“(Terrible events in The Channel are) another reminder that debates about asylum seekers are not about statistics, but precious human lives” (Justin Welby)
Winter of Strife
1st December, I dreamt of an idyllic summer walk which turned weird when a museum building with a vaulted wooden portico bizarrely appeared atop remote hills. Stretching to take a photo, Phil fell and lay injured on the ground. Trying to shake the image, I heard Phil going out for an early shift and dozed off. After an Ocado delivery, I made an ‘animal advent’ album to post daily pics on Facebook. Oblivious to Phil leaving on a darkly grey Friday, I went to the co-op for a heavy load before Walking Friend called as arranged. Not keen on chocolate and no point taking them to work as they got tons this time of year, she eschewed Milk Tray but accepted a book I’d just read. Over lunch in the Mill Café, we discussed her efforts to stop smoking, my experience of HRT, the uselessness of SSRI’s and her recent walks. “Noah Dale in this cold weather?” “It was really mild.” “Mild my arse!” Perusing the flea market, a passing man asked a stallholder if she stocked regimental badges and proudly proclaimed he was in the royal protection guard. “Are we meant to be impressed? I wouldn’t mention the palace right now if I were him!” Finding a cigar box guitar in the large charity shop, I enlightened my friend on its provenance and wondered how I’d hide it from Phil. She’d nipped in the butchers when he rang, asking were we in the pub? Meant to meet us in The Square, he’d gone home. I managed to conceal the guitar and joined Phil viewing dusky light on trees in the gloaming. Phil complained it was hard dressing on a cold Saturday. I took the precaution of laying out my clothes before bathing. We tramped leafy paths past the geese into the Methodist church to browse the art fair. Photography Friend updated us on her impending move and bemoaned the terrible government. “String ‘em up!” “They’ll call you Bloody Mary.” “It wouldn’t be the first time!” Wearing a snowman-printed dress, Old Drawing Teacher agreed the market for cards and calendars was saturated. In the sanctuary, Phil had a go at the organ. Initially tentative, his keyboard skills re-emerged. “Don’t show off; they’ll have you in here on Sunday!” We strolled on the canal, admiring reflected yellow leaves and retro clothes (the nice boots were irksomely too small), and into the centre. Unknown crafters in the town hall touted over-priced jewellery. A rainbow emerged among feint sun and spitting rain on the way to the Art Studio. Buying cards from The Printer, Phil joined in the Scarborough big wheel debate. Apparently moved from the pier to Foreshore , I stood corrected! We chatted to Counsellor Friend about her charity badge and to another ex-teacher who remarked to Phil it was his turn to play shop. “Yes, but we can’t eat your wares!”
Roofs glistened wetly on a grey Sunday. I braved cold drizzle and a keen easterly for knobbly veg. Town quiet and seating wet, people huddled in doorways. On the way home, I popped into an Open Studio at the bottom of our street. As the posh printer painstakingly wrapped expensive art for a Guardian family, I grabbed a free postcard and made for the door when she glanced up. I admitted I was a nosey neighbour. I found Dunlop wellies (annoyingly also the wrong size) and shoe brushes in the recycling bins. Phil observed nobody polished shoes anymore. Maybe, but as there nothing wrong with them and recyclers wouldn’t take them, why not give them to charity? He left for the late shift. I wrote a haiga for the first time since Julyi and watched England beat Senegal in the World Cup. Flying home when his house was raided by armed robbers, Rahim Sterling missed the matched but got back in time for the quarter-final. Roasting veg for dinner, I invented a pumpkin-cutting hack but still got back ache. Plagued by heartburn and a whirring mind, I needed the meditation tape to get any sleep and felt awful on a chilly Monday. I forced myself up for warming porridge and re-read the HRT leaflet. Indigestion a possible side-effect, I suspended use until I’d spoken to a medic. Noon by the time I got round to it, I was miraculously first in the surgery queue but there were no appointments, not even phone slots so I was told to ring the chemist. On doing so, they were on an hour-long lunch. The second call dropped. When I eventually got through, the chemist reckoned I needed a different type of HRT for which I had to speak to a doctor. So I’d gone round in circles and would need to ring first thing! Phil empathised with my anxiety. He’d soon be doing likewise with is bothersome neck lump. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I never talk about that stuff.” “True.” To be honest, there’d been clues but on the other hand, when I asked how he was, he lied he was fine. He went to work. Fuggy in the head, I dismantled the freezer carton and manoeuvred it outside. The Widower came past dog-walking. I asked after his health and if he liked Milk Tray. “I’ve gone off chocolate.” “Oh.” “I know a couple of people who might.” Phew! Angry at chainsaws waking me at 7.30 Tuesday I remembered to ring the surgery, attributing tetchiness to hormone withdrawal. The sympathetic receptionist arranged a GP call-back. Attempting to contact BG, the chat bot repeatedly bombed, then I was on indeterminate hold and then another call came in, so I had to drop it (later going round in more circles to find a web complaint form). The GP asked if patches alleviated menopausal symptoms. I observed diminished hot flushes and itchiness, better sleep and, according to my partner, less moodiness, although I hadn’t noticed. Phil thought that was hilarious but it was true! The GP advised I stick to the patches and prescribed antacid. Both depressed, Phil whinged he couldn’t use his brain. “Don’t then.” “I can’t stop.” “Do meditation.” “Ohm!” “Do you want to go somewhere?” “Where?” We unexcitingly went to the co-op. Tills unstaffed, we waited at the kiosk where the woman in front dropped a visa card. With his new shop skills, Phil picked it up before I ran the trolley over it. Again not hearing Phil go to work in the frosty dark Wednesday, I worked on the journal and went out as the dazzling sun reached its zenith just above the treeline. Getting the script, it later twigged they were free as I was 60 and consulted the Age UK website to discover eye tests were too (nothing else till pension age, at least it was something). I browsed extensively for gifts. No £10 offers in the Fair Trade shop as advertised in Valley Life, many items weren’t even priced. I trudged home, took antacid, burped, then the heartburn eased off. Phil returned, fatigued but jolly. ‘No girls’, he’d larked with Male Co-worker. “I don’t know!” “Well, the ladies like to tell us what to do.” “They do sound a bit bossy.” Shivering, we lasted a remarkably long time before turning the boiler on and agreed advice to heat one room wouldn’t work with the humidity. An aptly-named Cold Moon rose at bedtime.
Record-high waits for and in ambulances could explain 700 excess deaths. 13,000 stuck in hospital with nowhere to go, 13% who used medical equipment at home, cut back to save money. On BBC Breakfast Saturday, covid commemoration commission leader Nicky Morgan, said the consultation closed Monday. Only just hearing of it and not topping a google search, it took some finding.
The Cock’s diary, serialised in the Daily Mail, blamed infected staff and bad managers for covid in care homes rather than his discharging policy. National Care Association’s Nada Ahmed called him deluded and his constituency party declared him unfit to represent them meaning he’d be gone by the general election. The Times revealed China got £3m a month to store unusable PPE. Michelle Mone was accused of bullying cabinet office staff into awarding contracts to PPE Medpro, for her own financial advantage. Director hubby Doug Barrowman put £29m in a secret offshore trust fund for Mone and sprogs. As she took leave of absence from the House of Lords, Rayner demanded contract documents be released: “What have you got to hide?” DHSC subsequently sued Medpro for the full £122 million. After Chris Matheson leaving triggered a by-election, Sam Dixon kept Chester for labour with a bigger majority. Swellen’s reappointment setting a ‘dangerous precedent’, PAC chair Will Wragg said a ‘robust’ system for upholding standards “with proper sanctions for those who break the rules” was needed. Kingy donated dosh via the Felix Project for food bank refrigeration. At a Buck House charity reception, doddery lady-in-waiting and Wills’ godmother Lady Susan Hussey, moved Sistah Space founder Ngozi Fulani’s hair to read her name-badge and interrogate her on her origins. Hussey later stepping down and apologising, the issue of racism in the royal household resurfaced. Wills and Kate In the US for the Earthshot prize, said racism had no place in society but as Megxit’s Netflix trailer dropped, they were booed at baseball. QT in Aberystwyth, MS Vaughan Gethin said it was like saying you’re not one of us, Welsh sec David TC Davies agreed it was wrong and Shavanna Taj of the Welsh TUC lauded the Welsh anti-racism plan. But GB News’ Olivia Utley advocated giving the old biddy some slack – cancel culture gone mad!
Inflation fell slightly to 10.7%. Had it peaked? Branded goods up 12-13% but budget ranges 18%, the differential was noticeable. Farmers unfairly burdened by labour shortages, fertiliser and energy costs, NFU’s Minette Batters warned of sleep-walking into a food supply crisis. Hinting at more seasonal work visas, Therese Coffee-Cup cryptically didn’t want the UK to rely on non-EU workers.
Rejecting the measly 2% pay offer, 86% of PCS members in 124 government departments voted to strike. 1,000 Border Farce staff at 6 airports and the Port of Newhaven would strike 23rd-31st December. The Home Office insisted they had ‘robust systems’ in place to minimise disruption i.e., Oliver Dowdy heading a ‘winter of discontent’ Staff skipping eating and heating having no choice, Mark Serwotka slammed plans to draft squaddies in. The RDG offered 8% over 2 years and no redundancies until 2024. Meeting none of their criteria, RMT rejected it and announced more strike days. Interspersed by a reduced service ‘til 9th January, the National Rail website showed none on our line all week but a train appeared on Look North outside The Refreshment Rooms. Highways Agency and Heathrow action overlapping with rail, Swellen admitted to ‘undeniable disruption’. In co-ordinated action by Unison, GMB and Unite, ambulance workers were striking 21st & 28th December. Elsewhere, Unite members walked out from EMR for 2 days, and would again 23rd-24th Dec. Workers out every day up to Christmas, Pat Cullen agreed the strike was a tragedy but was appalled at Nads Zahawi’s ‘new low’ of saying nurses played into Vlad’s hands. Wes Streeting invited tories to steal his NHS workforce plan. Having rejected a pay offer last month, FBU marched on parliament and were balloted. Not strikes but felled power cables, caused major disruption to Avanti West Coast mainline. Rishi Rich not ruling out banning emergency worker strikes at PMQs, Keir quoted Mark Harper who said his ‘flagship legislation’ wouldn’t help current disputes, so he should stop grand-standing and sort it out. Cabinet neglected to discuss the winter of strife in favour of crime and the online safety bill. To appease backbenchers, ministers diluted house-building targets and relaxed onshore wind farm rules.
A man was arrested for chucking an egg at Kingy in Luton. As Just Stop Oil slow-marched down Old Kent Road, 2 activists were convicted of gluing themselves to The Haywain. Whitehaven coalmine approved to make coke for the steel industry, the mayor welcomed the investment and new jobs but Alook Sharma called it a backward step. Ofgem found water companies underspent on sewer upgrades and a day after the lifting of the Yorks hosepipe ban, gas mains flooded by water mains, left 2,000 properties in Stannington suburb without power. Declaring a state of emergency, Sheffield Council wanted to know why and what could be done to stop it happening again. On Politics North later in the month, Yorkshire Water CEO Nicola Shaw didn’t know what caused a fixture to move and make a hole in the water main laid in 1976 and insisted massive profits went to infrastructure not share dividends. Nobody explained how water got into the gas supply or lampposts. The UN asked nations to up emergency aid contribution by 25%, to a total £424bn. Greek MEP Eva Kaili was exposed for accepting bungs to promote the Qatari World Cup. The Trump organisation was found guilty of tax fraud and Musk’s Neuralink was accused of needlessly killing 1,500 animals in rushed tests. The arrest of 25 nutters foiled a German coup. Conspiracy-theorist Heinrich XIII recruited and trained members of Reichsbürger (Citizens of the Reich) and discussed a new world order with Russian officials. The Stranglers drummer Jet Black died. Well, at 84, he was the oldest punk rocker in town. Alternative Christmas ad The GoKart by Sam Teale from Cleckheaton, with the message ‘Christmas is made, not bought,’ got 7 million viewers globally. Andy Bunman organised a DJ battle for Manchester charity A Bed For The Night. Rayner chose 3 tracks, including Oldham’s very own N-Trance anthem. Angela Raver!
Dark Skies
An NHS letter stupidly advised we got covid boosters – as if we hadn’t tried! No local walk-ins, I booked a pharmacy down the trainline for Thursday, set the alarm to be there in time and rose to a sparkly thick frost. Hitherto failing to speak to a doctor, Phil followed my lead, ringing at 8 and saying it was urgent. 39th in the queue, he hung on to secure a call-back. Amid a yellow ice warning, I checked trains, calculated timings, harassed Phil to get a move on, and gingerly descended to the main road. Waiting to buy tickets at the station, we found the train cancelled due to frozen points. So much for checking beforehand! I googled the pharmacy’s number to say we’d be late and Phil wandered off for a fag when the GP rang and said she’d refer him to hospital. We browsed displays in the cosy waiting room to warm up until the train arrived. Phil remarked on the 2 different models stuck together . “No-one will notice but you.” As the announcements had an echo, he intoned: “That’s what you get for mixing them up!” After a short ride and brief walk, we arrived at the pharmacy and hovered at the counter until a woman bade us to “Take a seat on the seats!” Two men joined us as we waited for The Vaccinator, behind schedule. In the tiny cubby hole, he jotted down details and, promising similar side-effects to Moderna, prepped a Pfizer vial. “Not the fancy new bivalent?” “It is bivalent.” “Good!” After a quick, sharp needle pain, Phil was next. His rucksack a tripping hazard, a pile of coins strew the floor as I picked it up. Waiting Man 1 offered to help. I said I was fine, then went dizzy. Buying some essentials at £1 each, I commented it was like Poundland but better, cos not everything in there was a pound! Returning to the station, we took photos of hoary shrubs and entered the Refreshment Rooms. Attractively adorned with posters, artefacts and curious, a friendly server offered a sadly limited menu. We plumped for coffee which was very good and rolls which weren’t. Made of cold bread and raw-looking meat, they’d been pinged not fried. Lunch inadequate, we pondered going into the town but as a train came, we jumped on. “This might be a mistake; staying out could save on heating.” “Do you want to go back in the waiting room?” “Don’t be daft!” Unhurriedly ambling home, park grass mimicked rimed seaweed. Frost covered felled foliage. A random orange was stuck in the lock. Higher ground strangely stayed green and leafy. Both suffering mild side-effects (nostril niggles and sore arms), we edited photos. Phil’s AI composed cute snowy pics. “You’ve given up serious art then!”
Still sore, I exercised carefully Friday, gave up on an unusable ipad (repeatedly indicating a dead battery even on charge and after Phil tampered), applied a patch, and belched. We spent the morning expunging bathroom mould. As the sun dipped below the treeline before noon, the kitchen (aka South Pole), was nithering. Phil went to work, I went to antiques shops, for a nice chat about Hull and gifts. Slightly above budget, I was pleased with my finds. Trudging to the main road in the near-dark, queuing bus passengers laughed at a man randomly shouting. Nobody knew what he was on about! Saturday, weak sun peaked beneath an ominous cloud bank. A dusting of snow turned the world white. Disgruntled crows perched on poles. Feeling Christmassy, I hummed the seasonal tune. The tea was cold when a tired Phil emerged. As I’d forgot the warming cloth, I pinged him a cup. “Thank you.” “The things you do for love!” Seeing a Northern Fail video of Chester on Insta, Phil was keen to visit the magical Christmas-land. Confirming strikes meant no trains running on our line Tues-Sat the following week, Phil laughed: “Get back to work!” Too bitter to go walking, I went hunting. Warmer outside than in, snow-melt drizzle created damp air. The words ‘free’ and ‘cake’ on the hoarding outside a maker’s fair were sadly unconnected. Thinking a matching bracelet would be nice, the jeweller responsible for my birthday gifts, offered to make one for me. Rather flimsy and barely wearing the jewels I had, I consulted with Phil but wasn’t fussed. The man road heaving, I muttered impatiently behind a dawdling man. He glanced back and stepped aside: “Sorry, am I in your way?” Oops! At the Baptist Chapel Christmas fair, I rummaged through a DVD pile, admired an adorable knitted nativity and discussed crochet with a volunteer. A neighbour I knew from drawing class appeared in a pinny. I suppressed surprise that she belonged to the ‘have you got a bag, dear?’ mob, to exchange pleasantries. She made kind reference to my Valley Life articles. Icy rain reverting to snow, I headed home and saw The Student, back for the hols. Her gran visiting, she kept her distance to briefly debate the crap state of affairs and her dissertation on German gay men. “I won’t make a joke, it won’t be woke!” Phi had unearthed an unused wallet (which I bought him years ago) and took stuff out of his old battered one. Loyalty cards dated 2017, it needed a clear-out! We timed dinner round footie. After Harry Kane missed a second penalty, France beat England 2-1. Well, if he’d scored, it would only have prolonged the agony.
Sunday, a weak sun rendered the scrappy snow pretty. Quentin Blake’s Clown inspired me to modify his angel for the Christmas tree. Saved on computer for yonks, I printed one to embellish. On a cloudy night, snow reflected artificial light. With the brightness, thudding heart and whirring mind, I struggled to sleep without the meditation tape. Monday, I needed a beanie hat and 2 pairs of socks to go to the South Pole – a balmy 2 degrees! Phil swore at a letter advising he do nothing unless he’d not heard by 2nd Feb. “It’s just confirmation of the referral.” “I’m worried.” “I know but try not to.” I gave him a big hug and distracted him with seagulls unusually wheeling over roofs rather than water. Taking rubbish out, I heard a strange noise when I went back in. Failing to close the lid, the kettle hadn’t turned off. It was my turn to cuss. We definitely had condensation now! He cleaned it up and fed me Milk Tray. They’d gone posher since my day – salted caramel no less! Well wrapped up and wary of black ice (not too bad on the street below but as a neighbour agreed, lethal on the small steps), I went to the co-op. Seeing Historian Neighbour, I asked how she was coping with the cold. “I’ve never known cold like it.” “Do you like Milk Tray?” “I prefer dark.” The Store Manager rang to say the heating had totally packed in and to ‘wear anything’. Phil dressed as Michelin Man. “How about a ballerina or a fairy princess?” “That’s what they’d expect from me.” “Cripes! They must be very un-PC if you’re ‘woke’ by their standards!” Throwing seeds to the birds from the doorstep, I almost hit Neighbour-From-The-Street-Below. “Soz. I can’t be arsed putting clobber on just to do this.” Phil guffawed at my cracked hands. “Call that cracked!” “Poor you. Have you still got hand cream?” “Yes, I’m using tons.” I reverted to the extra-strong stuff for some improvement. Tuesday, I limited noise while Phil slept in before a day of rest. Hearing a rap on the door, I hurried down to find a jolly man with a parcel for Phil. The box shape a giveaway (hint: no need to scour shops for ankle boots), he’d expected it to come in the usual nondescript packaging. I pretended I didn’t see it. After an unprecedented unbroken 8 hours, I started Wednesday dozy. Almost in tears with tummy pain, I declined to divulge details. Phil helped bring firtrees in and find elusive beans in the co-op with his news skills. I used member’s points for a cheap shop. Anticipating another 8 hours, I settled down earlier but had a crap night. Trying various distraction techniques, images of snowy roads were only fleetingly calming.
7.2 million waiting for operations, Phil said; “No wonder there’s a labour shortage. “It’s one reasons.” Research found Capivasertib could shrink breast tumours by blocking the cancer-driving molecule AKT, while Moderna and Merck’s cancer vaccine using mRNA tech, could mean 44% less fatalities. 15 kids dead from Strep A, home testing kits sold out and government gainsaid chemists’ claims of antibiotic shortages. 40 confirmed diphtheria cases, Hussein Haseeb Ahmed’s family discovered he died via social media.
Most QT panellists agreeing we were in Broken Britain, Guy Opperman disingenuously claimed tories supported public workers but money was tight. Isobel Oakeshot (who co-wrote The Cock’s Covid Diaries) railed at shocking public services at a time of historically high taxes. Nurses leaving or converting to costlier agency staff, Lucy Powell said not paying more was a false economy. She also observed the Whitehaven coalmine contained the wrong sort of coal and the steel industry could switch to electric arc furnaces. Isobel thought it un-green to import Russian coal and mad to import US shale. 40 backbenchers wrote Rishi he should cut taxes, scrap wasteful inclusion projects and spend more on front-line services. Owing HMRC £1m and the bank £700k, Tory MP Adam Afriyie went bankrupt but wouldn’t quit until a general election. 5 new allegations against Rabid Raab from when he was justice sec, made a total of 8. ONS stats showed the economy shrank 0.3% across all sectors. The C**t denied Brexit or the tories were to blame. IFS disagreed and Reeves said ‘managed decline’ was a choice. Almost going bust during the pandemic, Monsoon sales rose 42% and they announced 22 new shops. Less vacancies in the private sector, wage growth was 6.9% and 2.7% in the public sector. The gap at a new high but both still way below inflation, the TUC reckoned real-terms pay was cut by 3%. IT geek Jason Baldry put a map on warmspaces.org. ukii.
A decade-high 417,000 working days were lost to strikes. Royal Mail workers out again, Christmas posting dates were brought forward a week and Environment Agency staff began working to rule. Mick Lynch accused ministers of sabotaging a deal over driver-operated trains. Teacher’s pay ‘held down for a decade’, the TUC’s Kate Bell said walkouts were likely. Ed sec Gill Keegan helpfully retorted they’d resist all pay demands. Cobra meeting regularly, On Laura K., Uncleverly insisted it wasn’t for the government to negotiate, thus health strikes would proceed. He wasn’t quizzed on a lack of qualified army drivers to staff ambulances, nor on ex chief Lord Dannatt saying squaddies might think: “I joined up to be a soldier, not a strike-breaker.”
The Trondheim Troll brought an arctic blast, wintry showers and sub-zero temperatures. Amid low winds and high energy demand, households could be asked to limit usage Fridays and Saturdays. 4 kids died after falling through ice on Babbs Mill Lake, Solihull, London launched an emergency protocol for rough sleepers, freezing river foam created ice pancakes in Linn Park, Glasgow and on The Tyne at Hexham and traffic got stuck in snow on the M25 and in a herd of cows on the M62. Who needed Just stop Oil! Policing their protests cost 37.5m Oct-Dec.
Only 96 arrests for illegal entry to the UK under the Nationality and Borders Act since June, Rishi revealed a 5-point plan to clear the asylum claim backlog: a new 700-staff unit to monitor small boat crossings; stop using hotels and house asylum seekers in disused holiday parks, military sites and student halls; double the number of asylum caseworkers to assess claims; Border Farce staff at Tirana airport; redefine modern slavery to ‘make it unambiguously clear that if you enter the UK illegally, you should not be able to remain here.’ Keir dismissed his plans as ‘unworkable gimmicks’ and refugee charities as ‘cruel’ and ‘ineffective’. A dinghy capsized off the coast of Dungeness at 3.00 a.m., triggering a major incident. In a joint UK-French rescue, 43 migrants were saved but at least 4 perished in freezing water. 19 year old Ibrahima Bar was later arrested for people-trafficking. Swellen told MPs this type of tragedy was why they worked so hard to destroy the people-trafficking business model. Justin Welby tweeted that asylum seeker debates were about human lives. Tim Naor Hilton of Refugee Action, said the tragedy was predictable and inevitable, and more would die trying to reach safety if the government didn’t create more safe routes. Quite!
At the last PMQs of 2022, after offering disingenuous condolences to those who drowned in the channel and saying cancelling Avanti’s contract was subject to review, Rishi was asked why he wouldn’t intervene to avert nurse strikes. He told Keir they got a pay rise when others didn’t, plus bursaries. Keir called playing games with people’s health a badge of shame and recommended he scrap non-doms to fund the NHS. Insisting he already invested billions to clear the backlog through new diagnostic centres and surgical hubs, Rishi accused Keir of ignoring the impact of covid. SNP Westminster leader Stephen Flynn, not as funny as Ian Blackford, asked when he’d see the error of his ways and take the Scottish government lead to negotiate a settlement. Unable to turn heating on, people were scared stiff. Rishi used this as a cue to bang on about supporting household energy bills, upcoming extra cost of living payments and caring for the most vulnerable.
After a sharp drop in the value of Tesla shares, Musk was overtaken by Bernard Arnault of luxury brand LVMH as the richest man in the world. Twitter dissolved the trust and safety council – so no moderation of hate speech! As France beat Morocco in the World Cup semi-final, there was rioting in Montpelier and a boy died after being ‘violently hit’ by a car. the last Dambuster 101 year-old Johnson, died.
Do Not Travel
Thursday 15th, hilltops glowed in sunshine and the bathroom window frozen shut. Reaching up to try opening it, a bath tap knob flew off and fell behind a storage cube. No sign of it, I retrieved errant cotton buds when a container toppled off, spilling toiletries on the floor. Angry and upset, I cleared them up but gave up purging ice, donned the bear coat and went to the market. Quiet in the cold, I got a 9-pack loo roll for first time in months and rare Cornish sardines. Even the liver healthy and tasty, Phil declared it a treat. “They’re cheap so they shouldn’t be a treat. Maybe it’s a benefit of Brexit at last, not sending them to Spain.” In The Store, I offered to help Phil direct a doddery old man but he said it wasn’t my job and buzzed Male Co-worker as I eschewed extortionate squirty cream and selected a couple of items for Phil to buy with his staff discount. In the Rival Store, I chose sweet gifts, but quadruple the expected price, dumped them at the counter and went to the Sweet Shop instead. Later complaining about my awful morning, and ice on the inside of windows even with the heating on as much as we dared, Phil was also worried by scary energy costs. Shifts updated, he’d work early NY Day. Actually more inconvenient than working Christmas Day, at least he’d be home by 1. Depressed and lacking energy, I abandoned the journal and stuck extra sparkles to the Quentin Blake angel.
Phil managed to both slam the front door and leave it unlocked Friday. Subsequently roused by interminable chainsaws, I rose grumpily and hoping the sun just peeping out in a blue sky would do the job for me, ignored icy windows after the previous debacle. Making Christmas cake and working on the laptop slow, I decided to conclude sweet gift shopping at the co-op. An impatient woman behind me at the till impeded my bag-packing. Tutting, I used an empty conveyor, plodded home and found a card from End Neighbour on the doormat. I went to say thanks and, as we weren’t sending cards this year, ask if she’d like Milk Tray. “How sweet of you! They’re very welcome actually.” “Good! I can’t believe how hard they are to get rid of. Who doesn’t want free chocs in these hard times?” Her card earlier than normal, I’d assumed she was going away but she’d been at home ill. Asking after Phil, she also thought The Store being shut Christmas Day odd. When he got home, he asked if a parcel had come. Due by 6.30, he moaned he’d have to delay resting and suggested we took turns. “Okay, but should I be seeing it?” “I’ll stay up then.” About to say something else, his phone emitted a loud burst of sound. I stomped up to bed but unable to warm my feet despite 4 pairs of socks, gave up so he could have his siesta. “I’m waiting for the delivery.” “I’m here now.” “I thought you said no.” “Well, you did order the thing but you’re tired from work so go on.” There was a door knock two minutes later – another ‘surprise’ ruined by the package’s shape! Saturday slightly above zero, clouds indicated impending snow. I unearthed a long-forgotten warm merino wool mix top before decorating the tree, accompanied by seasonal music. Phil got home with a sprout stick, took it to the kitchen then I heard clattering and foul language: “Bloody Robert The Chair!” He meant folding ones stashed at the bottom of the stairs. The kettle failed to come on. As Phil began tinkering, I snappily told him to eat and used the old stove-top one to make coffee. Later getting it to work by holding the switch down, I blamed myself for leaving the lid up and he blamed the cold. Loud honking penetrated early darkness. Was it the coca cola truck? Close: Santa’s truck. Apparently an annual tradition distributing gifts between here and Halifax, we’d never seen nor heard it before and could only think of one local garage with vehicles that big. After films and the last ever episode of Lucifer, we laughed at John Rutter talking crap on BBC 4. His Christmas music might be good but he was a knob!
Putting more decorations up Sunday, I rescued a green sprig from a dead plant. The snow already melted, nasty stuff fell from the dark sky as I dumped waste. Phil went to work and I watched the World Cup final. Argentina stunning in the first half, France made a comeback in the second. Still drawn after thrilling ET, Argentina won on penalties. Thinking it possibly the best cup final I’d ever seen, the commentator said it was the best one ever! But given the homophobia and dead construction workers, I didn’t agree with FIFA boss Gianni Infantino who declared the World Cup ‘a success on all fronts’. The Argentine squad returned to 4 million fans thronging Buenos Aires. Abandoning their open-top bus for a helicopter, riot police were deployed and 2 died. As Phil enjoyed the highlights, I stayed up to keep him company and re-watch the goals, got to bed rather late, dozed off to soothing pouring rain and overslept the next day. Wiping at dripping water on downstairs windows, I realised it was on the outside – reverse condensation! Phil had gone to the loo at 4.00 a.m. and couldn’t see out because of snowmelt fog. I posted a haigai and he shopped. Having forgotten his key, he knocked on the door, hid his purchases and sat down when there was a feeble rap. Yet another delivery! For dinner, I fried smelly camembert and ham to put on muffins, naming them Chamburgers. Phil clumping about early Tuesday, I gave up sleeping. A crescent moon shone in an indigo pre-dawn sky. Windy doing exercise, I took antacid and needed a break. After tedious chores, I installed the antique Hull tree, moved the kitchen table to retrieve cookie-cutters form the back cupboard, forgot to put other things away and annoyingly had to do it again before searching for last-minute buys. The main road shops expensive, I returned hungry to have lunch, adorn Christmas cards (getting glitter everywhere) and wrap gifts, ordering Phil to not come in the bedroom when he returned. Waking early with heartburn Wednesday, I struggled to sleep more, tried not to fret, sent messages to family and friends, upcycled glass pudding pots into candle holders, and got Phil to help make pies and fake Spekulatius. The butter hard and a binding ingredient missing from the recipe, the cookies took ages. Tasting bland, spiciness improved with age. Phil looked for the wrapping paper. “Wrapping my pressies? It’s not even Christmas Eve!”
Despite cold, smoky greyness Thursday 22nd, I opened the window and searched for clean bedding. Supposedly helping, Phil had put it in the wash. As I complained of making things harder, he countered I over-reacted. On the plus side, he reduced the Talk-Talk internet sub by around £30 a month. As he went out, I heard him say ‘hello’, then a rustle. Had he come back in? Was it a burglar or a cat? No; the window cleaners. From the threshold, I apologised again for the summer mix-up, confirmed they got our hand-delivered payment and offered Christmas greetings. Bare shelves notwithstanding, Phil secured what we needed and another pressie – so much for early wrapping! Expected for coffee and mince pies, Walking Friend texted she was going back to bed with flu. I took her a goody bag of pies, cookies, card and DVD. Presuming my knock wouldn’t be answered, she popped her head out of the window above. “If you can’t come to the mince pies, the mince pies must come to you!” Warily descending slippery steps, I hung back for a young woman coming through the snicket engrossed on her phone, getting a half-hearted sorry and thanks. Tired and achy, I had a terrible night. Unable to settle and relaxation games useless, I looked out at a peculiarly cloudy, starless but bright night sky. Friday, nasty fine rain and wind gusts punctuated the dark which didn’t lift all day. Already feeling crap from lack of sleep, I was vexed by a dripping tap in the kitchen, put the hot water back on for baths, whinged at Phil that it cost money, then conceded the tap was easy to accidently knock on. Emerging squeaky clean from a long, fluffy soak, he declared it ‘luxury’, listed his tasks then sat on the couch making pictures. As I expressed concern at quite a bit to do, he promised to help Christmas Eve. Needing bread, I went to the busy co-op. My Namesake at the till asked had I done now? “I hope so.” “Will you be here again tomorrow?” “I hope not!” “I will; I’ve got 2 days off. Happy Christmas.” “And you. Enjoy your weekend off! I cut ivy from the garden wall for the hearth. Utterly filthy, it required copious rinsing. I baked my signature veggie sausage rolls and topped the cake. Melted choc already setting as I stuck almonds and ginger on, I melted more for a pleasing drizzle effect then collapsed on the sofa with a glass of wine.
Ex-PM Boris earned over £1m for bumbling speeches. The government unveiling a 10-point campaign for us to reduce energy bills, BBC news visited Shatts’ posh house. Come up with something that saved a grand a year, I might take note! BOE raised interest to 3.5%. Majestic booze sales up 140%, Serco profit’s outlook rose by £5m. Curry’s at a loss, TUI revenues quadrupled in the year to 30th September (after 2020-2 losses).
Treasury coffers were boosted by £85.1bn more tax including £8.3bn property tax in the past year. BCC said ‘structural problems’ with the UK-EU trade deal was damaging. Someone finally admitting Brexit was shit, on QT, Rees-Moggy still insisted it was great. On Newscast, Robert Peston revealed Truss was in floods of tears before her ill-fated 8 minute press conference. I had no clue what their ‘I ooze stamina’ T-shirts meant.
Hoping we’d blame unions not government for disruption, and resolute it was irresponsible to up public sector pay, Dowdy advised health workers to cancel strikes but Caroline Nokes advised negotiation. A mother informed Steve Barclay he was wrong blaming NHS issues on the pandemic. Accepting some of what she said, he invited union reps to meet, not to negotiate pay but to discuss emergency cover. Rishi unbelievably went to a food charity to express disappointment that nurses planned further action. During the first 999 responders strike, health chiefs couldn’t ensure patient safety and ministers warned against risky activities. Less demand suggested they were heeded. A squaddie drafted in to drive ambulances felt ‘honoured’ to be called on. What! Honoured to be a scab? A patient complained one responded to his emergency, but couldn’t drive to hospital. Sat up talking on zoom, he obviously didn’t need blue-lighting. The second strike day cancelled so people could enjoy a stress-free Christmas, they’d resume in January, a day after the anti-strike bill was set out. Pointlessly mandating minimum cover; with staff shortages, they couldn’t provide effective service any day! RCN Scotland rejected a 7.5% pay offer and would strike in the new year. Stopped trains were joined by London buses. Roads busy, scientists found dangerous particles from braking trains could lead to dementia and other health problems. Despite terrible service, Avanti incredibly got a £6.5m performance bonus. Government said it dated back to July-Sept 2021, before timetable changes. As Avanti blamed crew shortages for less trains, a software failure led to 100 TPE cancellations. Another 2-day postal strike meant no more Christmas cards. Heathrow and Eurostar strikes off, incoming travellers reported no issues during the Border Farce airport one. Mark Serwotka said troops got 5 hours training to only check passports, not look for signs of dodginess as proper staff would. Enough in the strike fund until March and a mandate for action until May, he predicted months of disruption. 130 bus companies signed up to a scheme for maximum £2 fares Jan-March 2023.
When asked, 57.7% of Musk’s followers said he should step down as head of twitter. He promised to do so, when he found someone ‘foolish enough’ to take over. Future polls would only be open to blue tick account-holders. The High court ruled the Rwanda policy lawful, but their circumstances not considered, 8 individual’s cases must be reviewed. Refugee charities later appealed. Determined flights would go ahead asap, Swellen couldn’t find any airlines to participate. Trying to get into a full Brixton Academy, fans forced open the doors and the Asake gig stopped. A fan and a security guard subsequently died, a man arrested and the Academy’s licence revoked ‘til April 2023. A gun attack at a Kurdish cultural centre injured 3 and killed 3. The culprit had just been released after attacking migrants in camps with a sword. Rioting ensued. Terry Hall of The Specials and Fun Boy 3, died aged 63. New King Charles banknotes would be in circulation by mid-2024. Patrick Thelwell who threw an egg at Kingy in York was charged with threatening behaviour. As the massive ‘AquaDom’ in the swanky Berlin Radisson Blu exploded, 1 million gallons of water gushed from the aquarium. No people hurt, 1,500 fish perished and pigeons enjoyed a boon. The cause was likely material fatigue, not the voice of Young Chorister of the Year Naomi Simon from York, who could smash glass hundreds of miles away! Chicken Mick Santa handing out sweets and teddies and collecting for New Hope Worcester Children’s Charity, refused to pay a parking fine for his sleigh aka motorbike. A slew of Christmas singles, Northallerton Allotmenteers formed of men growing veg during lockdown for a local hospice, released Sprouts (let it all out), the Half-Timer’s effort raised money for FareshareUK. and Lad Baby reached number 1 for the fifth time. Feed The UK featuring money expert Martin Lewis who could actually sing, was a damning indictment of the government!
I’m Dreaming Of A Grey Christmas
Characteristic Saturnalia light appeared on Christmas Eve. Mainly doing haircuts and food prep, I got ratty as incessant honking trucks interrupted a peaceful day; they could at least play seasonal tunes! For that, we headed to Carols in The Square. Back after 3 years of covid restrictions, it was rammed. Pressed against a shop wall, an ex-pubgoer turned canal-drinker, joyfully beamed and sang beside us. A Friend-couple asserted they owed us a meal. Drawing Teacher remarked on the lovely tradition. Crooning over, we perused hostelries and settled on a revamped Trad Pub. A wicker figure sat next to a woman in the corner of a nigh-empty room. “Is he with you?” I joked. Then a crowd piled in. “Is anyone using that chair?” I felt like Billy No-Mates until Phil brought fancy gins from the bar. Yuletide ditties endless, I sympathised with hospitality and retail workers. “Tell me about it!” laughed Phil. Hungry, we nosed in the recently opened Ex-Bank bar on the way home for a buffet-style dinner, wine and more gin. Phil remarked: “Don’t say I never treat you.” “It was indeed a treat. The whole day was nice, except the honking!
Christmas Day not white but grey, roofs shone festively. Among a generous 20 gifts, Phil got me the new Muse album on vinyl, a Victorian silver coin, a gorgeous Folktale book (although rather scholarly, story notes were often longer than the tales) and splendid black ankle boots. I gave him the sparkly card and not quite as many gifts. He was chuffed with Britannia III, the cigar-box guitar and the vintage camera even though the case screw had the wrong thread. Messages from Walking Friend thanking me for the goody bag and from Musician Friend were welcome but a plethora of intrusive family ones weren’t. Why would I want to see their dinner selfies instead of enjoying our own? I turned alerts off.
The windows streaming with sleety rain Boxing Day, there was enough in the demisting sponge to water plants. Although I’d suggested Phil not wash up, I didn’t mean leave cream to solidify on trifle bowls and Irish coffee glasses. As I grumbled, he admitted to being a tad drunk. I posted a haiga and began Film Reviews 2022iii. Not looking forward to work, at least Phil had no deliveries to deal with. Irked he’d swapped next day’s shifts he said we could go walking beforehand. I abstained from an evening tipple so I’d be up in time – a needless precaution, as it turned out. Getting freezing hands and damp pants taking rubbish out Tuesday, despite his enthusiasm, I refused an outing in the drizzle and listened to Muse’s Willy of the People – we’re all effing fucked! Phil again dithered over late drinks but feeling tired, I didn’t want one and he didn’t bother. Gassiness causing lumpiness and pointless contacting doctors until after the hols, I ditched the HRT patches. Regardless of discomfort and worry, I slept well to start Wednesday in a stupor. I belched and thought Phil was taking the mick when he did too, but he wasn’t. As promised, he helped with housework and errands, using his co-op points for cheap groceries.
Planning a trip to The City Thursday, we got over early narkiness to go to the station. Train delays confusing, an old man in front of me at the booking office hesitated then went for a bus. The clerk fiddled with his display and advised as the trains were messed up, we shouldn’t believe the boards. “I don’t care as long as one comes” Soon after, a fast service whizzed us to The City. Descending steps out, a small white thing bounced in front of us. Was it a tooth? No, an earbud. The owner disgustingly picked it up and stuck it back in his ear! Assailed by the typical biting wind, we crossed to the tiny park where a couple pointed out Phil’s shoes were undone then cadged a fag. “Nowt’s changed then!” Aiming for the Van Gogh experience in the museum, the gallery was inexplicably closed. We wandered round, avoiding noisy kids’ zones, and found a few new exhibits among the telly toys and cartoon models. Having lunch in a trendy Asian eatery, Phil ordered extras and left me his card to pay while he freshened up. I jested with the waitress: “Should I abscond?” Walking past sad dilapidation, the clock tower rang out ‘in excelsis deo’. Phil remarked it was cleverly programmable, unlike Big Ben. Climbing to the top end of the concrete shopping centre, Phil bet 10p the market would make me laugh within seconds. I was instantly in stitches at the sight of a fake Roman frieze. While I selected Primark basics, he got woollies and insisted on paying for everything. I nipped in a discount store to find toiletries and very slow staff, and he nipped in another to not find phone leads. Out the nearest exit, we immediately spotted phone shops. Asking a tenner each for the leads, I spluttered and walked out. “How much do you want to pay?” I forgot shopping here was like Turkey. Raining by then, we caught a speedy train back and dashed through the park. Having a stitch from moving too fast after a big lunch, I struggled to fetch the coffee as Phil absconded upstairs. “Not hungry?” he asked “Nope. Eat fruit if you are.”
Woken by a strange noise Friday, I couldn’t discern if it was external or in my head. Realising Phil would have gone, I forced myself up. After the strikes, we got mail for 2 days running including Christmas cards. Ickle Brother posted his 12th December. I texted: ‘Good news! Happy Christmas!’ He replied it was like the 1970’s but with better hair! Messaging Walking Friend to see if she was better, it transpired she’d had a medical emergency the other day but got help form a passer-by and the chemist who got hold of a doctor. In need of nicotine patches, I offered to get them but as she said she needed to get out, I bade she take care. I struck lucky in charity shops and went to The Store. Phil was at the counter and handed me eggs he’d bought from the butchers first thing. A man from HO came to say as weekend early opening and late closing was a waste of time, hours would be cut. Doing miles more than his contract anyway, Phil didn’t mind and he’d start later New Year’s Day so could stay up to toast 2023. Evening news featured old Scottish volunteers building the WW1 plane Sopwith Strutter. “I bet that took some time,” observed Phil. “Yep, some of them died in the process!” More recent demises involved John Bird, Pele, Vivienne Westwood, and Joseph Ratzinger (aka Benedict XVI), Pope Francis would preside over the funeral, the first time in 2,000 years that had happened. Staying in on a mangy NYE, we enjoyed a posh dinner and weak fizz. A firework boom alerting us to midnight, we clinked glasses and switched from films to the London display. The usual dodgy soundtrack was followed by the relentless Sam Ryder and raucous pissheads disturbing sleep. Shut up! Meanwhile, Thor the Walrus travelled north from Norfolk to Scarborough where fireworks were cancelled.
Flu admissions outstripping covid for the first time since the pandemic, the ‘twindemic’ put 12,000 in hospital. 267 in critical care, capacity reached 95%. After the demos, China relaxed zero-covid rules but increased police checks. Experts feared no immunity could mean 60 million infected and 2 million fatalities within months. Authorities changed official death by covid to respiratory issues only. Travel restrictions lifted and info obscured, the UK joined Italy and USA to impose extra checks on incoming Chinese– they’d require a negative test from 5th January. The Chinese called it foreign spin.
2022 officially the hottest ever, there were 10% excess deaths – was it covid, deficient access to health services during lockdowns or interminable waits for ambulances and treatment? Citing the NHS crisis, reporters didn’t mentioned lack of GP availability, but on the plus side, there were more cancer referrals. 6.9% up on 2021, record home entertainment sales reached £11.1bn. Harry Styles topped music and Top Gun Maverick topped videos. A bumper year for M&S festive food sales, World Cup fans swilling beer and munching pizza grew the UK economy 0.1% in November. Musk’s $2bn losses outstripped other rich twats, and illicit crypto cost $20.1bn.
References:
i. My haigas: https://wordpress.com/posts/mondaymorninghaiga.wordpress.com
ii. Warm spaces map: https://warmspaces.org/#map
ii. Film Reviews 2022: Notes on life, the universe and stuff that sucks (maryc1000.blogspot.com)
The Corvus Diaries 