the pound fell further against the dollar and OBR forecasts hinted at U-turns. They promised an economic forecast by 7^th October but after Trussed-Up joined Kwasi in meeting them, she said it wouldn’t be made public ‘til 23^rd November when they unveiled further plans. Lenders stopped offering low-cost mortgages.

As footage of her saying Brits needed more graft was unearthed, Rayner told conference the PM didn’t care about working people and we were at a crossroads akin to 1997. Labour Left Internationalists called singing God Save the King a ‘doubling-down on monarchism’, ‘almost comic’. Ed Millipede mocked Rees-Moggy’s ‘energy policy for the 1820s’. BBC tips to save money included cooking with a microwave rather than an iron! (sic) Online searches for ‘energy bill help’ the highest ever and ‘food banks near me’ up 250%, Jon Ashworth pledged labour would freeze prices, paid for by windfall taxes. The BOE stepped in to buy UK gilt bonds, leading to an immediate fall in long-date yields and lower public borrowing rates. Was it enough to prevent a Northern Rock-style run on pensions? Should I have cashed mine in? Former gov Mark Carney said Kwasi’s ‘partial budget’ was at cross-purposes with the bank. Referring to ‘ministry of the talentless’, witty Rayner said: “Liz Truss has even crashed the pork market. Now. That. Is. A. disgrace. You’d think snouts in the trough was the one thing they could manage.” MPs demanding urgent recall of parliament to face questions on running the economy down, Trussed-Up did a round of car-crash local radio interviews to be flummoxed by simple questions, witter about freezing energy costs and blame Vlod and the world for turbulence. WTF! Was she just thick or dropped on her head as a baby? Rayner quipped she’d: “finally broken her long painful silence with a series of short painful silences.” A YouGov poll put labour 33 points ahead. Gammons still thought we should give her a chance. Government ignoring demands for a 10% pay rise, at least £15 per hour and not cutting 91,000 jobs, Mark Serwotka said the PCSU had no choice but to ballot 20,000 civil servants. Sales up 18.7% in the last quarter, Aldi, now the UKs 4^th biggest supermarket, pledged to put people before profits and build 16 new stores. Turning down public money to keep it open, Peel Group would wind down Robin Hood airport from 31^st October. 32 Wetherspoons pubs including Halifax would shut. How’s Brexit working out, Tim?

A complexity of issues culminated in large-scale disorder in Leicester mainly involving young Asian men. One person convicted, cops said further arrests could go on for months. SML put the strife down to tensions between Sikhs and Muslims, started by a football match in August. Others blamed fundamentalists from outside the city stirring it. New HO minister Swellen told police to do their jobs properly.

Helped by blast-from-the-past Berlusconi, far-right Giorgia Meloni (aka Molly Malone) was set to become Italian PM. Amid covid restrictions and geopolitical tensions, Apple switched manufacture of the iPhone 14 from China to India. Russian gas pipeline leaks made bubbles in the Baltic Sea near the Danish island of Bornholm. Sabotage was suspected. At a signing ceremony to incorporate 4 eastern regions of Ukraine into Russia**, a concert for an invited audience in Red Square drowned out the international outcry. NASA slammed a min-fridge-sized spacecraft into asteroid Didymos-Dimorphos. DART successfully hit it off course, astronomers spotted increased brightness, but it’d be weeks ‘till we knew if the space rocks’ orbit was shortened. Scarborough planned to a centre of excellence for cyber-security – obviously building on the legacy of GCHQ Scarborough which we learnt about on our visit.

Queenie’s death certificate confirmed the cause as old age and the time as 3.10 p.m. Phil was right! Michelle Pfeiffer was heartbroken by the passing of Coolio, of Gangstas Paradise fame. The majority of Northern Ireland residents Catholic for the first time ever, a referendum on a united Ireland was probable. The Orangemen didn’t factor in Catholics breeding like rabbits when they rigged the borders, did they!

Notes

* Passport to Leisure

**Donetsk, Luhansk, Kherson and Zaporizhzhia

References:

i. Ovo’s 10-point plan: https://www.ovoenergy.com/ovo-newsroom/press-releases/2022/september/ten-point-plan

ii. My Cool Places 2 blog: https://wordpress.com/posts/hepdenerose2.wordpress.com

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

Part 105 – Jubilation?

“The PM has repeatedly shown he is unable to uphold (British) values and the reaction of the public at St Paul’s showed they know it too” (Lucy Powell)

Imperial Nonsense

The wee hours of 1^st June, I dreamt of sitting in an ambulance wearing a face-mask. Odd having a covid dream after so long, was it a premonition of another wave? OneDrive did 500,000 ‘processes’. No idea what the heck they were, Phil managed to stop them so I could use the laptop. Bank statements revealed my benefit increased mid-April by a mega £3.50 a week – not even enough for a pint! Putting stuff in cupboards, a small pot fell out to land in the cafetiere. Another one bites the dust! Thank god for the spare.

In his annual report, Lord Geidt said whether Boris’ fine broke the ministerial code, was a ‘legitimate question’. The Bumbler replied he took full responsibility, had apologised to The House, there was no intent to break rules, paying a FPN wasn’t a criminal offence and quitting over ‘miserable’ Partygate was irresponsible amid ‘huge pressure’ on the economy, war and a ‘massive agenda’ he was elected to deliver. Did he mean Brexit? Rabid Raab insisted a confidence vote wasn’t imminent. Lisa Nandy called it ‘a damning indictment’ of the PMs leadership: “that successive ethics advisers…feel they can’t trust (his) integrity…This is a government that is rotten to the core, that the rot (sic) starts from the top.” Airport chaos worse during half-term, Tui cancelled 200 Manchester flights. Sharon Graham said aviation bosses slashing wages and sacking staff during the pandemic, got rich on high profits and low pay. Reaping what they’d sown, they should hang their heads in shame. Quite! Why book people on holidays they couldn’t get to? In defence, Airlines UK said they didn’t know exactly when all restrictions would be lifted nor how much travel would be possible by summer. Raab demanded airlines, airports and ground handlers met him to discuss over-booking and ill-preparedness. Dreadful Doris announced Bradford as UK City of Culture 2025. Maybe they’d clean up the Odeon and fill in the big hole for the festival of dire youff poetry.

Sun tempted me to don the new dress and open windows Thursday. News stopped for Platty Joobs, we joked the so-called pageant would be the largest handmade parade in history, remembered jubblys (still available) and invented retro 1950’s dishes such as jubilee potato – just potato. YouGov found only 9% of young people thought the royals relevant. Nevertheless, we broke the rule of no lunchtime telly for the flypast. Definitely the highlight of the day’s celebrations with all the planes and helicopters, Queenie with selected family on Buck House’s balcony, seemed impressed by the forming of a ‘70’ in the sky. Enough nonsense, I hung washing out. The Woman Next Door assured me it wouldn’t rain but the day didn’t live up to the billing of wall-to-wall sunshine. Increasingly convinced the forecast was a conspiracy, maybe I shouldn’t have told her that! The only sign of royalism in the co-op a woman wearing a cheap t-shirt emblazoned with ‘happy jubilee’, Phil found an infestation of red gammons in town. They didn’t need sun, just beer! Making a courgette and lemon cake was easy except I grated my thumb knuckle. Icing it the next day, I wished I’d remembered the unopened Sicilian lemon essence earlier.

Oldies at a Jeremy Vine jubilee party Friday, I guffawed at an engrossed Phil but agreed their reminiscences were sociologically interesting. Putting the telly back on for St Paul’s chimes, we mistimed it to see Boris speaking. He and Carrie got booed going to the thanksgiving service. Too much after the excitement of the flypast, Queenie missed it. Justin Welby and Randy Andy missed it as they had covid – ha! ha! We left the bells ringing for 4 hours to visit a favoured clough. Coming back, we found a roll of old maps at a street corner and the town centre chocka; like any weekend except for the odd bit of bunting and flags in shop windows creating a patriotic enclave near the micro pub (see Cool Placesⁱ).

A consultation began on restoring the crown to pint glasses and pounds and ounces in shops. Chris Philp ((aka American Psycho Patrick Bateman) said imperial measures were universally understood and would bring ‘a bit of our national culture and heritage back on the top shelf’. Alicia Kearns called it a load of imperial nonsense, Asda boss Lord Rose called it ‘utter nonsense’, National Market Traders Fed said it’d just create hassle and historian Mary Beard termed the debate a ‘nostalgia war’. Harry Styles at number 1, the Sex Pistols didn’t get in the top 10. We didn’t bother digging out those Stuff The Jubilee badges! 100 days since the invasion, Russia controlled 1/5 of Ukraine. Uncle Joe pledged more weapons and urged a change in US gun laws after mass shootings in May killed Texan primary schoolkids.

Saturday, we investigated the route of Younger Brothers’ sponsored Leeds-Liverpool canal bike ride next weekend. Doubting we’d be up on time to cheer him, Phil was keen to visit the wonder of the ‘straight mile’ sometime. The smattering of stalls and displays at the art launch rather underwhelming, it did include our crossings workshop poems.

We had a bash at Tetra Pak printing with The Printer. No tracing option, I called over to my old drawing teacher nearby: “You know how rubbish my drawing is!” She chuckled. Using styli, I etched a lopsided butterfly and Phil a very detailed bee, the antenna drooping as he ran out of space. He again whinged kids’ efforts were better, especially Ben The Caterpillar. We washed ink off our hands and wandered up the riverside.

Rippling with colour, tiny bugs with transparent wings hid on leafy stems; only visible on zoomed-in photos. Surprised to see the crap market on, we battled through a packed square to ask for lavender oil at the aromatherapy stall. The price almost doubled in 2 years, I gave it a miss. We found a few bargains in convenience stores, browsed the new witch bookshop (aka Harry Potter emporium) and waylaid an erstwhile pub mate going to a trad pub for a Jive Bunny disco.

Phil’s back pain worse Sunday, I thought it maybe from hunching over the etching or going out the house 2 days running. Cold, grey and damp, we stayed in. 20 years ago we might have gone for Gin and Pimm’s at the canalside pub before nicking cake at the parish church garden party. More sedate these days, I wrote a haigaⁱⁱ and tackled the landing. Planning to clean the rug, by the time I’d hoovered and rebuilt a tripod storage basket which predictably collapsed, I was knackered. A blissfully unaware Phil didn’t hear the clattering and swearing! Sleep mediocre, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a decent night.

Shats told Sophie Raworth other countries had airport staff shortages. Nowt to do with Brexit, there’d be no special visas for foreign workers. Touring with Jeff Beck, a ‘humble’ Johnny Depp spent £50,000 on a Brummie curry. After 4 days’ hard toadying by her subjects, Queenie appeared on Buck House’ balcony. Saying she was ‘humbled’, took the biscuit! Lucy Powell wrote in The Guardian that as labour captured British values, cherished institutions and believed our best days were ahead, they enshrined patriotic principles more than tories. Short-term ‘red meat’ policies like selling Channel 4 and reverting to imperial measures, diminished our global reputation, cost jobs and denied us ‘moments of togetherness’. Grimsby Town returned to league football and Wales beat Ukraine to reach the world cup. A jubilant Gareth Bale said the ‘crazy journey’ was ‘literally what dreams are made of’.

Monday mostly spent on admin, I thanked The Researcher for posting my takeover blog and discovered the main Crossings expo was at the town hall next Saturday, for one day only until it moved elsewhere. Why such short notice? I read a letter from NHS pensions and registered to access details online. Unsure if getting the paltry amount now would affect my benefit, I rang and spoke to a nice Geordie. He didn’t know but clarified I could draw on it anytime after my next birthday. As it would go up with inflation, I decided to leave it ‘til I really needed it, which might not be long the way things were going!

Thousands stranded by cancelled flights at the end of half-term and Platty Joobs, those who made it back faced Yorkshire bus and London tube strikes. Jesse Norman published his letter to Boris saying the Gray report showed he ‘presided over a culture of casual law-breaking’ and to describe himself as ‘vindicated’ was ‘grotesque’. He also lambasted the Rwanda policy, selling channel 4, the ‘foolhardy and illegal’ Northern Ireland policy, banning noisy protests and no ‘sense of mission’. In letters to the 1922 committee, MPs cited the St Pauls booing and jitters before 2 byelections. Some post-dated until after the long weekend, the threshold of 54 was reached. Hoping to ‘draw a line’ under it, Boris wrote to all his MPs and addressed the committee before the evening’s confidence vote. He won by a mere 68. As reporters stupidly stood in Downing Street at teatime, they ignored a woman in a taffeta dress posing at the shiny door and in the evening, Bella Ciao blasting in the background. Pressure Drop Brewery reduced staff work time from 5 to 4 days for the same pay. ONS reckoned UK coronavirus restrictions led to £140bn ‘forced savings’. I bet tories hated that! Twitter failing to supply fake account info, Elon Musk threatened to pull out of the deal.

Waking with a claggy throat Tuesday, I moped and almost stayed abed but didn’t. Opening a pack of coffee, I discovered Ocado sent beans instead of granules. Grinding them tedious, I dossed with a cuppa and started draft-posting the journal before going to the co-op. Previously just grabbing essential milk, I red shelf labels to note a 4-pinter was almost ½ price by volume. How had I missed that money saver?

Heartless tory Brendan Clark-Smith moaned to Jeremy Vine that people used ‘personal tragedy’ to try ousting the PM. Speculation continuing on his future, Boris thanked cabinet for their support and vowed to get on with the people’s business, level up, cut government spending and taxes. He told them to look at ways to reduce costs and drive reform. PAC reported Levelling Up decisions gambled taxpayers’ money on slogans. Will Haigh likened the PM to a mad pilot who’d locked himself in the cockpit and being inducted into the Order of the Bath, Pat Vallance was ‘disappointed’ by the rule-flouting. Labour urged The House to vote for committee for standards in public life recommendations giving Geidt powers to initiate investigations into ministerial code breaches. 79 migrants brought ashore, 10,000 made dodgy channel crossings so far this year. Russia in control of ½ Donbas, Vlod said ‘heroic’ defence of the region continued. Calling him a concrete friend to Ukraine, he was jubilant Boris survived the confidence vote. Talks failing, RMT announced another tube strike 21^st June and the first national action in 30 years affecting Network Rail and 13 TOCs on 3 days later in June. Monkeypox became a notifiable disease.

Downward Spiral

Overnight indigestion persisting into Wednesday, I exercised through discomfort, moved tons of clothes (drying ridiculously slowly for June) and vacuumed the living room, finding an easter chick beneath the sofa and a wine stain on the throw. On the front bench at PMQs, Trussed-Up Liz resembled a corpse. Saying the confidence vote showed his own party loathed the PM, Angela Eagle asked if they didn’t trust him, why should we? Boris harped on about those imaginary high-wage, high-skilled jobs. Ian Blackford referenced Monty Python’s Black Knight: ‘it’s only a flesh wound’. Rather than laying into the PM, Keir dwelt on the NHS’s GP shortage, decrepit buildings, waiting times and ambulances arriving after patients died. I hated to agree with Boris that the line of attack wasn’t working. Goblin Saj later waded into a row on NHS Digital removing the word ‘woman’ from advice on cervical and ovarian cancer. As if there weren’t bigger things to worry about! Costs spiralling out of control, the HS2 West Coast mainline link was cancelled, thus rendering the project an expensive Brummie commuter line. Esther McVey wanted it scrapped altogether.

I posted a journal entry and again baffled by the short notice, shared a Crossings expo poster attached to an e-mail. Fatigue, aches and pains mitigated against a planned trip to Shopping Town but Phil wanted gentle back exercise. Strolling down the street, he photographed doors. A neighbour entered her house as he took a snap. “Do you like my door?” Noting the lovely entrance tiles, she asked did he want another pic? “No, just the door!” She didn’t think we were nuts at all!

We wandered terraced backstreets for more doors and spectacular grasses until needing refreshment, we got pop from the shop and sat on the riverside. On the way back, we chatted over the wall to New Gran drinking outside the corner pub, about jubilee weekend antics and her recent birthday. Having disappeared from her profile, I wasn’t sure of the exact date.

UK GDP stagnating, the OECD growth forecast dropped to 3.64% for 2022 and 0% for 2023. Minimum pricing in Scotland backfired as drinkers stinted on food to buy alcohol. Was that what pub-goers round here did? Network Rail contingency planning, the RMT said they were open to ‘meaningful discussions’. Admitting a vacancy freeze, TfL insisted there’d be no redundancies or pension changes. The WTO warned of a global food crisis due to the blockade. The UN held talks in Turkey for a grain corridor and Russia demanded Ukraine removed mines first.

Shopping on Thursday, even reduced stuff was beyond budget. I wasn’t surprised hard-up families skipped meals, according to charities. I jested with My Mate at the till that Phil’s back problem conveniently meant he couldn’t carry shopping. On the way back, 3 geese waddled down the road with a pair of adorable fluffy yellow goslings. Unconsciously exclaiming ‘aww!’ I observed nobody else stopped to look – miserable gits!

Speaking in Blackpool, Boris maintained we couldn’t spend our way out of the cost of living crisis and higher wages would push up prices, leading to a 1970’s-style spiral of stagflation. Unions decried abandonment of the high-wage, high-skilled economy pledge. The latest wheeze to shore up support was extending ‘right to buy’. Including housing associations, housing benefit could be used to pay off or apply for mortgages, with a ‘help to buy ISA’ – good luck saving a deposit on the crap interest rate! He vowed a house would be built for everyone sold. Not the 30,000 formerly promised, Keir cited a pilot in Small Heath where homes weren’t rebuilt as it cost more than what they sold for. The re-hashed plans ‘baffling, unworkable and a dangerous gimmick’, Shelter’s Polly Neafe predicted we’d be “stuck in the same destructive cycle of selling off and knocking down 1,000s more social homes than get built.” On QT, Psycho Bateman said every house sold meant a family off the waiting list. Care4Calais, Detention Action and PCSU* asked the high court for an injunction to stop the first Rwanda flight. Bonnie Prince Charlie called the policy ‘appalling’ and a caller to Jeremy Vine advocated unused boats intercept and process migrants in The Channel and blow them up! The case lost, an appeal was due Monday. Aslef drivers striking on different dates late June, TSSA balloted Avanti West Coast staff. PAC criticised DHSC for burning unused PPE from the start of the pandemic. Europe’s largest Spinosaurus was discovered on the Isle Of Wight.

Worried a headache presaged illness Friday morning, I minimised exercise and chores, posted a blog and managed an afternoon walk. We crossed to the church garden where one gosling slept and the other hid beneath an adult’s wing, before heading up to woods and farmland (see Cool Places). Coming back on the towpath, the Canal Dweller loudly declared he loved my Valley Life articles and a man resembling Dave Angel walked ahead of us, prompting a chorus of Moonlight Shadow.

Due to increased transmissibility of the 2 newest Omicron variants (BA.4 and BA.5), covid rates in England went up for the first time since April. Unable to wait for council tax rebate cheques to clear, the hard-up queued to cash them at pawnbrokers, losing £15 if not turned away. ONS found 52% used less domestic energy, 46%, bought less food and 40% made less non-essential car journeys – not such a bad thing. Minister Heather Wheeler apologised for calling Birmingham and Blackpool godawful places, saying the comment didn’t reflect her actual views.

About to leave the house Saturday, a sudden downpour necessitated the anorak. At the Crossings expo, we spoke to Drawing Teacher at the door and watched the photo slideshow. Overlong with too many from organisers, Phil fidgeted as we waited for mine appear. After seeing all but one, the laptop froze. We left Drawing Teacher and co-volunteers fiddling with it. The square packed with al fresco quaffers, I quipped: “the cost of living crisis biting hard!” Phil said it felt ominous. Did he mean the pub vibe? No, the air. Sure enough, another sharp shower descended. Finding the cake I made last weekend mouldy, I sulked. Phil fed the green stuff to crows and the pigeon squatters and bought one from the co-op to cheer me up.

Loud voices and a revving car woke me early Sunday. Brekkie should’ve been a breeze but a splattered tomato, broken egg, blinding sun and a crashing lid stressed me out. Phil came to the rescue. I insisted we prioritise incomplete chores that he offered to do Thursday, then edited photos, added to the ‘spring animals’ Facebook album, made one of orange and pink flowers and watched telly. Deciding we still liked Waterworld, we wondered if the film got panned 30 years ago because it was ahead of its time.

Commentators all agreeing everything was going to shit, CBI boss Tony Danker said households were going into recession this year; i.e., buying less shit. Leaked before publication Monday, the food strategy contained vague words like ‘initiative’ and ‘liaison’ and no direct interventions such as sugar tax. Getting us to eat venison was the only concrete idea. Schools were ‘deeply disappointed’ at no extension of free meals. 22% of kids eligible, Julie McCulloch of the Assoc. of School and College Leaders said poverty affected closer to 30%. McDonalds re-opened in Russia as Tasty: That’s It. In the US, demos demanded gun law changes to stop the murder of kids and Google engineer Blake Lemoine claimed his AI Lamda was sentient. It considered itself human and feared being turned off, comparing it to death. Accused of anthropomorphism, Lemoine was suspended, but what if he was right?

Relaxation techniques failing to distract me from tummy ache, I slept fitfully and still felt iffy on Monday. Hanging damp towels out in a breeze, neighbours sympathised with the travails of drying laundry in the unheated indoors. Tired from activity, I dossed before posting the haiga and writing. In the co-op later, I could hardly hear myself think – I’d forgotten how noisy it was after school! Using leftover lentils to make surprisingly good pâté, we reminisced about hippy cafés and Phil posted a 1970’s-style art.

The UK economy shrank in April for the second month in a row, further risking recession. The government blamed the negative -0.3% on covid recovery and extra spending. As the Northern Ireland protocol bill was published, Boris went to wear a Hi-Viz and drive a tractor at a farm in Hayle, Cornwall and Micheal Teashop called it a new low point. After all the palaver and whingeing last year, ALW sent a message to the last stage performance of Cinderella that it was a ‘costly mistake.’

After I wasted Tuesday morning applying hot water and defrosting spray to an ice lump in the fridge, Phil hacked it off. Going to the garden, I tripped over the empty dustbin left at the front door and waited for the window cleaner to move his hose, snaking round the corner, so I could put the bin back. I planted sprouted veg ends then attacked overgrown shrubs and creeping weeds. Warmer than it looked from inside, I was about to give up with a hot thirst when Phil emerged wearing a jacket. “Are you off somewhere?” “No.” Realising it wasn’t cold, he took it off and helped sweep debris. Yorkshire ostensibly the best place to see the full Strawberry Supermoon, it was so low here that it hid behind hills.

Wages fell 4.5% in the last quarter when 9% inflation was taken into account. Unemployment was up slightly but vacancies reached a record 1.3 million. 8.8 million inactive due to older workers retiring early during the pandemic, Jon Ashworth accused ministers of ‘utter complacency’. As persistent staff shortages fated airports to more chaos, DfT and CAA instructed airlines to cancel summer flights. Which? told the commons business committee the industry and government must jointly shoulder blame. Petrol at a record high 191.2p per litre, government pulled the plug on the electric car discount. Losing their appeal, Detention Action and PCSU called sending people to Rwanda before a full judicial review in July ‘scandalous’ and the UN High Commission for Refugees said it was ‘all wrong’. Judges assessing the move necessary to deter dangerous crossings could be construed as political. Boris cited criticism from Charlie and CofE grandees and reproached lawyers representing migrants for ‘abetting’ criminal gangs. Instead of the 100 deportations originally planned, Individual case hearings brought the figure down to 12, then 7 then 1. The ECHR stepped in to completely ground the Tuesday night flight to Kigali, saying before establishing legitimacy, there was no legal route back. Undeterred, Rwanda stood ready to welcome migrants and the UK started planning another flight. Two refugees later claimed to have been beaten up and dragged to the plane. Meanwhile, 440 arrived in dinghies. Whitby council banned second homes and the unearthed Blue Peter time capsule from 1981 was opened live on This Morning to reveal a pile of slime – slime capsule!

Coronation Chicken Kiev

The next day starting better than the last few, we made the twice-postponed trip to Shopping Town (see Cool Places 2ⁱⁱⁱ). A shame we missed PMQs, as data showing the UK had the second lowest growth rate globally with only Russia worse, Keir went on the attack. He obviously took Rayner’s advice to ‘put more welly into it’! Boris was rebuked for claiming labour were on the side of people traffickers. Nasty Patel Believed the Rwanda plot was fully compliant with domestic and international obligations. Disappointed and surprised by the ECHR decision, she blamed the ‘usual suspects’ and the opposition for thwarting her efforts against the willy of the people. She told MPs prohibitions on flights to Kigali wasn’t an absolute bar and those ordered to be freed would be tagged while relocation was ‘progressed’. Furious tories called for secession from the meddling ECHR. Did they not know The Council of Europe was set up after WWII and had nowt to do with the EU? And I bet they didn’t mind the ECHR intervening in the case of captured Brits fighting in the Donbas sentenced to death! Yvette Coop called it ‘government by gimmick’. Yep, gimmicks for gammons! Lord Geidt resigned. Not saying why in a short public statement, a letter to Boris disclosed later, indicated the final straw wasn’t Partygate but being asked to offer a view on government measures risking ‘a deliberate and purposeful breach of the ministerial code’. Deemed to concern tariffs on Chinese steel, Phil thought it bogus. A fortnight later, government extended the tariffs for 2 years, against WTO rules. The EU triggered further legal action over the NI protocol. Maros Sefcovic said the UK’s unilateral act had ‘no legal nor political justification’. One of the biggest Anglo-Saxon burial sites was uncovered on the HS2 route. At least some good came out of the glorified commuter line!

Cleaning the bedroom Thursday, Phil crawled under the bed to screw a detached leg in place, despite his back. After hoovering, I worked on the journal and pegged bedding out. The Woman Next Door and a friend chatted on her doorstep then promptly went inside – did they fear eavesdropping? In the quiet co-op, my basket totalled just short to use a coupon. The cashier let me grab one more thing for a low-cost shop. I trudged home in blazing sun and persuaded Phil out to the garden. Clearing another debris pile, we observed the myriad life including what he called springtails. Sure they were to blame for my bites, he thought it unlikely as they were a kind of shrimp. Fatigued and overheated again, I lay down.

Expecting GDP to drop by 0.3% this quarter, BOE sent a letter to Rishi stating the obvious on a succession of large economic shocks and raised the interest rate to 1.25%. British Chambers of Commerce moaned it wouldn’t address the global causes of increased business costs and labour worried of the impact on families. Shutting down ½ the rail network, Shats said strikes endangered thousands of jobs and promised legislation to enable the use of agency workers. Unions said that was unsafe and recruitment firms fretted they’d be held responsible for putting temps crossing pickets in harm’s way. On QT, the useless red wall tory said nowt and Thangam Debonnaire claimed the Rwanda ploy already wasn’t working as it didn’t deter dangerous channel crossings. Former ethics adviser Alex Allen told Newscast failure to sack Patel wasn’t the reason he resigned but didn’t explain what was. Sad his mate Geidt was put in a difficult position, he had no plans to re-apply for the post – currently on hold.

The laptop excruciatingly slow after a restart Friday, I didn’t get very far drafting blogs. As I hung another load on the line, The Woman Next Door outside reading, remarked I was always washing. “No; just making use of the good weather.” We walked up to a hillside settlement, enjoying a picnic en route (See Cool Places) and returned via the predictably rammed town centre. Boozing gammons deterred us from a pint. Sweaty and smelly, I showered and lay down to rest. Officially a heatwave, it was greyly muggy when I fetched the laundry in. A dog-walking neighbour agreed it felt like it might rain – it didn’t; for almost a week.

The jubilee bank holiday was blamed for coronavirus spreading across the UK. More hospitalisations but low ICU cases and death, total fatalities stood at 179,363. Boris avoided a conference organised by red wall tories in Doncaster by going to Ukraine, prompting the moniker Chicken Kiev. Newspaper ‘I’ aligned his calls to Vlod with dates bad news broke including Partygate and the confidence vote. Paul Scuzzball said airport staff should work longer hours. Kate Bush’s Running Up That Hill knocked Harry Styles off number 1 thanks to Stranger Things. Phil advocated burning a gannet colony infested with bird flu on Bass Rock.

Listening to music Saturday, Black Star made me sad. Not because it was Bowie’s last album but because it was 6 years since the Brexit vote, Jo Cox’s murder, the death of Eldest Brother and Mum going into hospital. I put something cheerier on, edited photos and went to the co-op, spotting a reduced chicken and an old pub mate for the third time in as many weeks after not doing so for years. He did say that would keep happening! Served by a young man at the kiosk, My Mate on the adjacent till stared into space. Not bored, but having a moment. A merc indicating to turn right stopped for me at the zebra and parked on the street below. As I caught up, Councillor Friend got out. “I didn’t recognise you in that posh car!” It was her boss’, who lived in Spain. She’d given it a run to go canvassing in sunny Wakefield (unlike the overcast upper valley).

Plans to tag migrants arriving by boat was condemned for treating those fleeing persecution as criminals. New ambassador for women’s health, Dame Lesley Regan wanted one-stop community hubs and new cost of living tsar David Buttress said private companies must help with rising prices. Saying they did what they could, nice capitalist Richard Walker couldn’t increase wages but gave staff an ‘unprecedented’ 15% discount on Iceland products.

Although wobbly first thing Sunday, I arrived at the market slightly earlier than usual. Stopping to chat with a neighbour untangling roots from a large pot, we had no idea why her normally friendly dog ferociously barked at me. Besides knobbly veg, I found 2 books in the phone-box and bargain herbs in the convenience store. After washing the filthy veg, I collapsed on the sofa to recover and write.

Told on Sunday Morning airline bosses said he didn’t know what he was talking about, Shats sniggered and side-stepped blame for opening and closing borders during the pandemic. After accusing unions of bribing rail workers to strike, he took no responsibility even though he’d not spoken to them for a month, erroneously griped they’d gone on a demo instead of meeting bosses, refused to intervene, dismissed RMT calls for him to do so as a stunt and said there was no class war. Keir reckoned he ‘fed off’ the division. TSSA complained TOCs hadn’t shared plans to shut ticket offices. New army boss Gen Sanders wrote to all soldiers that we needed an army ready to fight Russia. Heatwaves saw 40⁰C temperatures in Europe and monsoon floods killed at least 70 in Bangladesh. US kids aged over 6 months ridiculously qualified for covid jabs.

Chilly after a cold night, Monday became warm and sunny. I ignored a slight headache to strip the chicken carcass before putting food waste out. B&B Man stood on the communal wall pegging sheets, hampering recycling bin access. Still struggling after lunch, Phil suggested sitting in the sun. I snapped back shopping needed doing and some help would be good. He hung washing up while I went to the co-op for a heavy load and recovered with a cuppa outside. Phil joined me the garden bench, made gazebo-like by overhanging freesia. I lazily pulled at weeds and pruned, almost bumping into The Widower on his fourth walk-past. I then attacked an overgrown buddleia on the adjacent steps. Phil helped sweep before a doze amid the sounds of birds and bees, interrupted by Phil chuntering and Walking Friend’s hello, on her way to meet The Poet. I sleepily lay on the bed and briefly nodded off with book in hand. Phil sighing loudly in the evening, I asked what was up. He wasn’t making enough money. The war actually partly responsible for Shitterstock work drying up, he decided to give up the Leeds studio. With hindsight, he could’ve done so ages ago but who knew things would be this shit 2 years on? He rang the council next morning to arrange to vacate within 3 months. Coronation Chicken was a couple of weeks late but made a delicious retro dinner.

2 million with long-covid, Kings College found 50% less chance from Omicron as opposed to Delta. Sufferer Terence Burke won a case to be classed as disabled, clearing the way for an unfair dismissal claim. Last ditch talks to avert strikes fruitless, Psycho Patrick Bateman defended Boris on Newsnight, calling rail practices Spanish and 19^th century. Still refusing to intervene, banging on about modernisation could be seen as incitement. Halfords offered free bike hire. Luggage piling up, Heathrow imposed a cap. EasyJet cut summer flights by 10% and Ryanair promised rescue flights. Their Stanstead base not as badly hit, O’Leary attributed ground staff shortages to Brexit.

Slightly more sleep led to a better start Tuesday. A waning half-moon and sun blazing through the landing window, I wondered was it a solstice phenomenon? English Heritage ludicrously placed netting on Stonehenge to bar nesting jackdaws. We researched local standing stones for our own midsummer jaunt but went to a clough instead. Even in the shade, we struggled with heat and dehydration (see Cool Places).

On the first day of the strike, Keir wrote to shadow ministers telling them not to join RMT picket lines. Diane Abbot was one of several labour MPs to defy him. A Cloudflare crash affected millions of coffee-cuppers working from home. Metro reported on Londoners struggling to work on buses. Lucky for them they weren’t Arriva, in the 3^rd week of striking up north. NEU to ballot teachers on possible industrial action in the autumn unless offered a pay rise above 3%, NHS, fire and postal workers could also strike, after new inflation figures Wednesday and Boris babbling about ‘staying the course’ but promising a return to triple lock pensions meaning a 9.1% increase. Where was the parity? Unite said ‘cost of living’ bonuses up to £3,000 offered to Lloyds and Rolls Royce staff, fell short of what was needed.

No Reasons To Be Cheerful

After lengthily cleaning the kitchen Wednesday, I collapsed on the sofa for PMQs. Not answering a question on allegedly requesting an official appointment for Carrie, Boris wittered about high employment. Keir wanted to know how many meetings ministers held to avert strikes? An evasive PM insisted they were the party of the railways. Keir answered the question – none – yet Boris had time to attend a lavish do and sell a £120,000 meeting. To claims the government blamed everyone else, contradicted each other on pay rises and cuts, rolled over on banker’s bonuses and slashed nurses’ pay, Boris attacked picketing labour MPs and spouted the usual crud on taking tough decisions.

Hanging upstairs rugs on the line to expunge dust, The Widower happened to pass. “Do you have a carpet-beater?” “Somewhere.” While he looked, I used a telescopic duster and Phil used his fists. The Widower not finding the beater, I said: “We’re improvising. Phil’s pretending it’s Boris Johnson, or any other tory of your choice!” Old upholstery spray cleaner meant for cars was effective and quick-drying in the hot sun. Refreshing with homemade pop, I greeted The Decorator backing into the last parking space. The Woman Next Door then stopped right in front of us. In the middle of doing stuff, I politely asked her not to. She said she’d just unload and left the engine running, forcing me to move from the bench. A lovely early evening, the sun briefly reached the nearer bench. I sat with the Kindle watching news until the sun moved out of range and BBC London came on. Planning mushroom pasta for dinner, 2/3 of a value box had gone fuzzy. Not a bargain if you chucked most of them! I thought substitute chilli was ample for 2 days but there wasn’t much left. Phil denied being a greedy git.

NAO reckoned Ofgem added £94 to every household gas bill by letting weak suppliers into the market, leading to collapse. After accusing the government of lying on Newsnight, Mick Lynch asked Carole Gammone on Jeremy Vine ‘what are you even saying?’ Quite! She was in favour of the pensions rise as nobody could live on £250 a week. They and me, lived on half that! Only 50% of northern trains running between strike days, TSSA settled for an extra 7.2% but RMT talks broke down. Lynch said Shats wrecked negotiations ‘by not allowing Network Rail to withdraw their letter threatening redundancy for 2,900 of our members’. Until the government unshackled them and TOCs, there’d be no settlement. Delightfully-named Network Rail negotiator Tim Shovellor insisted the majority of job losses would come from ‘voluntary redundancy and natural wastage’. Were his ancestors steam engine firemen? A clause was hastily added to the Bill of Rights to ignore ECHR injunctions before Rabid Raab presented it to the commons (ref Rwanda). Vaccine-derived polio virus detected in London sewers sparked a nationwide hunt for the culprit and calls for parents to get their sprogs immunised. An Afghanistan earthquake killed 1,000. The useless Taliban halted a search for survivors the next day.

Though warm and still Thursday, cloudy skies deterred me from painting windowsills. Hefting shopping back from the co-op, I was startled by a dog behind a hippy van on the street below barking. Not at me but Next-Door-But-One ahead of me on the steps. Already nervy, my bad mood intensified when the handle on the so-called bag for life broke, tumbling loose mushrooms to the floor. Rain came in the form of a light shower at siesta time, lulling me into a 15 minute snooze.

On the 2^nd day of the rail strike, the local mill café owner whinged of no customers to Look North and Kwasi Modo said using agency staff wouldn’t undermine safety. Unions disagreed. BA check-in staff threatened peak season strikes at Heathrow if pay reductions made during covid restrictions weren’t reinstated. Not even asking for an increase, bosses claimed some staff were offered the 10% back – yeah, managers!

No bunting or parties to celebrate 6 years since the referendum results were declared, I turned off Newscast when Nasty Nigel appeared and found an apt cartoon for Brexit Island asking: how’s that going? Meanwhile, the EU started a 10-year process to admit Ukraine. A UK rise in racially-aggravated assault was attributed to Euro 2020. Over the pond, Owen Diaz turned down $12m compensation for racism at Tesla.

Friday, I tackled the kitchen runner. The spray ineffective, woven chickens re-appeared after applying liquid cleaner. I went outside in sultry afternoon warmth before more rain came (fine drizzle rather than predicted yellow thunder, a distant rumble was heard) and hacked at rhododendron near the back wall, accidentally lopping off quince branches. Resting was disturbed by Shed Boy and mate communicating unintelligibly.

An estimated 23% rise on the previous week, 1:35 with covid worried health experts. The unjabbed were urged to get one, the elderly to be boosted, and the infected to not spread it. Imperial College found vaccines saved 19.8 million lives; in rich countries. The tories lost by-elections in Wakefield to Labour and Tiverton where Lib Dems overturned a seismic 24,000 margin. A ‘distressed and disappointed’ Oliver Dowdy resigned as party chair at 5.30 a.m. Hobnobbing at CHOGM** in Kigali while Carrie and Camilla had a nice chat, Boris said he’d keep going and address concerns of voters who wanted him to get on with the job. Err, no; they wanted you to jog on! Dreadful Doris tweeted he faced the worst cost of living crisis since WW11. Perhaps that was the one preceding Halo. Reviewing the new Paramount+ series, Jeremy Vine queried why in futuristic sci-fi’s, the world was always a desert – duh! National debt interest reached a record £7.6 billion. Outgoing CBI chair Bilimoria advised tax cuts. The US supreme court ended the constitutional right to abortion. Pro-lifers rejoiced, others warned of back-street terminations and death. Together with allowing gun-toting in the streets and coalpits to choke the air, The Trump might as well still be in charge. A choked Amy Garcia announced the sudden death of former Look North colleague Harry Gration.

Shed Boy noisily scraping out weeds woke me early Saturday. Inevitably followed by pressure washing, we’d wondered how long they’d let the joyful blooms flourish! At The Great Get-Together in the park, we perused stalls, picked up worthy freebies and joked with Councillor Friend and her Partner that a unit of beer on alcohol measuring cups wasn’t even a ½ pint. When did that happen? Maybe the cup should be expandable or telescopic! Not much for adults, no free cake left and music deafening, we headed to the quiet of a riverside bench and searched for fish, espying piles of rubbish instead. Gusts of wind and spots of rain ominous, we went home along the canal. At the river bridge, trout swam in the languorous shallows topped by car pollution. Shed Boy sweeping up, I asked if he’d take detritus I’d cleared from the steps along with his stuff to the tip. He said yes, if he got someone to take him. Thanking him, I silently queried why he couldn’t use his own transport. As the sun re-emerged, I topped up the binbags with more veg matter from the steps.

On Sunday Morning, Swiss Toni spouted the usual tory crap. Sharon Graham called David Lammy refusing to support BA strikes a new low for labour. Politics North extrapolated from the Wakefield by-election, most Yorkshire seats turning red. The laptop inexplicably turning itself off overnight, I restarted to post my brother’s birthday card on Facebook and write a haiga. Sewing the rest of the day made my fingers sore.

As Russia resumed bombing Kyiv, the G7 meeting in Bavaria put a price cap on their oil, banned their gold and joked about emulating Putin’s posing. Putin advised working on themselves before baring all. Boris bantered with Justin on who had the bigger plane. Chris Bryant called his hubris deranged. Prince Charlie accepting $3m cash donations in carrier bags from Qatar raised questions of undue influence. A suspected terrorist attack killed 2 men in Oslo. Pride events cancelled, some defiantly marched a couple of days later.

Barely able to keep my eyes open, it took a while to sleep and I woke after 2 hours feeling woozy and my Monday morning, I had pain across my forehead. I managed to fetch the laptop to post the haiga and write in bed. Depressed by debilitation, maybe it wasn’t such a surprise as I’d done many different things in the 6 weeks since the last bout, which was quite good-going. Fetching my lunch, an empty cereal box balancing on the tray for the recycling pile, fell under my feet on the stairs. Unable to move, I shouted for Phil’s help and fell back in bed exhausted. He disposed of rubbish and went to the co-op for basics plus reduced ham. Repose disturbed by the now daily ritual of geese in the street below, I looked out to see the growing goslings picking at moss between cobbles, as adults kept watch for cats and cars and Shed Girl tried to tempt them with grass for phone pics.

A recommended 15% rise in legal aid fees not implemented, barristers went on strike. A juniors salary of £12,000 more like that of a barista, did they mix up the job descriptions? Cruise missiles killed at least 20 when they hit a shopping centre in Kremenchuk. Decrying a war crime, Vlod asked G7 for more defence systems. In response to Russian aggression, relevant leaders went straight from Bavaria to Madrid to agree a boost to NATO’s Allied Reaction Force on the eastern flank. Boris pledged UK military spending would increase to 2.5% of GDP by 2028. In Westminster, the NI protocol bill passed the first commons vote and Dreadful Doris hosted a summit of broadband and mobile providers who made ‘stay connected’ pledges. A man shot dead an Atlanta Subway worker over too much mayo on his butty and 48 migrants boiled to death in an abandoned truck outside San Antonio. Another 2 later died in hospital and 3 men were arrested.

Rarely rising from my sickbed Tuesday, diggers beeping ‘stand clear’ and sirens screeching down the valley joined the squawking geese to hamper rest. Phil catered. His special omelette with ham, mushrooms and cheese was reminiscent of Greek holiday lunches!

2021 Census results showed the population in England and Wales grew 6%, less than expected, with 1:6 over 65. Baroness Heather Hallett began the delayed Covid-19 public inquiry. 7,000 in hospital, Jeremy Vine and Storm both had covid. Stand-ins asked was it time to reintroduce measures? Nobody would take any notice! Doctor Sarah advised face-masks in crowded places. MP/barrister turned commentator Gerry Hayes said the court system had ‘fallen apart’ and the cabinet were spineless. With ‘substantial and persistent concerns’ The Met were on special measures. That didn’t stop 20 cops arresting Stop Brexit man Steve Bray, on the day the Police, Crime, Sentencing & Courts Act came into force. BMA members urged to ‘channel their inner Mick Lynch’, it was hard to sympathise with GPs on £100k demanding an extra 30%.

After a bad night, I watched PMQs in bed Wednesday. The Bumbler still galivanting, Rabid Raab faced Rayner in Kung Fu Panda heels. Spouting the usual codswallop, he cheekily winked and jibed at her. She asked, with Boris vowing to stay on until 2030, would the party prop him up that long? Raab quipped he’d last longer than her leader to which she retorted, we couldn’t stomach him for 8 minutes, never mind 8 years. She was closer to the truth, as it turned out.

Unexpectedly charged another month’s studio rent, Phil stopped the direct debit and headed for Leeds. I thought it’d do him good to feel active, but he was so skint I had to give him the train fare. Seeing him off, the trellis strew the pavement again. It wasn’t even windy! I shooed him away and went out in my dressing gown to prop the dam thing up, glad the weather was slightly better than the previous two days. Left to my own devices, I brooded on the dire financial situation to be interrupted by Phil phoning to ask if I needed anything from Wilkos. I told him to get glue to fix a fragile old book I was reading. Stocks so low customers asked were they closing down and a 9 week wait for supplies, was it from Ukraine? Fuzzy from another short afternoon sleep, I juggled with dinner, irked when Phil rang from the return train. Forgetting to eat and drink all day, he scoffed food and gulped liquids. He’d made friends with a guy from an old Leeds rock band who took loads of the pesky furniture for his music studio.

After 6 months suspension on full pay, a written warning and a FPN for partying during lockdown, Sheffield council boss Kate Josephs apologised and returned to work. Harriet Harman would lead the Privileges Committee investigation into Boris’ lies.

During a terrible night, external humming and brightness vied with the stupid flashing laptop. Mediation led to fitful sleep. Thus Thursday started badly. Phil was also tired, from lugging furniture. Off to Leeds again, I griped at lack of communication and not being told anything until reaching crisis point. “I didn’t want to worry you.” No warning even more stressful, I asked: “Were you going to wait ‘til we were literally choosing between heating and eating?” Considering options, he searched for local part-time jobs. What the hell was a food production operative? Depressed because he’d tried hard to make self-employment work, he declared himself a loser. “No you’re not. You couldn’t know about covid or the war.” I made him a butty to take, nipped out to peg fusty towels on the line and went back to bed. Very warm, I opened the window as the racket which had plagued me since Monday abated and picked up the laptop when Phil called from Leeds, panicking he’d left an empty wheelie case in the park. Irked I’d have to go for it, I saw it near the door and rang him back. “Sorry, my mind’s all over the place.” “Calm down,” I screamed ironically. Mollified by an apology, I said at least he hadn’t lost the case. Too jittery to write, I hoovered the bedroom and brought the towels in as a woman walked a beautiful shiny black Labrador ‘puppy in training’ past.

Chris The Pincher resigned as tory whip after getting pissed and groping men at the Carlton Club. Labelled a Pound Shop Harvey Weinstein in 2017 by Alex Story, an official complaint and suspension from the party came the next day. Piers Corbyn got a fine for organising the Trafalgar Square anti-lockdown demos. An upgrade to the Trans-Pennine line between Huddersfield and Dewsbury was finally announced – already pretty good, what about the crap line we relied on? Ukraine claimed to have re-taken the tiny but strategic Black Sea Snake Island. Russia said they withdrew as a gesture of goodwill. Unlikely to alleviate the grain crisis, nobody was jubilant.

* PCSU – Public Communications Service Union

**CHOGM – Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting

References:

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

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

iii. My Cool Places 2 blog:: https://wordpress.com/posts/hepdenerose2.wordpress.com

Part 58 – Splits and Fits

“There are hazards in everything one does, but there are greater hazards in doing nothing” (Shirley Williams)

Rishi Frit

Another tedious few days bedridden with severe fatigue coincided with the warmest and sunniest week of the year so far. Unable to contact friends or get out of the house, my mood plummeted. But I kept occupied writing until head fug took over, and managed small chores, with Phil’s help.

Kids back at school in all 4 UK nations, the second stage of the ‘waymark’ for England saw hairdressers, beer gardens (some since midnight), and non-essential shops (with extended hours up to 10 p.m.) re-opening as well as zoos, gyms and domestic self-catering. 2 designated visitors were allowed in care homes, and we could go to Wales but would find gyms and pubs shut. On the day that Shirley Williams, famous for splitting from labour as part of the gang of 4 died, an emergency toadying session in the commons fawned over the dead duke. The Bumbler forewent a pint to appear with a haircut. A record number of Covid cases and deaths marked a huge surge in India (177,150 fatalities – the second highest in the world). This didn’t deter people attending the Kumbh Mela festival on the Ganges or Boris from planning a trade mission. Nor did a new ‘variant of concern’. B1.617 bore 2 mutations on the spike protein possibly making vaccines less effective. 77 case were found in Britain. Duante Wright was the latest black person to be killed by US police, 10 miles from the trial of Chauvin in Minnesota. The trigger-happy cop, Kimberley Ann Potter, claimed it was ‘a mistake’; she’d meant to use her taser not her gun. How on earth could she get them mixed up?

As I settled down to sleep, it seemed very quiet for the first pub drinking day since December, when I heard a few people staggering back. Fortunately, they didn’t linger.

Unfortunately, canal engineering works started soon after 8 Tuesday. I tried to ignore the racket and though still very achy and tired, performed a few stretches then had to get back in bed and stayed there all day. Reading at night, I couldn’t keep my eyes open and fell asleep despite continuous droning outside only to wake a few minutes later, when it stopped.

The top 9 priority groups now all offered a jab, 94% of over 50’s and 92% of the clinically vulnerable had one. 45-49 year olds were invited next. The central booking website promptly crashed. Somewhat mitigating the predicted shortage, the Moderna vaccine was rolled out but approval for Janssen was delayed over blood clot concerns. While revellers swarmed in Soho and an 82 year old woman got fined for partying, Boris said immunisation did a great job although coming out of lockdown would inevitably mean more deaths. Universities were told they couldn’t re-start face-to-face teaching until the next waymark of 17^th May; 6 weeks before the end of the academic year – what a waste of time! Sturgeon confirmed freedom to travel and some outdoor mixing for Scotland from Friday. As it emerged the former head of procurement Bill Crothers became a Greensill adviser while still a senior civil servant, Rishi Rich sent junior minister Paul Scully to face the commons to predictably say it was all above board. Rishi was accused of being ‘frit’.

Fits and Starts

Slightly improved Wednesday, I managed 10 minutes exercise and a few small chores. Energy sapped, I got back in bed to write and watch telly. The Bumbler’s’ hair already a mess 2 days since the barbers, PMQs was dominated by the Camoron scandal. After former premier Gordon Brown said ex-PMs shouldn’t lobby for commercial organisations (at least for 5 years), labour called for a full review instead of the wishy-washy inquiry Boris had promised. Led by Nigel Boardman, the same lawyer who advised on loosening lobbying laws, Keir complained it wouldn’t even look at the rules and was indicative of cronyism: “(there is) a revolving door, indeed an open door, between the conservative government and paid lobbying…The Greensill scandal is just the tip of the iceberg…Dodgy contracts, privileged access, jobs for their mates, this is the return of tory sleaze…The more I listen…the more I think Ted Hastings and AC-12 is needed to get to the bottom of this one.” The Bumbler deflected with: “we’re getting on with rooting out bent coppers,” and went on about labour killing the police bill. The Speaker said he should at least answer the question on opposing the labour motion to widen the probe. He refused, but a plethora of enquiries were later announced.

It subsequently emerged Camoron had discussions with the head of NHSX for a Greensill contract to provide a dodgy app allowing access to patients’ personal details. And mainstream news eventually picked up on another cronyism story revealed by Guido Fawkes. Topwood Limited, in which The Cock owned 15% of shares and his sister Emily Gilruth and mum Shirley Carter (off Eastenders) happened to run, was on the framework for NHS contracts. They were contracted by NHS Wales to shred documents.

Referring to Boris asking the Supreme Court to see if Holyrood went beyond its powers by incorporating the UN convention on the Rights of the Child and the European Charter of local self-government into Scottish law, Ian Blackford had a fit over plans to take them to court over children’s rights.

So-called ‘quiet time’ severely hampered by noisy canal works and pissed off being stuck indoors during gorgeous weather, I cheered up with a laugh over people’s excitement at going out drinking and barbecuing. I suggested Phil go and “sizzle a sausage. Or better yet, nick one someone else has sizzled. You could be the barbecue bandit!”

The Kent Virus was found to spread more but not be more severe or lead to more long Covid. Prof Harnden of JCVI warned: “…we all want to enjoy ourselves again, but we must be cautious and do this slowly. Otherwise we’ll get back to square one.” The Oxford Vaccine Group started trials using different vaccines for first and second doses. Open to anyone over 50 who’d had a first jab and willing to travel to a regional site, Phil looked set to go until it transpired he’d have to go to Hull.

Too wobbly for exercise Thursday morning, I made a big effort to bathe and expunge dust from the bedroom before working on my novel for the first time in months. I did quite well until I had to stop with head fug. Depression deepening at missing the sunshine, I consoled myself that at least I wasn’t mingling with face-lickers in beer gardens!

As SA surge testing started in the London areas of Lambeth, Wandsworth, Southwark and Finchley, Gethin Jones isolated at home and appeared via zoom on Morning Live from a very nice kitchen. With 4000,000 Covid victims hospitalised last year, the NHS waiting list stood at 4.7m but 2m had been treated during the ‘winter wave’. DHSC consulted on mandatory vaccines for elderly care home staff, while the EHRC said Covid Passes had the “potential for discrimination, or for infringement of civil liberties…and the creation of a 2 tier society whereby only certain groups are able to fully enjoy their rights.”

Sweden had the second highest infection rate in Europe but lower death rates (1.7 compared to the Euro average of 4.3 per day). Citing the vaccine barrier, I reflected hardly any Europeans had had one. Carolyn Harris brought forward a bill to force an MP vote on the NHS 1% wage rise and Lord Frost went to Brussels to talk about NI border checks – I wished them both lots of luck!

The QT panel were asked ‘should lobbying be illegal?’ Labour MP Rosie Duffield said it had its uses, Bernard Jenkins didn’t defend fellow tories, saying later in the week the scandal risked dismantling the ‘blue wall’. An erstwhile civil servant in the audience reminded us of The Nolan Committee’s Standards in Public Life. In her day, she was scared to have a cuppa and a biscuit when visiting companies. Now, businessmen who didn’t understand the culture were parachuted in. In any other profession, they’d be sacked. Self-styled right-wing comedian Geoff Norcott admitted he ‘held his nose’ when voting conservative. So why did you, I asked on twitter, to no reply. It was time he split from his misguided working class tory mates!

Awful droning (which I decided was a generator) presaged another terrible night. Trying various distraction techniques, I eventually dropped into a fitful sleep with an earplug in one ear and the meditation soundtrack in the other.

Hissy Fits

Feeling dreadful after hardly any kip, I forced myself to rouse Friday morning and removed the earplug when the horrendous noise started up again! My head set to split, I burst into tears: “I can’t stand it anymore! I’m hardly getting any sleep with that that din. It’s ruining my life!” At a loss what to do, Phil suggested a cuppa would help. “Yes, it might!” I retorted more sharply than necessary and hid under the covers. More fatigued and depressed than ever, I made a big effort to get washed and half-dressed before picking up the laptop. Despite the racket, we opened the bedroom window to let the fresh spring air in.

7 reviews into the Camoron affair imminent, I googled news sites, becoming confused at their similar remits.*

Venturing downstairs for lunch, Phil gave me a big hug and advised I sit out in the sun. “I can’t face having to interact with anybody. If we had a private garden, I would.” I stayed in the living room awhile then went back up, cleaned the bathroom and collapsed on the bed with exhaustion while he went to the co-op. Having ceased earlier in the afternoon, the loud works recommenced as my head hit the pillow. During evening telly, we guffawed at an ad where a woman appeared to jump on piles of landfill. “If we set up a website called landfill.com, would people still buy plastic crap they didn’t need?” “Yes! “Let’s do it”

With 1.6m cases per week, the WHO said there’d been 1m Covid deaths in Europe, but were cut by 30% among the over 80’s because of vaccines. The R rate down to 0.7-1, the ONS estimated the virus affected 1:480 people in England; the lowest since September. It decreased even more in the other 3 UK nations.

I fell asleep quickly that night only to wake a couple of hours later, assailed by various disturbances. To top it all, the engineering works kicked off at 8 o’clock Saturday morning I tossed and turned with both ears plugged but it was useless. Two nights of hardly any sleep did nothing to improve my fatigue or mood. Sunny and warm again, by the time we’d bathed and breakfasted half the day was gone. Phil declared he was going out. Knowing I’d be even more depressed indoors on my own, I strove to make myself presentable and headed out with him. A flimsy barrier topped with flowers outside the flats – presumably a sop by the developers to the unrelenting hissy fits of the local action group – looked pathetic.

We took the picturesque route to the small clough to find makeshift firepits in new clearings, delicate flowers and fungi in various states of decay, providing inspiration for my weekly haiga.ⁱ A woman sat on a bench reading. Chatting as we past, I suddenly realised we were disturbing the peace and shut up for a while. Tiny fish shone in the low waters. Birds flitted in treetops and dipped in the waterfall. A small heap of stones seemingly marked the grave of a small animal (a beloved pet or a wood dweller?) A small patch of wild garlic exuded pungency. “I’ll just pick a bit for tonight’s curry.” “You sound like a right Guardianista!” Phil giggled.

The change of scenery prompted us to reflect on the state of things. Less anxious a month after our first jabs, I wanted assurance on the reduced risk of severe Covid. Phil explained the maths. I couldn’t follow it all but got the gist. Nevertheless, as we walked home, the sight of swarms on the opposite side of the old bridge made me glad we’d avoided the town centre. Seating sprawled from a new cocktail bar along the pedestrianised street to accommodate drinking hordes. Far too busy for my liking!

Expecting respite that night, the generator kicked in at 2.30 a.m. With the help of earplugs and because I was dead tired, I slept regardless. Sunday morning, buzzing of a different kind emanated from behind the bedroom curtains. Unable to see what it was, I kept them drawn. Phil investigated to find a bee. Of course, it obediently went outside straight away due to his ‘bee whispering’ skills! Useless George appeared on the Marr to defend Camoron. Politics North provided details on the powers of the West Yorks metro mayor whom we’d be voting for in May. “It could be quite good as long as they’re not from Leeds and forget about the rest of the county. There’ll be stiff e-mails about local buses!” I predicted.

Unsure what to do on a bright but hazy day, I opted for DIY. The paint I applied a year ago to a bathroom storage cube was already flaking off and I decided to top it with tiles. It took an hour to rummage in the coal hole for the materials and equipment, strip the flaky paint and resurrect solidified tile adhesive, before the fun bit of sticking the tiles on which took 5 minutes. Phil went to town for baccy and returned with yet another camera from the charity shop. Back in time to help mix the adhesive, I shooed him away from usurping my project to play music. Cleaning up afterwards took almost as long as the prep. Feeling grimy I went up early for a bath. Phil came up after watching footie with news of a Euro super league, set to become a big story over the next few days.

Crowded pubs over the weekend incredulously led to debate on whether youngsters should be offered jabs in preference to older folk. Reportedly only 23% of hospitality was open, as eateries struggled with outside seating, even though councils allowed tables to straddle pavements and even streets. Witnessed in our small town, Leeds and Soho took it to ludicrous levels, judging by media images. As Oxford university were starting a second ‘human challenge’ trial on young people, I suggested they could just send them to the pub! The Events Research Programme (ERP) trialled spectators at the boring snooker and FA cup semi-finals. In France, only 1.25% of cops and teachers took up the offer of an AZ vaccine. A centre planned to be open all weekend, shut 1 p.m. Saturday due to lack of takers. Macron was blamed for his irresponsible comments and urged to launch a publicity campaign to boost take-up.

Settling down that night, the droning recommenced. Even the earplugs and meditation soundtrack combo failed to block it out allowing only a few fractious hours’ sleep.

*The 7 reviews and inquiries sparked by the Camoron lobbying scandal, as far as I could tell:

Boardman inquiry- so-called independent inquiry into the role of Lex Greensill as an adviser, use of supply chain finance and lobbying efforts of Greensill. May also investigate how Bill Crothers could work for Greensill while still a civil servant
Treasury Select Committee – ‘on the regulatory lessons from the failure of Greensill Capital and the appropriateness of HM Treasury’s response to lobbying …’
-Public Admin and Constitutional Affairs Committee (PACAQ) – into ‘the topical matters around Greensill’. A focus on lobbying regulations and civil service rules. Dubbed ‘The AC-12 of Whitehall’
Public Accounts Committee – into supply chain financing and how Covid loans were offered to companies
Committee on Standards in Public Life – into the ‘the institutions, procedures and policies in place to uphold high standards of conduct’. Likely to propose policy changes
Cabinet Office review of the Lobbying Act
Simon Case double jobs review – all senior civil servants to declare outside jobs/roles that may conflict with their work.

Reference:

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

Part 57 – Line of Acronyms

“In the event that I am reincarnated, I would like to return as a deadly virus, to contribute to solving overpopulation” (Prince Philip)

Barking Mad

Patches of white lay atop roofs on a sunny Easter Monday. Phil slept in while I exercised and did free puzzles in Metro. After a late breakfast of toasted hot cross buns, I posted blogs, just finishing as the skies turned changeable. Itching to go out, we debated whether to visit town for a burnt snack and the virtual duck race, thought better of it and agreed to escape ‘up tops’ instead. Things became a bit fraught as we prepared to leave the house, and I feared we’d miss the next bus. I needn’t have worried. Although it had sounded quieter than the previous 2 insanely busy days, cars streamed on the main road. A traffic jam stretched to bridge. “That’s people not going to the virtual duck race,” I quipped.

Predictably late as a consequence, a few other passengers rode the bus, all alighting in the first village. We got off at the junction of a country lane where adorable spring lambs eyed us curiously from patchwork fields as we passed. At the farm shop, only one customer was allowed in at a time. I waited to buy pop and we stood in a patch of sun, well away from a couple drinking beer and a picnicking family. A large sow snuffled at straw inside the barn behind us. Manic squealing ensued as a litter of piglets clambered and tugged at each other to feed. Mindful of social distancing, we in turn jockeyed for position with small children and a pair of women also peered over the metal gate to witness the spectacle.

Walking down to the clough, we were chased by dogs where the path crossed farmland. I yelled at the woman who’d appeared near the farmhouse: “It’s not on! This is a public right of way!” Shaken by the encounter, we got off their land as quickly as possible. In the clough, straggling family groups and elderly men impeded our progress to the garlic fields for the second forage of the season.

Proceeding home via the bridleway, a horse rider thanked us for standing on the verge for her to pass. A woman accompanied by 2 kids and 2 spaniels walked the opposite way. “Oh no, it’s the stupidest, craziest of all dog breeds,” Phil tittered. One of the dogs broke from the group and bounded towards us.

Braced for another stressful experience, it veered off the path, apparently chasing a deer. I suggested to the woman she put her dogs on leads. “What?” “You need to put your dogs on leads. There are deer here.” “I live here!” she responded. “Your dog just chased a deer!” “Ooh, scary!” she laughed. Angered by the incident and by inconsiderate dog-owners in general, I asked Phil: “I live here? What the hell does that mean?“ “That she owns the place? “Well, she should care more about the bloody wildlife then, shouldn’t she. Cold-hearted bitch!” Recalling the horse rider, I considered it barking mad that dogs didn’t have to be kept on leads on a bridleway. However, owners were required to control them so they didn’t intimidate animals, or people for that matter, on any public right of way. (for a fuller description of the walk, see Cool Placesⁱⁱ).

In the evening, our walking friend texted to ask if we fancied going to another garlic spot the next day. Although we’d just got a pile, I was always up for a new harvesting place and said yes. At bedtime, I was troubled by recurring thoughts of encounters with dogs and the drone of railway engineering works. Hard to sleep, I tried earplugs, then the meditation tape, then the noise suddenly stopped enabling a few fitful hours.

Covid cases dropped 44% and hospitalisations by a quarter in the past week. The Boris Briefing confirmed the next step (or ‘waymark’) on the roadmap would proceed next week. Hairdressers, beer gardens and shops could re-open, with extended hours up to 10 p.m. but social distancing still in place. Covid Status Certification set to be trialled, The Bumbler promised we wouldn’t need them for “the shops, pub garden or hairdressers on Monday.” He stopped short of saying they wouldn’t be required inside pubs in May. 70 MPs set to vote against the Covid Passes, including 40 tories, Rachel Reeves said Labour didn’t see the point with the success of the vaccine programme. Boris made no pledges on travel but confirmed a traffic lights system with more details due later in the week. From Friday, everyone could have 2 tests per week. While we wondered what the point was and where the cash was going, the government said it would be paid for out of the existing TIT budget. So was it a ruse to justify Dildo’s existence? Allyson Pollock of Newcastle University called it a “scandalous waste of money” and warned that as cases fell, false-positives would rise and people forced to needlessly self-isolate.

Egged On

After a freezing night, Tuesday also started sunny and cold with a sprinkling of white. Chores done, we planned an early lunch before meeting our walking friend. Suddenly, small snowflakes started to fall. I rang her to say there was no chance of going garlic-picking and parried her efforts to persuade me otherwise. “I knew something like this would happen,” she said, “I thought one flake of snow, and Mary will cry off.” “And I knew you’d try and talk me into it!” We had a laugh and nattered about her new semi-retired life, antibodies, vaccines, and meeting up soon. As a mixture of wintry showers plagued the afternoon, the temperature plummeted. Glad I’d stood firm, it also gave me chance to catch up on editing photos and writing. The din of night-time engineering was replaced by caterwauling on the street below. Thankfully, it didn’t interfere with sleep as much.

As the blood clot issue re-surfaced, Boris went to the AZ* plant in Macclesfield to be quizzed on concerns the vaccine caused CVT*. He directed us to the MHRA* where studies were ongoing but trials on youngsters were halted. He insisted there was ‘no data’ to suggest deviating from the roadmap out of lockdown while SPI-M* warned of a rise at the final stage in June. The Cock claimed Valneva produced a ‘strong immune response’ although this was only based on a study of 153 people. Cases in Chile rose even though 37% of the population had at least 1 dose of Sinovax. Reportedly due to complacency, travel in or out of the country was banned for a month. Concerns over the Chinese vaccine would emerge later in the week. Australia and NZ* agreed to allow travel between the two without quarantine. Here, Border Force claimed 40% of 40,000 fliers into the UK* and 90% of travellers on Eurostar were tourists. The government denied it. Airline bosses moaned that holidays would ‘costa packet’, with up to 6 PCR* tests required (lab analysis making them better at detecting variants than rapid flow tests). Irene Hays appeared on BBC Breakfast to laud ‘sea-cations’ (aka Brexit cruises). The latest Yorkshire fire entailed a recycling pile in Doncaster – what was it with daft fires in this county?

A similar picture Wednesday, I hoovered, wrote and went to the co-op for a hefty top-up shop. School holidays still on, hordes hithered and dithered in the aisles. Obviously too cold for coffee-cupping today! Already stressed, I swore at a young man behind me at the till who didn’t wait for me to move before slamming a box of beer down on the conveyor belt. I rushed to the end where the cashier asked me if I was alright. “Some people just don’t give a shit,” I complained, to which she nodded. On exiting, I removed my face mask. My specs promptly fell on the pavement making me swear again. Hands full, I struggled to the zebra and glared at a speeding driver. He screeched to a halt. I paused at the corner to sort myself out when Geordie Neighbour approached. We walked and talked back to our street, about the weather and the discomfort of extreme walking. I mentioned the ace job his partner had done on the community garden and told him some of the history of the land; we’d collaborated with a couple of neighbours and councillors to rescue it from auction some years ago. Developing neck pain later, I cursed myself for using dam rucksacks when shopping. A massage and shifting into a more comfy position helped somewhat at bedtime.

The MHRA issued new guidance to not use AZ on those under 30. Though not confirmed it caused clots, Jenny Raine said the evidence was ‘firming up’. An estimated 6,000 lives saved and only 19 deaths out of 20 million vaccines given, The EMA* wanted the ‘very rare side effects’ listed on packs and people with blood disorders to consult their doctor. JCVI’s* Anthony Harnden assured us detection of the possible link showed the ‘yellow card’ system worked and it was no more risky than pregnancy, taking the contraceptive pill, or taking a long-haul flight. As the SNP* and Labour ruled out backing proposals on Covid Passes, Keir called messaging a mess: “only a few weeks ago the prime minister was saying he was thinking of vaccine passports to go to the pub – now he says isn’t. One day he’s talking about tests – then certificates. It’s a complete mess.” Ian Blackford added: “the tory position has been mired in confusion and contradiction.” CRG* deputy chair Steve Baker warned the proposed document would lead to a “miserable dystopia of Checkpoint Britain.” However, domestic certificates would likely be wrapped up with nigh inevitable international covid passports, to garner more votes. With only 8% of Brazilians vaccinated, the P1 variant led to 4,000 deaths in a day. More transmissible and infecting young people, it spread throughout South America and across the globe. Deliveroo denied IWGB* claims that hundreds took part in strike action, saying their drivers were happy. Shares rose slightly after a shaky start last week.

Another boring day, Thursday I aimed to do yoga in the afternoon but by the time a heap of chores were done, I’d had enough and lay down to rest instead. The roses Phil bought me at Easter had bloomed into a fabulous floral splendour, providing a splash of colour to a dull midweek.

18,000 new trains were arriving in time for Monday’s non-essential shopping trips. A study of 150,000 people indicated jabs broke the link between Covid and death but the number of hearts on the wall alongside St. Thomas’ Hospital still grew. It was odd I didn’t ever walk that way when I worked there many moons ago. Philippine president Duerte shielded from his staff who all had Covid. As ‘the troubles’ rumbled on, Stormont held an emergency sitting and Brad Lewis went to Belfast for urgent talks. Wednesday night, a bus was hijacked and burnt, and factions clashed either side of a gate on the so-called peace wall, between Shankill Road and Springfield Road. Teenagers threw missiles and petrol bombs. PSNI* fired rubber bullets and water cannons, just like the old days. The next night, community workers formed a human chain to prevent rioters reaching the gate at Lanark Way. Commentators cited a number of causes including a backlash against an IRA funeral last summer, the Brexit border in the Irish Sea and ‘increased rancour in the political sphere’. Loyalists were accused of egging on rioting youths. Interviewed on BBC news, a young man called Joel said people saw Sinn Fein winning and Loyalists under attack.

Adding to the 4 known forces of physics (gravity, electromagnetism, the strong force and the weak force) a new one was allegedly found. When muons were fired into a circular magnetic track, they wobbled. The elliptical result prompted Phil to call them ‘eggons’. The STFC* said it gave: “strong evidence for the existence of an undiscovered sub-atomic particle or new force” but not conclusive proof. Smiley Prof. Brian Cox enthused: “It would be the biggest discovery in particle physics for many years.” Shamelessly touting his upcoming Horizons tour, I laughed: “he’s nicked Count Arthur Strong’s idea. Well, that’s one way of dealing with merciless piss-taking!”

The Final Wipe-Down

Starting to feel ill the night before, I tried a few stretches Friday morning before succumbing to the inevitable. Back in bed, I worked on the laptop to post a composite of the last 2 foraging trips on Cool Places. Phil worked downstairs, brought me lunch and went to the co-op for weekend supplies. Hoping to catch afternoon quiz shows, I turned the telly on to discover that Prince Philip had died. Incessant news coverage ensued, leading to 1000,000 official complaints. I whinged to an empty room. Accepting they had to do this stuff, I didn’t see why it had to be on all the channels, all the time. The endless cycle of toadying didn’t even include any of the Duke of Edinburgh’s famous gaffes (see example above).

Launching his ‘framework for travel’, Shats used classic double-speak, NOT saying don’t book foreign holidays. The DfT* refused to confirm they’d be allowed from 17^th May, said there’d be an initial assessment early May and a review 28^th June to see if ‘measures could be rolled back’. Shats admitted PCR tests were expensive and was trying to bring costs down. Jet2 extended the suspension of flights until June due to a lack of clarity. As UCL* modelling predicted herd immunity would be reached in time for pub and shop re-opening Monday, Debenhams was holding a fire sale at 97 stores. Vaccine hesitancy amongst ethnic minorities reportedly dropped to 6%, the Kent virus was now dominant in the USA*, and Slovakia said the Russian Sputnik V vaccine was rubbish.

I managed a few hours kip that night but woke in the early light at 6.00 a.m. Car doors slammed and people prattled inanely. Either the shed people or the flat residents had apparently been to an all-nighter.

Still ailing at the weekend, I only ventured downstairs for short spells. Most of the time, I sat abed, writing and watching telly. BBC 1 still showed interminable coverage of the dead duke including a noon gun salute and a remembrance service, but at least it wasn’t all the channels like Friday. Saturday, I tried to ignore the unremitting chatter of the flat residents in their garden. On his return from shopping, I told Phil it was doing my nut in and suspected it was them I’d heard coming home at 6.00 a.m. “We used to be like that when we were young,” he reminded me. “Yes, but not in a time of Covid!”

Sunday began startlingly bright as overnight snowfall dramatically reflected a blue sky. It was beautiful but hurt my eyes, especially as I attempted to capture the stunning scene on camera. By the time we’d bathed and breakfasted, most of the snow had melted. It became grey and cold as the sun went in. Freezing and achy, I went back to bed and draft-posted the next instalment of the journal. More snow fell later, but the soggy flakes didn’t stick. Although not unusual to have wintry showers in April, I’d never known it snow this late before.

Phil ventured to the convenience store in a clear spell, reporting town inevitably busy in anticipation of pubs opening in the morning. News media dubbed it ‘the final wipe-down’ and featured extra outdoor seating sprawled across pub carparks and pavements. “It’s all looking a bit medieval,” he laughed. Inspired to mock the latest government campaigns, my spoof poster only got one laugh on Facebook – what was wrong with people?

I stayed up to watch Line of Duty – or Line of Acronyms as we now called it – just about keeping apace of the lingo as they prated about AC-12, CHIS, OCG and MIT*. I returned to bed with a heavy head as though a weight pressed down above my eyes. The drone of railway engineering works again mitigated attempts to sleep. Using earplugs and the meditation tape, I eventually dropped into fractious slumber.

As vaccinations reached 32m and 7.5m had 2 doses, Phil said only 7 people died of Covid. I agreed that seemed negligible, but figures at the weekend were always lower due to reporting lags. George Fu Gao, head of the CCDCI* said something needed to be done to address the poor efficacy of Sinovax, just above 50%. After his comments went viral, social media posts were deleted and Gao later claimed his comments were misinterpreted.

Rishi’s text replies to David Camoron on the Greensill issue were published; he was ‘pushing for alternatives’ but with ‘no guarantees.’ It then emerged that in 2019, the ex-PM lobbied for Greensill to be given NHS contracts. Drinks with Matt Cock were apparently ‘a social occasion’ so didn’t have to be reported, and broke no rules. Would that be the rules Camoron drew up? He later said he should have used the proper channels. Labour replied that if rules weren’t broken, it was because they weren’t strict enough. In advance of publication Thursday, former tory minister Alan Duncan’s memoirs had already been serialised in The Daily Mail. He hilariously called The Glove-Puppet an unctuous freak, Gavin Salesman a venomous self-seeking little shit, Nasty Patel a nightmare, and The Bumbler an embarrassing buffoon.

*Lines of acronyms:

AZ – Astra-Zeneca

CVT – Cerebral Venous Thrombosis

MHRA – Medicines and Health Products Regulatory Agency

SPI-M – Scientific Pandemic Influenza Group on Modelling

NZ – New Zealand

UK – United Kingdom

PCR – Polymerase Chain Reaction

EMA – European Medicines Agency

JCVI – Joint Committee for Immunisation and Vaccination

SNP – Scottish Nationalist Party

CRG – Covid Recovery Group

IWGB – Independent Workers of Great Britain

PSNI – Police Service Northern Ireland

STFC – Science and Technology Facilities Council

DFT – Department for Transport

UCL – University College London

USA – United Sates of America

AC (as in AC-12) – Anti Corruption

CHIS – Covert Human Intelligence Source

OCG – Organised Crime Group

MIT – Murder Investigation Team

CCDCI – Chinese Centre for Disease Control and Infection

References:

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

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

Part 11 – Cummings and Goings

Plain Wrong

1 - Haiga - Furloughed — Haiga – Furloughed i

Tuesday dawned dull and grey after overnight rain. The forecasters kept saying the weather was going to be great but there was no sign of that in the valley so far.

Although I slept better, It still required a big effort to get going. I wanted to crack on with the bathroom project. As I dressed, Phil sat on the bed doing his gig economy job. It amused me that he could do it on his phone, from anywhere “You’re turning into an AI!”

He said he’d finished the grouting but a dirty-looking strip at the side of the back window offended me. He applied more. I continued work on the storage cubes until he declared his work done then finished the skirting boards. Escaping the stink of turps, I nipped out to the garden for clean air. Very overgrown again, goose grass annoyingly snagged at my clothes and threatened to strangle the Welsh poppies. The street crowded with delivery vans and recyclers backing up, dog walkers and cycling kids, I retreated back indoors. As I lay reading on the bed, my eyelids became heavy and in spite of all the noise outside, I found myself actually falling asleep; very unusual for the afternoon. I awoke feeling woozy and disorientated. Phil found it hilarious for some reason.

After the debacle of the bleach, The Trump caused more uproar by taking hydroxychloroquine, as he’d heard ‘good stories’ about it; was that bedtime stories? The drug could be deadly especially for people who were overweight. With his morbid obesity, even the ultra-right-wing Fox News said “you will die!”

Over here, Unpretty Patel announced a points based system for migrant workers. Did that mean those essential key workers who had kept the country going for the past several weeks? The Science and Technology Committee said the government strategy to halt mass testing at the start of the pandemic had been wrong. Motivated by capacity, they’d never revealed ‘the science’ that informed it and lockdown had proved much more costly. Stupid DWP Minister Therese Toffee-Nose (who never answered my letter about the ridiculous sickness benefit situation, by the way) claimed it was the fault of the likes of Witless, Fergie, and Vallance who’d apparently given the government ‘wrong advice’. The early strategy to move patients from the NHS into care homes was also attacked. Ministers responded that at the time there were few transmissions ‘in the community’. Well, thanks to them, that soon changed! Was there any idiotic decision for which they could not come up with a warped excuse or blame someone else for?

While unemployment rose, CO2 levels fell. A knucklehead from Visit England said the British public must be told domestic vacations were safe and proposed a second bank holiday in October. We’d been here before – Trafalgar Day anyone?

Scents and Nonsense

2 - Roadside poppies 8 — Roadside Poppies

Warm and sunny Wednesday, I ignored a recurring throat niggle and insisted “I am going for a walk today!”

Now allowed picnics, we took sandwiches and set off towards the towpath. We soon found it blocked and returned to the road to climb up the gentler valley side. Heady scents of pine assailed us. Phil said it smelt of holidays. Passing hedgerows crowded with poppies, we reached a steep track with switchbacks, making us overheat. We stopped to rest and drink water (I rued not bringing more). Cooler In the woods, we detoured onto a magical-looking path, edged by perfumed bluebells. At the top, we perched on a wall to eat the packed lunch, enjoying a light breeze as we gazed towards the pike. We followed signs down on the Pennine Way, the path becoming uncomfortably stony underfoot. The towpath blocked at the makeshift commune, I said it was a good idea to contain the hippies! To avoid tramping the dusty main road, we returned to back streets, the scent of ransoms replacing that of traffic fumes. We popped in the shop for ice cream. Normally immune to advertising, I had to admit the new magnum ruby red lollies were yummy! For more information and photos, see Cool Placesⁱⁱ

Captain Tom got a knighthood. “I hope the queen’s not heavy-handed with the sword!” He quipped . Bumbling Boris announced the ‘world beating’ TIT system would be operational by 1^st June; the day schools were due to increase intake. 35 Local Authorities said they would not tell schools to follow the guidance, including Calderdale. To which the local Tory MP responded that head teachers were ‘puppets of paymaster unions’, and their views were ‘not based on evidence’. More Tory hypocrisy! In my experience of working in schools, heads were quite averse to joining unions. Meanwhile, Serco admitted the e-mail addresses of 300 newly recruited contact tracers had been shared by accident. Hmm! Would that be the same outsourcing firm ran by the brother of a Tory MP?

I tossed and turned in the hot bright night, unable to stop my mind churning (not unusual after a stimulating day). I peeped through the curtains to see tons of stars. With the aid of sky map on the ipad, I located Virgo, Libra and Sirius. Other constellations were unfamiliar, suggesting a new view of the night sky.

After a bad night, I slept late into Thursday morning. Shocked, I jumped off the bed, instantly disorientating myself. I told Phil he should have woken me but subsequently had second thoughts – I would probably have bitten his head off! Morning telly featured the nation’s favourite sandwich. As bacon topped the list we joked about ‘the rise of the gammons’. While we had partaken of a local walk and picnic on the hottest day of the year so far, sheep-like herds had descended on crowded seaside resorts. With the weekly clap due, ‘shaming’ neighbours for not applauding carers was apparently a thing. It did not occur to these judgemental dunderheads that some were put off by the likes of Bumbling Boris and other Tories joining in, having cynically starved the health and social care systems of cash for years! Not to mention the cynical way they had dealt with the whole crisis!

As I hung washing outside, I chatted to our young student neighbour. She was not happy about Cambridge Uni’s plans for all lectures to be on-line next term, but conceded social distancing would be difficult in halls. Comparing notes on what we missed during lockdown, she thought for us it would be the pub. I assured her we had not been regular beer drinkers for some time (it was too expensive and besides, it got boring after the first few decades!) She said she had only drunk a pint and a half during her first year (things had definitely changed since my day). She agreed there were some benefits to these strange days such as cleaner air. We discovered a shared experience as by coincidence, we had both looked out at the starry sky at exactly the same time in the early hours.

As I continued with DIY in the bathroom, Phil went to the co-op. I suggested he peruse the ‘meal deal’ for an easy weekend dinner. Alas, what we thought was pizza was actually garlic bread. “That’s not a meal, that’s a snack!” I went back outside to clear my senses and ended up weeding to get rid of the pesky goose grass and brambles, cutting my fingers to ribbons in the process.

The odd kid was removing a bit of tree from next door’s garden. As she placed it in the middle of the street, I asked “now what?” “Good question.” She then proceeded to peel it with a penknife, to which I said “that doesn’t look safe.” “Oh. We didn’t think of that.” Her mum emerged, seemingly unconcerned by her daughter’s hazardous activity. I said hello and repeated the question “now what?” She decided to put it behind their garden bench. As she did so, the partner of next-door-but-one appeared, laden with a box of plants. Both gardens shared a single flight of stone steps and as he said he wanted to take the plants up, the mum assured him “we’ll be one minute”. Task over, they plonked on the bench to read a story. Unable to pass safely, he gave up.

Following a U-turn on giving bereaved refugee families of NHS workers ‘leave to remain’, Bumbling Boris did another one on the NHS surcharge. Only the day before at PMQs, he had refused to do so, insisting charging health staff to use the service they worked for was fair. Oxford scientists said their vaccine may be ready by September. But confusingly went onto say it might not be available until next year. Antibody test estimates suggested 17% of citizens in London and 5% nationally had already had coronavirus. The petition I’d signed reached enough signatures to force a government response. I was still not holding my breath for that one…

Yet again, I had a terrible night. As I struggled to get to sleep, I realised the weird situation was really getting to me. While trying hard to not get worked up about it and use coping strategies, the anxiety over the idiocy of the government became overwhelming. Some of us knew it would be the worst government ever in history from the get-go, but why did it have to be them in charge when we were faced with such a terrible situation? They were taking us to hell in a handcart! I finally drifted off to the meditation soundtrack, but snoozed lightly and intermittently.

Out of Sorts

Friday, we both felt out of sorts due to lack of sleep. While I needed time to come round with a cuppa, Phil talked over the morning news. With too many things going on at once, my head ached. I asked him to be quiet. He parroted me in a mocking tone making me very angry. I shouted “shut up!” He eventually did so and we sat quietly for a bit, both fuming. A musician being interviewed on zoom farted. It had me instantly in hysterics! I said “That shows how tired I am; shouting one minute, laughing the next.” I had just taken a sip of tea when Phil remarked “I have said before these people should be sat on the toilet just in case.” This had me spluttering into my cup. Then I started choking. Alarmed, I rushed to the bathroom, trying to dislodge the blockage, became panicky and screamed “I can’t breathe!” I tried to add “Help!” but the words refused to come out above the coughing. Eventually he came to hit my back and things calmed down again. Needless to say, I felt miles worse after that escapade. I practiced controlled breathing until I felt calmer and able to get on with the day.

I was far too tired and discombobulated for a shopping trip before coffee. When I did venture to the co-op, I encountered few issues. The cashier worked so fast he literally threw my purchases at me. “I can’t keep up!” I told him. He laughed and offered to help pack my bags “No thanks. I have a system.” Nevertheless, it took ages to sort and wash the groceries, after which I had to hang washing on the line. Knackered and thirsty, I collapsed on the sofa with a glass of water. Meanwhile, Phil cut his hair with instructions to hoover the bathroom thoroughly afterwards as painting was still in progress. We decided it would be impractical to paint the floor until Sunday night. In the meantime, the wooden panelling on the side of the bath could be done. I planned to do this after lunch but as I was so tired, I abandoned the idea. Instead, I backed up files and checked e-mails. The manager of Valley Life Magazineⁱⁱⁱ messaged that the next issue, deferred from April, would appear in August. I advised her to use the submission due to appear in the issue postponed from April. More desperate than ever for an afternoon nap, I failed to relax and felt as though I would never sleep again. The extreme fatigue made me tearful. I rallied round slightly with more caffeine.

As I brought the washing in, I spotted a toy lawnmower by our dustbin. The strong wind that had gusted all day had blown it there from the community garden. Guessing which neighbour it belonged to, I knocked on the appropriate door and stood well back while the young woman answered. I explained that I didn’t want to touch the toy ‘for obvious reasons’. She said it was not her small son’s but belonged to another kid who’d been “wrecking the garden.”

The issue of schools re-opening featured on the news again with the leader of Calderdale Council explaining why he would not tell heads to follow government guidance. SAGE came out with the wisdom that kids were half as likely to get Covid-19 as older people and that teachers were not particularly at high risk. But there was no ‘science’ on transmission, leaving me to conclude they were nought but a bunch of lackeys.

Mercifully, I had a better night meaning I could do some DIY on Saturday. Painting the side of the bath made my back and neck ache. Phil went to town and reported it buzzing with people drinking in the streets, not observing social distancing. The convenience store had an odd sign about maintaining 2 metres distance to prevent hysteria. Mystified, he asked the staff what it meant but came away none the wiser. I had a look myself a couple of days later but it still failed to make sense!

Storms and Shitstorms

4 - Not a Seething Mass in the Park — Not a Seething Mass in the Park

Sunday Morning started cloudy and chilly following overnight showers. The recent blustery conditions were caused by a storm albeit with only a splatter of rain hereabouts. Forecasters said the wind was due to die down. However, we had to wait another day for the lovely sunshine to re-appear.

Marr discussed the shit-storm that had emerged concerning Scumbag Cumberbatch travelling to Durham during total lockdown, on the day he’d been spotted running from number 10. The bunker was on his dad’s estate as it turned out. In his defence, Grant Shats instructed us to “read the guidance”. What? Would that be the same guidance that changed every 5 minutes and contradicted itself all over the place? We could only get more confused reading that clap-crap!

Having a bath required added palaver with the ongoing DIY; moving painting stuff out, putting rugs down, checking the bath for insects and cleaning it out. I decided to try and get it finished and set about washing bags and baskets used to store toiletries and holiday items. Very strange forms emerged from one such bag. Possibly clumps of dust, some looked suspiciously like insect larvae. No wonder we had strange animals living in the bathroom! The task gave me back and head ache and made me extremely tired. I took a break then thought I’d get some writing done. Working through the fatigue, I eventually posted ‘Confined walk 3 – Riverside’ for Cool Placesⁱⁱ. At bedtime, Phil painted a first coat on the bathroom floor. I heard a lot of grunting. He said it was due to stuff on the clothes horse over the bath, meaning he had to contort his bad back. I admitted I had not thought of that. If he’d told me I would have put the bags elsewhere to dry.

Monday brought yet another pointless Bank Holiday. At least the storm finally passed, leaving warm sunshine in its wake. As the news mainly contained fall-out from The Scumbag’s trip up north, I took part in a poll showing 80% of participants said ‘sack him!’ But of course Bumbling Boris wouldn’t- he couldn’t function without his spin doctor.

I spent the morning on mundane tasks and blog posts including a haigaⁱ. Phil applied another coat of paint on the bathroom floor and we set off for town while it dried.

Heaving with day-trippers: carparks and bins full, queues for café take-a-ways, benches outside the pub full. The square had become a makeshift food court. In search of lunch snacks, the local convenience stores offered meagre pickings. We waited ages while a family who looked like they’d already eaten all the pies, hovered round the instant food section. The staff complained about the tourists “There are at least 300 people in the square”, one of them exaggerated. Navigating the busy street I was almost mown down by a motorbike. In the park we found a suitable patch of grass amidst the small groups populating the green spaces, in front of the shut café. They could at least sell ice cream. Enjoying a long overdue picnic in the sunshine, we realised it was the first time since early March we had bought ‘lunch out’. Discussing the recent farrago, we agreed the cat was fully out of the bag now. Although physical distancing was not being totally ignored, friendship groups had definitely formed. I learnt the art beloved of Daily Mail photographers, misleading the viewer into thinking small clumps of people were actually one seething mass. Small knots of people lounged and chatted on the playing field. Kids in retro punk t-shirts drank tinnies. An infamous local character staggered from one group to another, wearing a mask round his chin. Phil suggested his keyworker probably put a stack in his house to protect the rest of us. It wasn’t working!

After eating, we walked along the canal to the boundary of the next village and returned via the cycle path, admiring the various wild flowers of the different habitats. I popped in the co-op while Phil waited outside. The halfwit serving me spoke into his headset: “we appear to have a stalker at the window.“ I turned round to see Phil doing funny faces behind my back! For more information and photos see Cool Placesⁱⁱ

Back home, the bathroom floor had dried quickly in the warmth. Settling down with coffee and cake, we tried to follow the awful statement by The Scumbag. He may be good at the 3-word slogans but public speaking not so much! Having borrowed a clean white shirt, the scruff appeared in the rose garden and rambled for 2 hours, explaining the flee to Durham was necessary to ensure childcare should both he and his wife get Covid-19, and giving some hokum about driving around on his wife’s birthday to ‘test his eyesight.’

A part of me wondered if the tale could be true (stupid and arrogant as it sounded). But he undoubtedly broke lockdown rules and the highway code by driving while potentially blind. Later, The Glove Puppet claimed he was ‘wise’ to do a test drive and confused everyone further by saying you were allowed to drive for exercise – err, not in April you weren’t, you complete muppet! You would think the people who wrote the rules would know the rules! The Scumbag’s wife, Mary Whitehouse, gave an account of the escapade a month ago in the right wing Spectator. It contained several details contradicting her husband’s version of events.

A late briefing headed by Bumbling Boris started with some waffle about schools followed by a preview of ‘intended’ changes (subject to a lockdown review Thursday). Outdoor markets and car showrooms would be able to open from 1^st June and all other retail from 15^th June, if they were ‘covid secure’. Yet more ‘new guidance’ would be issued. He swiftly handed over to Mrs. Doyle to present a pointless slideshow of daft diagrams and meaningless graphs, with no mention of The Scumbag until questions were asked. Boris unsurprisingly voiced support, saying he wouldn’t be ‘marked down’ for doing right by his family (it was forever public school days for them lot!) At the same time, he potentially left his aide out to dry, saying ‘people decide’. Oh dear! They never learn ‘the willy of the people’ is a capricious beast, do they? The series finale of Medici the Magnificent on Netflix had a sobering lesson about that. I suggest they watch it. Boris’ approval rating had already plummeted into the minuses. How long before the hoi polloi bayed for heads on sticks?

References:

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

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

iii. Valley Life magazine: http://valleylifemagazine.co.uk/

Part 10 – Land of Confusion

‘We’re Not Going On A Summer Holiday’

1- Alert Mug — The World Needs More Lerts!

The birds woke me at 4.30 a.m. Tuesday morning as they greeted the dawn’s early light. Eventually dropping off again, I then slept late, got up too quickly and had a wobble from the sudden movement. It took a little while to steady myself and be ready to get on with the day. The new tube of sealant arrived enabling Phil to finally finish his task in the bathroom after lunch. With him out of the way, I worked through RAD ballet ‘Silver Swans’ lessons 4 and 5. I had missed the lessons (released weekly) for some time due to other things and enjoyed the return. While I really liked going to the adult ballet classes at the local gym, with the social aspect adding to the experience, I was also pretty good at doing things like this on my own. An advantage of the on-line classes was that I found it a lot easier to follow the terminology, although I had no clue what ‘Deb le pay’ meant (or more likely ‘pied’).

Fall-out from easement of lockdown led to a land of confusion. Ministers’ insistent calls for ‘good old-fashioned common sense’ were utterly ludicrous amidst the hotchpotch of new rules. They meant for example, you could meet your mum in the park while dad stayed in the car, then swap round. You could have a childminder come to your house but not your gran – what if it was the same person? The furlough scheme was extended yet people were still ‘encouraged’ to go back to work. Terrified of travelling in unsafe conditions, new guidance from the DOT advised commuters to not stand facing each other on public transport. Equally terrified of entering unsafe workplace environments, employer guidance came out in dribs and drabs. Was there no end to the covidiocy of this government? Evidence seemed to be strengthening that is was all a cynical ploy; shifting the blame from them to the public. If you die it’s your fault for not being ‘alert’! It reminded me of terrible mugs from the olden days with the slogan ‘Be Alert. The world needs more lerts!’

In a series of car crash interviews, Matt Cock said ‘big lavish international holidays’ were ‘unlikely’. Most people just wanted a few days at the seaside; hardly lavish unlike vacations for his sort! Anyway, the prospect of having to quarantine for a fortnight each side was off-putting enough, with the UK and Spain, the go-to of most Brits in search of sun, both requiring 14 day quarantine for arrivals. And if and when you got there, nothing would be open, you would not allowed out of your accommodation, not even to sit on the beach. Idiot gammons on Look North whinged about not being able to go to their second home on the Costas – they’d just be stuck indoors there anyway!

Primary school teachers said plans to admit more kids from the start of next month were ridiculous while The Cock denied claims infants would be sprayed with disinfectant before entering the building.

Latest ONS figures for deaths in care homes now put the total number at 40k even though officially it was still 32k – more evidence the government thought we were all stupid! At a Whitehouse briefing, The Trump was asked about testing by a journalist who happened to be Chinese-American. He told her to ‘ask China’ and stomped off. On International Nurses’ Day (anniversary of Flo Nightingale) we were asked to light a lamp in the window. I wondered if that was set to be weekly thing, adding to the Thursday clap and incessant rainbows. Phil quipped “does it have to be a red lamp?” His humour can be sick sometimes!

Amidst all this bewilderment, there was much criticism of Bumbling Boris for giving the statement Sunday night before consulting cabinet, let alone parliament or even before the vaunted 50-page guidance was published. At PMQs , Keir challenged Boris on the horrendous situation in care homes to be later accused of mis-quoting the guidance. Could anyone understand it?

As we were now officially allowed to have a picnic, (or go to garden centres, angle, play golf and skateboard, should we wish), we considered taking an earlier walk with a packed. But it was cold and changeable. Instead, I painted over bad patches on the bathroom walls. It dried very quickly and I thought ‘job done’ when a chunk of old paint fell off – it was like the bloody Forth Bridge!

Hippies and Capitalists Unite!

Thursday brought the anniversary of Jenner’s first smallpox vaccine (1796). Appropriately, we got updates on tests and trials. The invention of the ‘Roche SARS-CoV-2 serology assay’ anti-body test was 100% accurate. Lauded by our glorious leader, Phil said “Is that world beating?” No; according to Bumbling Boris it was “game changing”. He did love his hyperbole! If ‘the science’ proved immunity, it could lead to certificates. Vaccine trial results were expected by mid-June. Wondering how, I discovered it was because they could test for anti-bodies so I assumed the two were linked.

The obligatory mithering preceded a trip to the food market. I had a bit of a fit trying to find my shoes as they were buried under a pile of Phil’s. In the square, I noted people sat outside the pub. Sadly not enjoying take-aways but men working on the interior. The market had a few changes since my last visit. Metal barriers separated queues for fish, bread and cheese (not veg as I first feared where I found early English asparagus). As I stood in line for the fish van, I spotted the owner of Valley Life Magazineⁱ buying bread. Conversing over the rail, she told me she had just come out of isolation. The toiletries stall now sold masks. A woman in front asked for one at which the vendors took it out of a pristine plastic bag to place it on the questionable counter! The Tourist Information Centre sold short-dated biscuits and sweets from a ‘pop-up’ stall. I overheard them say they were “unlikely to re-open” (did that mean never?) I bought Yorkshire Mixtures as a treat then waited a short while at the butchers for one person to come out, stocking up on cheap bacon and sausages. Back home, Phil had made coffee which was nice, then stood noseying out the window at the street below. Bemused, he reported “The funny women are dressing up, doing the Elizabethan with home-made ruffs and jester sticks”. I suggested it was probably for one of the Facebook groups that have sprung up lately, so not that odd!

Trying to work on the journal, the laptop completely locked up so I had to crash out. It then proceeded to update – grr! Too tired to continue painting the bathroom as planned, the rest of the day was unproductive.

On Question Time, Tory Barclay was quizzed on the 127,000 tests that had apparently been conducted on the day. Initially lying, saying each represented an individual person, he had to backtrack in the face of contrary evidence. A public health prof who advised the Scottish Government talked sense, explaining ‘the science’ was the same wherever you were; it was down to the politics how it was interpreted and acted upon. She said Westminster (Boris, actually) had ‘jumped the gun’ with the daft statement on Sunday night. The RMT boss agreed, incensed by people being told to go back to work from Monday with no consultation or infrastructure in place.

I was incensed at one of the panellists. Millionaire Luke Johnson was an absolute sociopathic twat! He asserted you only die of Covid-19 if you’re over 65, or have ‘other morbidities’. It reminded me of comments on twitter in relation to the local anti-lockdown demo. Interestingly, the hippies and the capitalists were united in believing the virus was part of a ‘natural process’, weeding out the weak like a eugenics programme. I was sick to death of these selfish moronic Hitlerite deniers, never mentioning the fact that less vulnerable people can still infect others. And besides, many of them were in the older age bracket, smoked (if not tobacco, then other substances) and didn’t look particularly healthy. They should think on a bit with their fascistic views.

I had a primitive urge to smash their faces in. Phil came up with a better idea of getting rapiers so we could slash them at a safe distance!

You will be relieved to hear that I am not a physically violent person by nature, thus this visceral reaction was not acted upon. Instead, over the next couple of days I re-worked the government’s awful new slogan. After all, the pen (or photoshop) is mightier than the sword! I thought my first attempt was rather good, then had a better idea. I posted them both in sequence as: 1. A message to the government and 2. A message to conspiracy theorists and fans of eugenics.

Newscast featured interesting details on how contact tracing worked in Korea – amazingly clever how they had totally avoided lockdown!

In spite of extreme fatigue, I had a torrid night. When I finally got some broken sleep, it was more like a semi-conscious stupor, with all sorts churning round in my head.

Sparks of Light

4 - Welsh Poppies in the Garden — Welsh Poppies in the Garden

Consequently, I felt terrible Friday morning. I suggested Phil cheer me up with his breakfast art. He made me a lovely apple face that really did make me smile; as did an item about a Welsh kid delivering packages to a care home on his toy truck. He executed an amazing 3-point turn for a 3 year old. A commentator said his dad might be controlling the truck remotely – spoil sport!

It was a massive effort to get to the co-op at a reasonable time. The experience was not too bad, except waiting ages for a stupid millennial couple fingering all the bread before I could get near. Errands over, I settled down with a coffee aiming to work on the journal when a flurry of family messages arrived. Apparently, my mum’s care home had set up video-enabled WhatsApp. A right palaver ensued, trying to get the app on my phone. Knowing the ipad was too old to accommodate it, I tried the newer Kindle Fire. Cranky at the best of times and normally only used for reading, this also took ages and then informed me the app was incompatible! I reverted to the laptop but became frustrated as I had no clue how to make it work with the phone. Defeated, I gave up and rang the home. The carer who answered launched into an update on mum’s condition. She had a raised temperature which they had to treat as suspected Covid-19. A test would be done and she may need to go into isolation . They assured me there had been no cases in the home so far and this was standard procedure. Wary of Chinese whisper syndrome, I asked them to tell my brother first-hand as he is officially listed as next-of-kin. Later, he messaged everyone with the update. As one of my sisters replied ‘oh shit!’, I thought it might be helpful to allay panic and relate what the carer had said to me but given the subsequent messages, maybe not… On the bright side, an update the next day informed us that mum’s temperature had returned to normal rendering isolation unnecessary (although as my sister commented, she would probably have welcomed it!)

There had been much news during the week about the scandal of coronavirus in care homes. By Friday night, they had experienced 12.5k deaths. Matt Cock announced new measures including a named clinical lead and money ring-fenced from Local Authorities. As I wondered where on earth councils would find the dosh, the measures were attacked as ‘too little too late’. Meanwhile the CPS said all charges brought by zealous coppers under ‘coronavirus laws’ and HP regs 2020, were wrong as they didn’t concern potentially infectious people. Lawyers rejoice anew!

Saturday morning I felt much better following a reasonable sleep. In the afternoon, I cracked on with DIY in the bathroom which I hadn’t felt up for the previous 2 days.

Having barely made a start, Phil needed the loo. I went out to the garden for some fresh air and noticed the Welsh poppies looked spectacularly bright among the extreme leafy green overgrowth. My neighbour from a few doors down stood on her threshold. We ended up chatting for half an hour. As we shared news and gossip, she said she thought she’d had the virus which sounded reasonable until she said it was 2 years ago. Before I could stop myself I blurted “Rubbish!” She persisted, saying “they’ve been lying to us” and I repeated it was a pile of manure. Eventually, I got back to painting the bathroom window frames.

That ballet training came in handy as I balanced on the edge of the bath on tiptoes, hanging onto the window with one hand, brush in the other, But my arms ached mightily. Sensing my physical exhaustion, Phil said “I’ll have to do dinner” but when I went to make a start on it, there was no sign of him helping – a good job paella is easy! To be honest, I quite enjoyed the change of activity.

Afterwards, we watched Eurovision ‘Shine a Light’. They showed all 41 songs that should have been competing but disappointingly, only 30 seconds of each with old stuff and uplifting messages in-between – some a bit weird and in the case of Georgia, decidedly scary! But their zoom video efforts were the best I’d seen during lockdown. The eponymous song, with Katrina herself appearing at the end, was particularly good.

Unfortunately, I had a terrible night again with my mind churning and heart thumping. Finally getting some intermittent sleep, I had weird dreams involving meeting a friend in a café with dubious social distancing in place. I said I missed meeting friends for lunch!

Chaos Theory

5 Haiga - Blooming — Hiaga – Blooming Marvellousii

Sunday morning, Michael Glove Puppet appeared on The Marr. When asked if schools would be safe by 1^st June, he said to be totally free from risk, one would have to go nowhere – so why were you telling people to go where they like you cynical, smug muppet! Enjoying the cooked butchers’ sausages for breakfast, I joked “If you close your eyes you can pretend they’re quorn.” We spent most of the day on DIY in the bathroom. Phil finished grouting and, after 2 hours of prep including getting a tough skin off the gloss paint, breaking a scalpel blade in the process, I painted the storage cubes. I put my own music on for the first time in weeks. As Muse’ Uprising came on full blast, I spontaneously danced round the living room. Exhausted from the manic outburst, I had to stop after a couple of minutes – it was a different kettle of fish from the ballet!

On the telly, I noted that C4 had changed their caption from ‘stay home’ to ‘stay safe’. Interestingly, not the vague ‘stay alert’. News-wise, Northern leaders resisted ‘reckless easing’. Andy Burnham referred to the government’s plans as ‘chaos theory’. The Trump had been up to his tricks again with a strange Independence Day mash-up and chaotic messages proclaiming “I know what the American people want” and a bizarre reference to Obama-gate. When asked what that was exactly, he said “You know what I mean.” No we don’t; nobody knows!

There had been a predictable weekend mad dash to the seaside. I despaired at the idiocy of people going to popular places then complaining about the crowds and lack of safe space – duh!

I had a similar night with jumbled thoughts tumbling round in my brain. The continuation of fractured sleep put me in a really bad mood – 3 crap nights out of 4 was just too much, even by my insomniac standards. Thus I struggled on Monday, but managed a few chores and another coat of paint on the storage cubes.

Neil Gaiman, one of my favourite authors, lost some respect as he travelled 11,000 miles over several seas to Skye. He apparently needed some social distancing from his wife in NZ; that was some distance! Scottish police paid a visit to castigate him but took no action. On Thursday, ministers said the contact-tracing app NHSX would be rolled out ‘within days’ after the IoW pilot. But it emerged that undisclosed issues necessitated a delay. At the briefing, Matt Cock said everyone over 5 with symptoms could be tested for Covid-19 with loss of smell and taste added . Phil Spector of Kings College said this should have happened already as they had been listed by the WHO as possible symptoms for weeks (so had sore throat – I was buggered!)

In an attempt to make up for lost sleep, I went to bed early. I heard the water pipes gurgling and traced the noise to the kitchen, where a tap had been left on. Stomping back up to bed, I considered having a rant but realised it would only make me feel worse. I took deep breaths and read my book to calm down. The words swam as I could hardly keep my eyes open. Mercifully, sleep descended quickly.

References:

i. Valley Life magazine: http://valleylifemagazine.co.uk/

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

Part 9 – Lexicography

Flouters and Charlatans

1 - Art in the Making — Art in the Making

Tuesday morning, we both felt slightly unwell. The persistent scratchy throat and heavy feeling in my gut signalled heightened anxiety, with no apparent specific cause. I forced myself to get up. The university researcher’s brief looked interesting. I indicated consent to contribute and amended documents to include my name and copyright. This took a while but were now formatted for potential future uses. , I managed some more work on the journal but my head became heavy. I went for a lie down. Inevitably, noisy socialising on the street below prevented proper rest. As the evening trees were touched by soft light, my annoyance and depression at still feeling ill and fatigued grew. I desperately needed to get out for fresh air, vitamins, and exercise – my legs were seizing up!

Fatal cases of Covid-19 hit 32k in the UK, overtaking Italy to become the second highest globally. Matt Cock still wittered about different counting methods making the data incomparable. He would have been wise to shut his gob; many deaths in care homes had not been recorded as Coronavirus-related, so the rate was probably even higher. Amid much vaunting, the Contact Tracing app, NHSX,, was piloted on the Isle of Wight. Amnesty International warned it opened ‘the door to pervasive state surveillance’. The local MP, Silly Bob, dismissed concerns associated with the use of personal data and how the app would work in practice, patronisingly saying “it’s simples!”

Wednesday brought some improvements as the throat discomfiture changed from a scratch to a tight feeling. Morning news revealed a couple of high-profile lockdown flouters. A SAGE boffin, involved in setting the rules, resigned as his girlfriend was caught visiting his home. Nasty Nigel was filmed pointing at ‘illegal immigrants’ sailing on dinghies into Dover. With characteristic bare-faced cheek, he claimed to be ‘an essential journalist’ when in fact, he is nought but a charlatan! Matt Cock told MP DR Allin-Khan to ‘change her tone’ as she quizzed him on the lack of testing leading to lost lives. So, the opposition was not allowed to ask factual questions without being patronised? Yet more evidence, if any were needed, of the sheer conceitedness of the self-righteous right-wing!

The morning flew by as I worked on the journal, placed an Ocado order and watched PMQ’s. Bumbling Boris arrogantly arrived late and declared a target of 200,000 tests a day by the end of May even though the current 100,00 target was only met for one day last week.

2 - Supermoon in a Pink Sky — Supermoon Rising

At the start of the week, Phil cast about for an excuse to go out. With no shop requirements, he suggested going to look for goslings, snapped by a fellow photographer on the marina. Hoping they’d still be there we set off in the late afternoon sun. Kids’ chalk drawings on the pavement suggested a home-school project in progress.

We waited for a neighbour coming up the steps. “It’s so strange walking round (toy town*) now, she remarked, “but I quite like it. Apart from missing the charity shops. I’ve got no summer clothes.” I sympathised as I also missed them, but little else (see below).

As she reached the top step, a slipper-wearing man with a mini dog rudely overtook us. The usual hippies milled about on the main road. At the marina, we spotted geese, pigeons, a wagtail, a pile of pallets and a small family sat on the cobbles, but no goslings. In the memorial gardens, displaced pub-goers socialised on benches while in the park, children weaved about on bikes. The ‘wild flower’ patch was a riot of dandelions. On the less-trod playing field, they sprouted alongside daisies. Exiting onto the towpath, signs redolent of Royston Vasey proclaimed ‘local use only’. Fish swam beneath bright ripples in the canal, but still no sign of goslings.

At twilight we took simple pleasure in the last full supermoon of the year rising into a pink sky.

Vagaries of Easement

3 - IBM Summit Supercomputer — IBM Summit Supercomputer

Press speculation abounded on the ‘Exit Roadmap’ due Thursday. ‘Easement’ added to the lexicography of lockdown. Predicted to include permitting more outdoor activity in England, Sturgeon’s ’blueprint’ for Scotland included the idea of a social ‘bubble’ allowing mixing within wider circles. The ping-pong on masks continued with Keir Hardy saying they were inevitable in confined spaces and public transport. Medical ‘experts’ remained vague, with arguments on whether the risk from aerosol transmission of the virus was a real risk, compared to droplets from the infected. A woman from IBM (whose Summit supercomputer was being used for project to fight the virus) mused on different future models of working; that would be ‘the new normal’ then! Interestingly, the Newsnight presenter echoed my observation that people had finally realised we didn’t need all that consumption or to fly about willy-nilly.

My now habitual early shopping expedition entailed a short wait at the co-op, with 1 person ahead of me. Inside, it was moderately busy but relatively stress-free. Possibly due to less dawdlers, or to a new system for coding my list by section making it easier to find things on each aisle. Not getting everything I needed, I scored reduced scampi. Phil said we should have it with chips and tinnies outside, to replicate a pub dinner. Of course we didn’t – the scampi wasn’t as good as the pub anyway.

I expected coffee to be waiting for me on my return, but Phil had been ‘rescuing’ a beetle from the bathroom. I’d noticed it indoors the night before and assumed it had been carried on our jeans from the park. However, it returned to the house over the weekend, so maybe it belonged here. As I tried to deal with the groceries in the kitchen, he started washing up . I became angry and shouted “ get out of my way!” He stomped upstairs, retorting: “There’s no point being in here is there? And you’ve been less than half an hour!” I checked myself, not realising the errands had been so quick, and apologised.

Hanging washing out, I met the woman and young girl staying next door for the first time. I introduced myself in a neighbourly way, prompting for the courtesy to be reciprocated. (The girl’s unusual name gave me an idea for ‘Felling Oakes’). The woman said they’d moved from ‘up tops’ to be nearer town during lockdown but added “It looks like we’re coming out of it now.” “Err, no we’re not!” I replied.

I finally got rid of the pesky last bit of mould on the bathroom window. During my rest, I enjoyed the scent of clean sheets that had dried outside, but didn’t really relax. Although quiet outside for a change, my mind churned with mundane crap. If it wasn’t one thing it was the other! In an effort to deal with at least 1 small issue and replenish dwindling bathing supplies, I placed a Boots order online, spending enough to qualify for free home delivery – a good job with collect in store no longer an option.

It turned out the PPE ordered by the government from Turkey was rubbish, after waiting days for an RAF flight to fetch it! Evening figures showed coronavirus infections up again In England (specifically in care homes) and still rising in Scotland. Data suggested morbidity was 4 times higher among ethnic minorities. Although full analysis hadn’t taken place, socio-economic and geographical factors were likely the main reasons. No doubt compounded by the fact that a disproportionately high number worked in low-paid and public sector jobs. Regardless of this backdrop, cabinet meeting discussions continued to suggest ‘easement’ with people allowed to go on longer walks and have picnics from next week. With the imminent bank holiday, I predicted pre-emptive flouting. Phil said everyone had enough of lockdown and they’d just start to ignore it. He frequently whinged about the restrictions but I quite liked some aspects of it.

Watching Jeremy Vine the next day, he asked ‘was it wrong to say you’re enjoying lockdown?’ I tweeted that while bragging or gloating about the joys of lockdown smacked of smugness, I didn’t mind it. Suffering from chronic fatigue and other health issues for several years, my life hadn’t changed much and I’d developed lots of coping strategies. A supportive partner who made me laugh several times a day helped massively. And for once, I was actually better off than a lot of working people – unlike some people’s income, my ESA would continue (although I had to fight for over a year to have it re-instated just before Christmas). The situation also took a lot of pressure off to go to appointments for example (the prospect of another ATOS assessment seemed very remote). While missing the charity shops, I hated grocery shopping with the stupid random shortages and mindless idiots wandering about. It really heightened my stress and anxiety levels. What I really missed was seeing friends and not being able to plan trips out.

On Question Time, Useless George couldn’t answer questions on the practicalities of contact-tracing. Challenged on why the government loved the graphs when they showed the UK doing well compared to other countries but now showed the opposite, he parroted claims that the data was unreliable and comparisons couldn’t be made – more flannel and deflection. A few days later, they stopped showing the graphs altogether!

VE Day In The Bubble

Rising on Friday morning, I felt woozy and the scratchy throat returned, albeit mild. Forgetting it was VE day until I put the telly on, I wondered why the footage of celebrations always showed London. What happened elsewhere?

Computer work took up most of the morning; far from super. Unable get a re-worked ‘Corvus Bingo’ to display properly, I became very annoyed, gave up and hung washing on the line instead. The pole was stuck and as I tried to loosen it, the end broke off raising my anger. Phil set about fixing it in spite of my protests. I wanted to leave it in favour of lunch and a walk in the sun. I stomped off to clean up and make butties, by which time he’d fixed the pole; so no need to get worked up (again!) Predictably late afternoon by the time we ventured out, we didn’t get far.

5 - Hippies in Anti-Lockdown Demo — Hippies in Anti-Lockdown Demo

Jolly laughter, bursts of terrible music and milling about implied people on the street below were actually having a party – still ongoing into the evening. Evidence of beer-swigging emerged a few days later as the crashing sound of empty bottles being tipped into the recycling collection cart lasted several minutes.

On our street, neighbours of the adjacent terrace socialised in their own self-created ‘bubble’. Mr. Fast n Furious raced up and parked in the middle of the thoroughfare for no apparent reason, stood there a few minutes with engine idling, then reversed out with equal speed. We gave all a wide berth and walked through clouds of floating dandelion seeds on the long way into town, giggling at pathetic bunting in ‘Brexit Close’. A sole person occupied a bench in the square. I discovered a couple of days later that we’d avoided an anti-lockdown demo. Some Googling unearthed a photo of 8 hippies, including the stupid arty German couple (the man had proudly used it as his updated profile pic). I recalled the encounter a few weeks ago and was not surprised they were part of the small band of ‘covidiots’! Supportive comments on social media included sociopaths asserting that only old people, smokers, the obese and diabetics died of Covid-19. So it was alright to let whole sections of the population perish then was it? And they called us the Nazis! Incensed local dignitaries railed back, branding them selfish and arrogant.

I’d always said toy town was like a bubble, with residents having no clue about the real world outside the valley (confirmed by the supreme shock and disbelief displayed at the result of the 2016 Brexit referendum). Thus the several pockets of flouters, conspiracy-theorists and deniers hadn’t surprised me.

Getting a few errands, we popped in the fancy wine shop to smirk at the exorbitant prices and dance to Sister Sledge. After purchasing the fabled goat meat from the very local butchers, we aimlessly wandered towards the people’s pizza van. The smoky wood smell was a big draw but competed with the stink of draw towards the aqueduct. We crossed to the other side of the lock to avoid the idiotic bank holiday smokers and drinkers, enjoying a quiet patch of sunlight. Along the towpath, the angry white geese noisily defended their territory against half-breed ducks. One, a mix of mallard and runner duck, swam in an ungainly fashion, struggling to keep its long neck up . At the next exit point, we spotted another wagtail in the river. Nearby, we hailed a couple of friends in their garden, chatting safely from the other side of the wall. He had been furloughed and she’d sensibly given up work as a self-employed painter for the duration, enjoying the rest. That made at least two other people liking the slower pace of life!

In a change from most days, VE Day celebrations topped the evening news, with footage shot outside London for once, including a Polish war hero living in the next village – who knew! Latest reports on the expected relaxing of lockdown included some small changes likely for Wales while Sturgeon insisted her hand would not be forced, regardless of what happened in other UK nations. The government warned against expecting much change in England. Too late! The right-wing press had already reported the unconfirmed broadcasts in a warped way (amid rumours of deliberate leakage). And look what happened in toy town! I said it was asking for trouble announcing the announcement.

Idiocracy

6 - Haiga - Know Your Limits — Haiga – Know Your Limits i

Busy indoors Saturday, I didn’t benefit from the persistent sunshine. Phil still suffered from back pain and continued with his gig-economy job. He made $300 for the week for the first time since he started it ‘for Christmas’ – not bad going seeing as he only got $1 per question.

The brown soda bread I made looked a little over-baked but tasted good with a cakey texture. As it contained a touch of honey, I thought I’d add sunflower seeds next time; if I could find more wholemeal flour, not seen for the past 6 weeks. Phil cut and dyed my hair. Long overdue, it had turned ‘nothing colour’ (aka grey) and the fringe fell over my eyes. I felt a stone lighter afterwards. Finally managing to format ‘corvus bingo’, I then had trouble posting it on Facebook. Annoyed again, l almost threw the laptop across the room!

Phil finally got round to his DIY task in the bathroom. The full tube of sealant we had struggled to find last weekend, was totally gunked up. Having already gouged out the old stuff, it left a hole behind the washbasin. Why are these things never straight-forward?

As Sunday turned cold, and we awaited a new tube of sealant to arrive, I decided to start the painting. I found a veritable spider’s nest behind the far bathroom cupboard, testament to how rarely I bothered to move it. I also discovered more mould between the bath and sink. I applied the treatment then spent ages searching for the right paint, even though I had dug it out a week ago and left it in an obvious place – it had fallen into a carrier bag. After all the prep, it took 10 minutes to paint the offending wall. Meanwhile, Phil made us a small lunch of ‘hors d’oeuvres’ (i.e., Ritz crackers topped with humus, sliced olives and cheese triangles – very 1970’s!)

Previews of Bumbling Boris’ statement being vague, I watched it live. He blathered and blustered for the most part, insisting the strategy (sic) had “prevented catastrophe” of 10m deaths (what happened to 20k being a ‘good outcome?). The hitherto clear message to ‘stay home’ was replaced by the vague ‘stay alert’ (As one doctor said, that could mean not being asleep!) In fact, the whole slogan had been re-worded to: ‘Stay alert; Control the virus; Save lives. Inevitable memes took the piss. He wittered on about a ’shape of a plan’ and promised more details on the “way ahead” in parliament the next day, with questions from the public during the briefing (there were already tons!) “We could do lots of things”, he continued, “but cannot risk going back to square one” before repeating the 5 key tests and banging on about a Covid Alert System. He promised to reverse the epidemic in care homes and the NHS with a ‘world beating’ test and trace system and to detect flare-ups in local areas. At last, he got to the crux of the matter saying it was “not the time to lift lockdown (but) to modify measures”, to be done initially in 3 steps.

‘From tomorrow… go to work if you cannot work from home’. In fact it was ‘actively encouraged’ while being discouraged from using public transport. As they were still ‘working on’ guidance for employers, people were expected to travel to work in potentially unsafe conditions, to potentially unsafe workplaces. It smacked of a cynical ploy to stop ‘dependency’ on furlough and benefits; forcing people back to work after telling them not to for the past 6 weeks!

From Wednesday, unlimited time outdoors was allowed, including golf, fishing and skateboarding and driving to places, as long as you came back on the same day and obeyed social distancing rules, with increased fines for flouters.

From 1^st June, there would be a phased re-opening of shops and schools; starting with primary years 1 and 6. They were ‘setting out’ guidance for the education sector. How on earth did he expect 5-year olds to social distance? Phil remarked he’d run away from all his sprogs so far, thus having no idea how kids behaved!

Sometime in July, some hospitality would re-open. All steps were ‘ conditional on following advice and rules’ and would be monitored. Quarantine would also ‘soon’ be imposed on those flying into the UK (making me re-ask why this had not already been done. Predictably, airlines went up in arms).

More argument ensued over the coming days as it was branded ‘vague, confusing and disappointing’. Keir Hardy said it raised ‘more questions than answers’ Apparently, Boris didn’t tell cabinet, let alone parliament, what he was going to say. Another; product of Scumbag Cumberbatch or just total disregard for democracy?

Monday morning, noise in the early hours woke me several times. Honking geese started up about 4.00 a.m. The cacophony of their ‘dawn chorus’ jarred, unlike that of the tweety birds. Then various works started up. Some people did not waste time when the rules changed! Between these interruptions, I had vivid dreams involving going to a weird holiday place. While observing social distancing, much running amok took place. I spent the morning posting blogs. By coincidence, the red windows reflected in the canal on the photo I used, were painted by the friend I’d chatted to on Fridayⁱ.

In the news, Matt Cock’s neck was on the line, following a furious row with number 10. He was blamed for failures in the system including shortages of PPE, strengthening speculation that he would be the fall guy.

Later in parliament, the government was challenged on claims that the new guidance was ‘clear’ and ‘good old-fashioned British common sense’. The promised 50 page document had huge gaps.

Keir made a statement insisting we still needed clarity, re-assurance and detail on unanswered questions: Do people go to go to work or school without a guarantee of safety? Was there a clear direction for the sketchy ‘roadmap’? Would public transport be safe? When could we see our loved ones? How were employees meant to balance childcare with working? How would the police enforce the rules? (they are after all, guidance, not laws!) He also drew attention to the daft situation of different rules in different nations of the UK and said he was ‘determined to build better society’ when all this was over; we couldn’t go back to ‘business as usual’ with NHS staff not being valued and care homes treated as second class. ‘Getting through’ would be due to the courage of key workers, and the resilience and human spirit of ordinary people, not the blithering idiots in power.

Bumbling Boris led the briefing with questions from the public, but I’d had enough by then. Subsequent commentaries expounded the view the vagueness was a cynical ploy to shift blame from the government to the voters. A friend posted a link on Facebook to a petition to sue the government on how they’d handled the pandemic. I added my signature, fully aware that it was a waste of time – after all, they are the ones with the power and vast teams of lawyers behind them, enabling them to wheedle their way through the loopholes!

*A note on ‘toy town’ – an old private joke

References:

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

Part 7 – Fun: Interrupted

Have I got PPE?

Top geezer Captain Tom Moore opened the Nightingale hospital in Harrogate on Tuesday. The total raised for the NHS stood at £27m, and £29m by Monday 27^th. He re-set his Challenge to walk 200 laps. A 6 year old with spina-bifida commenced to emulate the feat.

Unlike the archetypal April, the weather stayed fine and warm all week. On a sunny afternoon forage to town, I felt slightly nervous as I forgot to take a scarf. But we encountered no problems on the quiet streets. I suppressed a guffaw as a young lad walked on the opposite pavement wearing a mask on his chin. Arguments that face coverings brought disadvantages definitely held some truth. I for one ended up fiddling with the thing thus risking the transfer of any contaminants to my face rather than shielding it.

While the convenience store met most of our requirements, we investigated a newly opened Asian supermarket to see what they had to offer. It was not a traditional shop – signs indicated an ‘order and collect’ service only; provisions strew the floor; a woman with a list in one hand searched boxes with the other. Aware of our hovering by the narrow doorway, she looked up from her task “Hello”. “Hello”, I returned, “how do we know what’s in stock to put in an order?”. She hesitated, then said “You could ask us!” I thought it was bit daft not having a list on the window. As we walked away, Phil suggested we could have at least got noodles, but I couldn’t be bothered going back. On the way home, we spotted the friend of our vulnerable next-door neighbour again, this time sat chatting to someone on a bench in the memorial garden, still heedless of social distancing.

In need of a lie down, I stuffed earplugs in to drown out the noise of them bloody kids, with little effect. I gave up, feeling decidedly unrefreshed, and caught up on the news.

The weekly ONS statistics revealed 18.5 k deaths so far this year, double the norm, with a quadruple rise in care homes (accounting for 10% of all deaths from Covid-19).

An interesting programme on BBC 4 described the lengths people went to in the olden days in the quest for effective drugs, resulting in lots of analgesics being created, but none as good as morphine. The next episode told of the search for anti-biotics and anti-virals, with a great deal of self-experimentation. The Scientists of today could take some lessons from that…

Wednesday morning, I was awoken by a loud crashing noise outside. Annoyed, I glanced at the clock to find it was much later than I’d thought and forced myself up. Phil announced he’d made $200 last month on Getty Images. “That’s a nice bonus” I said. “It’s not a bons, it’s my wages!”

MPs had returned to Westminster with only 50 allowed in the commons at one time and 120 on Zoom. Bumbling Boris had shared a cabinet meeting publicly on the go-to video conferencing app of the moment. I wondered if they knew of the risks of hacking and ‘Zoom Bombing’.

Keir Hardy did quite a good job at his first PMQs. Parrying Rabid Raabs’ clichés about ‘working flat out’ and ‘straining every sinew’, he countered: “There’s a pattern emerging here. We were slow into lockdown, slow on testing, slow on protective equipment and now slow to take up offers from British firms.”

I would go one step back. They were slow from the get-go: All ports and travel in and out of the country should have been shut down straight away, as in New Zealand, then we wouldn’t be in this mess! With Keir’s law background, he sounded like he was practicing opening remarks for the criminal negligence claims that are likely to be brought against the government when the dust settles.

Raab insisted they were on target with tests, capacity currently standing at 40,000 a day. But he could not answer why only 18,000 had been done the day before. On PPE, inevitable questions arose about why they wasted time, effort and money trying to source it abroad when 8,000 UK companies had offered to make it. Matt Cock’s platitudes and more clichés ensued; ‘at peak’; ‘ramping up’), following ‘The Science’… Change the record!

With new analysis, queries ensued as to why certain groups of the population (particularly ethnic minorities and men) suffered the worst outcomes from Covid-19. In the absence of the government taking the issue seriously, Labour announced they were conducting their own research, led by Trevor Philips.

3 - Dandelions Close Up — Dandelions Close Up

Riveting as the politics was, the allure of afternoon sun proved stronger. As we headed for a nearby favourite clough, I took my DSLR rather than the compact camera for the first time since lockdown, hoping I’d be able to stop long enough for close-up shots. The entrance path blocked by workmen and a group of people coming the other way, we hung back then ran through, holding our breath. Gasping for air amidst the trees and flowers, our shadows lay atop stagnant water of old mill ponds where small fish swam just below the surface.

As a small family vacated the area, we clambered over trunks and rocks to the small waterfall. With water levels so low, we hopped from rock to rock in the brook to get nearer than ever before to the tinkling cascade which resembled a fairy pond. Ensuring it was safe, we rested on a felled tree fashioned into a bridge, surrounded by nature on all sides.

Boxes dotted on street corners contained random items including child’s toys, rucksacks, kitchen gadgets and bric-a-brac. Normally, I would have derided the practice as ‘middle class dumping’ but with charity shops shut, it seemed acceptable. I availed myself of a couple of free books.

That evening, I developed a scratchy throat and although I fell asleep fairly quickly, I woke several times with various aches and pains and odd flitty dreams involving wearing hijabs and going to the beach. Not surprising with all the talk of PPE, trying different configurations of scarf-wearing when out and about, and planning routes based on maximum people-avoidance. Muslim women could teach us a thing or two about personal protection and social distancing!

Hopes that we would not need to take these measures forever rose as vaccine trials started, but a warning it could be a year until we knew if they worked, immediately dashed those hopes. Witless said that social distancing may need to stay in place until Christmas. Images of pub mayhem at yuletide sprung to mind.

A Dog’s Life

Thursday morning; early mist obscured the natural alarm of sunlight. I slept irksomely late, having planned to go shopping early. I performed the morning routines as quickly as possible, including the rigmarole of preparing to go outdoors. With no bread stall on the market, the conga line for the fish van snaked through the square. I took a deep breath and resigned myself to a long. The sun, now strong, shone right in my eyes forcing me to turn round. I chatted to the woman behind me. She said she usually shopped on-line, but a sick dog had persuaded her to visit the market for the first time since lockdown to buy it fresh fish. Several questions came to mind – how do you manage to get on-line groceries delivered every week? You buy fresh fish for your dog but not for yourself? Is it a magic dog? Perhaps luckily, the line moved leaving the questions unanswered. A woman swathed in voluminous skirts with a massive pram and a gang of kids stood in everyone’s way, whingeing about queues. I was sorely tempted to tell her to piss off, but kept schtum. Sooner than I’d dared hope, I reached the counter and engaged in friendly chat with the fishmonger as I stocked up for a couple of weeks. Inevitably knackered by then, I went straight home, knocked for Phil to open the door and make coffee while I dealt with the purchases and flopped on the sofa.

Temporarily refreshed, I executed an idea for ‘Corvus Bingo’ (that had come to me during PMQ’s) and composed a new Facebook page, with links to the WordPress blog.

After dinner, I developed a scratchy throat and earache, took aspirin and slept reasonably well. But Friday morning, I felt groggy and struggled to stand on wobbly legs. My symptoms followed the usual pattern for chronic sinusitis and I resigned myself to a few days in bed.

Phil undertook the weekly supermarket trip. Hearing him come back, I called down to him several times. He stomped upstairs and said testily, “I’m not a dog! Been sorting groceries after the stressful shop – full of hippies again”. I wondered if the hippies had migrated because the snobby organic shop and worthy bakers now only accepted card payments. If so, the purveyors might want to re-think. Fetching lunch, I discovered Phil had washed and stored all the shopping (even items that could have been decanted or stayed in bags for a few days; no wonder he felt exhausted). Similarly shattered from the foray downstairs, I tried hard to rest in the hot afternoon. But inevitably there was no respite from the noise of people socialising below the bedroom window.

In the news, Sturgeon came up with a draft plan for gradually lifting lockdown in Scotland. Matt Cock announced workers could apply for coronavirus tests to be done in situ or remotely. The website locked by lunchtime. And there were no checks on whether applicants were ‘key workers’ ( since when did that include journos?) Toddler Trump outdid himself with moronic quote of the day:

“I see the disinfectant, where it knocks it out in one minute. And is there a way we can do something like that by injection inside or almost a cleaning, because you see it gets in the lungs and it does a tremendous number on the lungs.”

So, disinfectant had not outsmarted the virus, unlike the antibiotics! Raucously derided, Joe Biden tweeted ‘I can’t believe I have to say this but don’t drink bleach’. Trump tweeted he would no longer attend Whitehouse daily briefings as they were a waste of time – a move that lasted 2 days. Being a narcissist, he just couldn’t cope without the attention, even from the ‘fake press’ as he called them.

Over the weekend, sinusitis persisted. I tried not to despair at missing the gorgeous weather. Freshly sun-dried bed sheets, open windows and profusely green trees across the valley helped to bring the outside in. Mainly bedridden, I wrote ‘confined walk 2’ for CP1ⁱ . Chore-wise. I managed to clean the bathroom. The layer of grime looked stark in the bright daylight. In danger of making me sicker, it had to be expunged. I also did the majority of the cooking, trying not to get irritated at the lack of help in the kitchen, particularly on Saturday night. In hindsight, I probably took on too much. Managing to sit in the living room to watch films in the evening, I returned to bed hardly able to keep my eyes open with a headache in 2 places.

Dissing ‘The Science’

4 - Self-Styled Brainiac Brian-Cox — Self-Styled Brainiac Brian Cox

Extreme tiredness and mediocre sleep led to added aches and pains Sunday morning. The kitchen was still a mess from the night before, increasing my anger at the lack of help. I railed and stomped upstairs to sulk and fume alone. As the anger subsided, I designed a birthday card for my nephew. Opening Facebook to post it, I discovered the layout had changed, adding to my frustrations. Why did they keep doing that? I stayed in bed until dinner time while Phil went out for some air, returning with sweets to cheer me up. Thankfully, he had cleaned the kitchen and with leftovers from the night before, it was a lot less hassle making dinner. I went up soon after, enjoying the quiet in the dark. But as is often the way on a Sunday night, I tossed and turned. Hot flushes increased my discomfort.

Monday morning, Phil looked as fuzzy as I felt. He’d also suffered insomnia, due to suspected migraine. I said it could be hay-fever and suggested he take antihistamine at bedtime. I made a big effort to do small chores. As I took the recycling out, I enjoyed a spell of actual sun for the first time in 4 days. Then, the stupid milkmen backed their float up the street. With no attempt to vary their routine, they parked in the middle of road, darting between houses, forcing me to back off. I went back to bed. Phil showed me an abstract art he made the night before on his ipad. Fantastic of course, but no wonder he had migraine! I posted blogs including a haigaⁱⁱ. In the afternoon, I rested lots, conscious that I had to be up for an Ocado delivery early evening – the only slot I could get.

Over the weekend, I caught a segment of the pointless briefing. UnPretty Patel mouthed platitudes about the number of deaths and the sacrifice of frontline staff – made me want to puke! Blair’s smug foundation also re-emerged with meaningless charts. Did they know a graph was not ‘The Science’? Phil joked “they’ve invented contact tracing.” On the Andrew Marr, Rabid Raab assured us he’d been “doing his homework”. Good boy! Have a gold star! Perhaps he’d been helped by Scumbag Cumberbatch who, it emerged, had attended meetings of SAGE (the government’s special advisory group for emergencies, rather than a popular accounting software package as I’d thought). Not being a scientist by any stretch, the leftie press wondered what ‘spin’ he was putting on ‘The Science’. Popstar turned self-styled Brainiac Brian Cox (and nemesis of my role model Count Arthur Strong) popped up and said there was no such thing as ‘The Science’. Well, that’s that debunked then! Spoilt sport!

Bumbling Boris returned from Chequers on Monday morning. Speaking from the special lectern outside number 10, he offered new, waffling on about the need for a gradual lockdown during ‘this dangerous phase’. (Latest data showed a fall in the number of deaths but likely inaccurate due to a lag in counting weekend figures). A Tory crony hailed Boris as the government’s ‘best communicator’. Most likely true, but not saying much. Boris obviously wanted to be seen as a Churchill but fell far short of his predecessor’s oratory skills, never mind actions.

Research by King’s College on how people dealt with lockdown made sweeping sexist conclusions that Tory male Brexiteers over 55 were more ‘accepting’ of the rules. Hmm! They’d obviously never been stuck in a supermarket aisle behind lolloping Gampires*. Female Remainers, meanwhile, were ‘suffering’ with higher levels of anxiety, depression, insomnia and unable to block out thoughts about coronavirus. Reckoning resistors made up around 9% of the population, they said they were largely male, aged 16-24 and voted Labour. Tis lot were most likely to argue, use drink and drugs and diss social distancing. And were unsurprisingly more likely to believe in conspiracy theories (half thought the virus was created in a lab and two thirds that most people had it already).

As images emerged of suspected UFO’s over Florida, Jeremey Vine came up with the lamest conspiracy theory ever involving a ‘something event’ that happened in Russia, leading to ‘stuff’. Never had him down as a drug-taking hippie! But then again, let’s not forget the Eamon Holmes 5g masts debacle.

*A note on Gampires – an amalgam of gammon and vampires. A term invented by Phil, inspired by a picture of Alan Titmarsh, as seen on the popular teatime quiz Pointless.

References:

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

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

Part 5 – A Moveable Feast

Game of Thrones

1 - Haiga – Clocking It — Haiga – Clocking It i

Tuesday 7^th April stayed bright and sunny. I also felt brighter after a full 8 hours sleep, but Phil seemed subdued. On asking what was wrong, he initially said “nothing”, then re-thought and said “everything”. He sneezed, indicating hay-fever had kicked in. I forced a tissue and antihistamines on him.

Although less fatigued, my mind kept going blank and I had to stop and think what I was doing in the middle of writing. The internet moved at glacial speed, making me quite irate. Phil eventually managed to sort it out so I could at last post an entry on ‘Cool Places’.ⁱⁱ

Late afternoon, we had a brief spell in the garden. He planted Christmas tree seeds while I pruned shrubs and put the prettiest cuttings in vases, ready to be adorned with Easter egg ornaments. A young neighbour I’d not seen for a few months appeared, back home from university. She was just finishing her first year at Cambridge when all exams got cancelled due to for lockdown. She, was devasted of course! Phil popped to the shop, bought all the groceries on the list, and washed them. As previously mentioned, he’d become an expert at this type of shopping. It suited him to buy a few items at a time “like the old days.”

In the evening, we peered out the window at the very bright ‘pink supermoon’ (not pink at all) and made the first of several meals utilising the wild garlic (barley risotto) The garlic-themed dinners continued throughout the week, including fishcakes with garlic sauce, tortilla and chips with garlic mayo, weekend roast with garlic pesto potatoes, and spaghetti pesto.

Bumbling Boris had been put in ICU but not on a ventilator. A call for an evening ‘clap for Boris’ was apparently not a piss-take. Talk about toadying! Rabid Raab took charge during his absence. Elsewhere, reports emerged of Nerola village, Italy being totally isolated with all residents tested and contact-traced. Valuable research or hideous experiment? Tigers in NY zoo had tested positive for Covid-19. Pet owners inevitably fretted. Clarity on guidance for cats followed: they could go out as long as nobody in the house had symptoms.

Wednesday morning, Gormless Gove began self-isolation as someone in his household allegedly had symptoms. More likely he was biding his time, waiting for The Boris and The Rabid One to fall so he could take over, like Unpretty Patel. It was all getting a bit Game of Thrones. A sculptor from Cornwall made a bust of Chris Witless as ‘he has an interesting face and is very sensible’. Already hilarious, ‘stay home’ written in crayon on a scrap of paper beneath it had me in stitches!

Confined Walk

2 - Loitering Workmen — Loitering Roadworkers

Phil cast about for a reason to leave the house: “what excuse do I have to go out today?” With no urgent grocery needs, he randomly decided “I need cornflour and a mars bar”

I agreed to a walk in the warm, sunny afternoon. Down on the main road, an impatient driver beeped us at the zebra, even though the road was clear.

Walking along the canal and through the almost-empty park, waiting and weaving was required to avoid dawdlers and cyclists. Towards the station, dandelion clocks dominated the verge. Men loitered by roadworks on the access road and clambered noisily upon the roof as refurbishment continued. More lingering ensued trying to get onto the Sustrans path, while a man dithered with his phone for several minutes. But the hindrances did not mar delight in colourful spring flora. On our return, the towpath looked clear when a pair of joggers almost ran into us under the bridge, causing great annoyance. I noted that in Paris, jogging had been banned between 10-7. Dog-walking and one-hour strolls were puzzlingly allowed ‘within half a mile of home’. Safer back in the park, we walked across the pitch to avoid weed smokers, running past yet more loiterers at the lock gates.ⁱⁱ

The evening news told us almost 1.000 people had died in the last 24 hours. Rabid Raab was very vague about the lockdown review due next Monday, while experts declared it too early to lift restrictions. Rishi Rich dished out £750m to charities: Hopefully, it wouldn’t be as hard to access as the emergency loans for small businesses.

First thing Thursday I felt confused and woozy with tummy cramp. Morning chores left me exhausted and achy. The Ocado delivery I’d booked 2 weeks ago arrived bang on time. To overcome the logistical problem of washing everything, I left the items not needed for a few days in bags. An earlier text suggested there would be a high number of missing items. However, most had been substituted by alternatives. Tinned cherry tomatoes are a thing, it turned out (normal plum tomatoes obviously not good enough for Waitrose customers!)

In the afternoon, I sourced crucial new ipad leads from the evil Amazon. Buying the toiletries I needed proved impossible. On ringing Mum, she actually answered, said “I can’t talk now” and promptly put the phone down. Exacerbated, I sent her an Easter card instead. Over the weekend, brother 1 took cupcakes to the care home and spoke to mum through the window. Good to hear she was fine, if frail

Confusion continued following the pointless daily briefing. Ministers wittered about a Cobra meeting which was in fact a meeting about a meeting due next week to ‘decide how the review will be conducted’. An extension to the lockdown seemed inevitable. Some idiot suggested lifting restrictions for young people, seen as at less risk – forgetting they were the ones spreading germs about with no concept of ‘social distancing’! Police took characteristic glee at the prospect of clamping down over the Easter weekend. In Northants, they planned to set up roadblocks and search shopping trolleys. Visions of them confiscating Easter eggs came to mind: “’ello, ‘ello. ‘ello. Is that non-essential items you have purchased?” The Cambs force patrolled shopping aisles and caravaners were turned around on the A38 going to Cornwall. Daleks were seen patrolling the streets of North Yorks – at least that suggested a sense of humour. The government continued to trust they used ‘discretion’; Was that consistent discretion? (sic).

Brandon Whatsit got tied up in knots when asked on Question Time why people could go for a walk in the park or on the beach but could not sit down or sunbathe for 10 minutes. Prof Openshaw (no relation) said as extra vitamins were essential and the virus didn’t like sun, it was a good thing to do.

Bumbling Boris was now ‘sitting up and chatting’. The next day, he left ICU. We joked that he would miraculously rise on Easter Sunday.

Easter Treats

3 - My apple art - Woodland Floor — My apple art – Woodland Floor

Good Friday, I woke very early, unable to sleep due to anxiety and ferocious hunger. I tossed and turned until 7.30. I got the breakfast cereal and made an apple art. Berries in the granola suggested a woodland floor. Phil was the real apple artist; my phone photos of his creations had a small but enthusiastic bunch of followers on social media. Would anyone spot the difference? Answer: Yes!. Still, there was no need for him to laugh so raucously at my attempt.

It felt so warm, I donned a pair of summer jeans set off for the co-op, suddenly realising I had no jacket on. Early enough for no queue and not too busy, issues remained with people not understanding what 2 yards was, including staff. I had to bypass the fruit shelves as a member of staff stocked up the bananas and inevitably I found no hot cross buns.

4 - Hand Finished Chocolate Cake — Hand Finished Chocolate Cake

In lieu of cancelled events, I posted pace egg photos from last year, receiving several likes via the town’s page. Phil baked bread while I made a chocolate cake. The mixture looked very sloppy, took ages to bake and didn’t rise much even though I whisked it for ages (I would never get the hang of that sponge cake lark).

The addition of buttercream frosting and drizzled Bournville improved the presentation somewhat – hand-finished!

The evening bulletin informed us there had been almost 1,000 deaths in the UK again. While less people in London were in ICU, there were more in Yorks. Scaling on the daft graphs changed as per usual, to make UK figures look less worse compared to the rest of the world. With 8,000 deaths in the USA, a mass grave had been dug on ‘Heart Island’ in the Bronx.

Reiterating the rules on going out, the announcer proclaimed there was ‘no time limit on outdoor exercise as long as it was close to home’. So why did I keep hearing it was an hour? And how many times did we have to be told not to go out over the Easter weekend?

After another crap sleep, I forced myself up on Saturday, to discover my ipad had de-charged to critical overnight even though I turned it off before going to bed – I hoped the Amazon delivery would arrive soon.

Not really inclined to venture out, I worked on the journal and watched telly, avoiding plague news. However, it would have been worth watching by all accounts. Taking advantage of the absence of The Bumbler and the Gormless One, UnPretty Patel emerged, insisting she’d been working ‘hard’. In classically heartless style, she said she was “sorry if people feel there have been failings” (totally side-stepping the issue of NHS staff dying due to a lack of PPE). Making a complete hash of the numbers, she claimed 300,000; 34; 974,000 tests had been carried out.ⁱⁱⁱ Talk about thick! And evil with it – the worst combo of human traits, and typical of bullies.

I got some sun doing a spot of weeding in the garden,. A container had appeared near the back wall (possibly an evictee from the community garden), handy for sweeping the weeds into. I overheard The Decorator asking next-door-but-one for phone advice and added my twopenneth about uploading contacts to the cloud and the virtues of Huawei. This led to comments on the Chinese stealing our data “It’s the Americans you want to worry about”, I said. Phil emerged, off to stretch his legs. I asked: “if you pass a shop, get me a turnip or swede (no joke!)” When he returned, he went straight upstairs; I guessed to hide something. He then announced he had got a turnip; in fact it was a swede.

Easter Desert

5 - Easter Eggs in Chalk — Easter Eggs in Chalk

Easter Sunday, Bumbling Boris had indeed risen – it’s a miracle! He went straight to his country pile while Gormless Gove was seen out jogging – more hypocrisy!

Phil presented me with a co-op chocolate slab, almost identical to one I gave him at Christmas, with the chocolate raisins replaced by small golden eggs. I got him nowt. I’d intended to make him an art but with all the writing, cooking and baking, didn’t get round to it. The hand-finished chocolate cake would have to suffice.

We had a fix of seasonal holiness from morning telly. The top archbishop spoke from his kitchen about the impossibility of society going back to normal after the crisis, saying we must continue to value ‘key workers’. The Pope’s traditional address took place in a weirdly empty basilica save for a few cardinals practicing extreme social distancing. He also emphasised the need to value people above money and prayed that the homeless and refugees would not be abandoned.

References:

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

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

iii. From The Independent: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/coronavirus-priti-patel-ppe-uk-nhs-update-cases-a9460886.html