Swimming pigeons

I have just witnessed an unusual sight: two pigeons taking turns to jump in our deep pond and swim across. They float with wings outstretched, and somehow with a mixture of flapping and foot waving they reach the other side, where they scramble out with a great flapping. This morning, enthused with the elixir of Spring, they were billing and cooing on a branch above the garden, prior to mating. Now it looks like they're taking a douche to complete the job, to the disgust of the goldfish. Alas, I was not quick enough to capture the moment on my phone, so I have copied a picture of a swimming pigeon from the internet. Our son-in-law Sam, who knows about these things, says it is not our woodpigeons, but some different type: a feral pigeon? 

Mary-Anne has been most helpful in supporting us, bringing shopping and leaving it at the door. We continue to self-isolate, apart from the dog walks. Bronte normally walks docilely to the lead, but coming back past the church she suddenly livened up with the excited grin she puts on whenever she sees Mary-Anne, and tried to pull me across the deserted road towards MA's house. When I got back home, I discovered MA had visited while I was out, so Bronte was right to scent her and try and pull me over. We have not been able to book any grocery delivery slots after this week; luckily MA has two booked for the next fortnight and we can add items to her orders. Tesco is presently only allowing 80 items per order so we are restricted even in this, as with the two children in her family, her order necessarily dwarf ours. Hopefully more slots will become available soon.

northern girl

Northern girl
no heart on sleeve
shrugging cold shoulders
asking no favour
existing in an unyielding cocoon –
until drama strikes
with its speared wing
and you are there
up to the fierce challenge
and not afraid of anything.

Annie Elliott

I had my first CV19-related piece of work this morning. One company I work for produces an inhaled analgesic for emergency use, and there was an inquiry about whether this device might put medical staff more at risk if the injured person had CV but needed analgesia. It's interesting to be drawn into the raging debate, if only remotely.

All my contacts are now working from home. This is something I have done for a few years, but many of them are trying to acclimatise to the new norm and confess to missing the contact with people in the office, or just the buzz of London. The word is, many of these jobs will remain home-based when this is over, as companies realise they don't need hundreds of staff on site and will seek to reduce the huge costs of rented office space now their staff provide it freely, including paying their own heating and electricity and Wi-Fi bills. The companies don't even need to pay for the coffee machines or water coolers any more, so I think many staff workers are going to have to get used to the new normal.  Along with the rest of the economy, companies building new office blocks or dealing with commercial rents are going to take a big hit. The future will look as different as seeing swimming pigeons.

UK Lockdown Week-2

A stroll around an English Village in lockdown

Never has it looked so pretty
with its barber shop lawns
and wallpaper flowers
rainbowed colours
saluting a Nation's change –
no sound of words or laughter
no humming noise of passing car
just an eerie, weird silence
as death hides beneath the hedgerows

Annie Elliott

My habit each morning is to listen to Bach Before Seven on the wireless, before catching the seven o'clock news. This morning, there was no news broadcast. The BBC has cut back on the number of live presenters as part of their stay-at-home policy. Petroc Trelawny, whose calm, mellow voice eases in the day, has been presenting Breakfast on BBC Radio Three for years. He at least was still in the studio, but he didn't read the news - perhaps it is against Union rules.

The boys came yesterday, Edwin and Andre. They too are confined to their Cambridge flat, working from home. Edwin is still getting work from the University, setting essays and marking, so came to collect his big desktop computer rather than struggling on a laptop, and brought some shopping we needed: bread, milk and a Sunday paper. They left the bags on the doorstep and we left the computer in the Saloon in the garden. It had been snowing and was bitterly cold, but Ann would not let them in the house so we could only speak to them from the door, shouting above the wind. We would not even let the dogs down to greet them, and were both in tears when they left, not knowing when we might see them again if this lock-down hardens with roadblocks round the cities.

Now the clocks have moved forward, Ann walked the dogs round the village in the light evening. She was struck by the total silence and absence of cars or people, recording it in her new poem. We hoped to do some gardening with the idle hours, but even the bin men are providing a reduced service. The council have notified us that the brown bin collection has been suspended for the duration, so hedge trimmings and grass cuttings must be piled up to rot in the corner.

Meanwhile, whatever happened to the wine lake we used to hear about? There are rumours that wine is running low. Certainly, it is getting more difficult to order through Amazon or Tesco. A trip to the pub for afternoon wine was one of our regular pleasures. Since we can no longer visit even for lunch, or dinners, we have transferred our socialising to the home, so naturally we need more wine. This is not hoarding, but a necessity for simple survival. Cheers!

Predicting Covid-19 deaths in UK

The total deaths recorded in the UK to date (28 March 2020) is 1,228, an increase of 209 since yesterday. The Health Minister is predicting that a final total of 20-25,000 deaths will be a good outcome. Taking today as Week 0, I have applied a little maths to the figures released so far, and the accelerating rate of change. This will not of course go on without limit, or the whole population would be eliminated. This might be a good outcome for Extinction Rebellion, but it is not the ideal outcome for the rest of humanity, and I for one would like to see a few more summers. I am therefore presenting this forecast based on the limited and ever-changing information we have at the moment, here and in other countries.

Projection of possible total deaths in UK

As we now know, Covid-19 is highly infectious, and dangerous because people are infective at all stages, both before they show symptoms and for some time afterwards. It is particularly dangerous for elderly men with pre-existing health problems, which makes me take it seriously as I try to avoid any contact with the world outside my home.

This prediction is based on a final death figure of twice the best case figure, i.e. 50,000. The rate of increase is exponential at the beginning: it will rise to a peak, and then begin to level off as the number of immune people rises and the rate of infection tails away. It assumes no vaccine over the next few months, and that the infection will not abruptly stop from the release of a miracle cure, nor die from warmer weather. Although very provisional, these data suggest the magic peak will occur in 3-4 weeks time, when the rate may be as high as 2,000 deaths/day.

The good news for most people is, in two months, it may all be over, except for small pockets of residual outbreaks. The majority of people should be able to return to work or schooling in one month's time, especially if they can be shown to be immune. The bad news is for people like me, who will continue to be at risk until it is completely eliminated, or until a vaccine or good treatment is produced. But at least there should be a huge surplus of ventilators and intensive care beds available by that stage.

Filling the day

We have been in self-isolation for only five days. It has passed quickly so far, though we haven't done much. Ann is young and healthy, and God willing will come through this well. Indeed, we do speculate that she may already have been exposed in January when we were in Singapore, and she had very severe flu-like symptoms with high temperature and dry cough. We were in a hotel, and she thought she was dying and couldn't move for three day. Of course, no one suspected CV-19, and the doctor she saw put it down to standard flu. But now, we wonder, could she have been an early victim?

Unfortunately, I am not young nor particularly healthy. We read stories of those with terminal respiratory failure feeling that their lungs are bursting, unable to breath, and it does take me back to my childhood days of asthma, when I used to gasp for breath during an attack. Inhalers were in their primitive infancy and my only treatment was a hand-held glass bulb nebuliser. This contained isoprenaline which gave some relief; only now, with my drug safety-hat on, do I read of the epidemic of deaths in asthmatics associated with this drug in the 1950's. Modern treatments, with bronchodilators and inhaled steroids, didn't come into use until the 1960's, by which time I had outgrown my childhood asthma. Now it has returned, probably secondary to other illness and medications. It would be ironic for me to die from CV-19, having survived everything else, so Ann is desperate to keep me from getting infected with it. No one is allowed to come into the house. I am not allowed contact with anyone. Even Ann has stopped going out, relying on what we have in the cupboard and what Mary-Anne can bring round and leave at the door.

Edwin wants to come round to collect his computer, to work from Andre's apartment in Cambridge. Ann told him we'll leave the computer in the saloon ready for him, but he won't be allowed in the house. He was a bit annoyed, but had to agree as the alternative was no computer. He won't be allowed to walk the dogs, or even see them: Ann says she will lock them upstairs to stop them barking their noisy greeting and jumping up him.

I still walk the dogs each day, combining my daily allowance of exercise with taking them out. It is a cold north wind today, so I only take them once round the playing fields opposite. The whole village is like a ghost town: I do not meet even another dog walker, and not a car moves along the road. The only sound is the cold wind in the trees; the only movement the rooks flapping hard above the trees to move slowly against it.  I have a slight cough, but it is not a dry cough so I must be OK, and welcome the phlegm as a sign of just an innocent cold. We measure our temperatures each day with the comment, "It's 36.6, we're still alive, so we should get through the day!" On Thursday, we stood at the door with countless others ready to applaud for the NHS. We felt self-conscious, and wondered if we should be the first or only ones in Hundon, but in the far distance, we gradually heard a ripple of applause in which we joined, then people started whooping and sounding horns and whistles. We are a tiny village, but clearly we stand apart united, determined to beat the bugger.

Ann is doing more housework than ever, cleaning cupboards and polishing till everything glows. I am not allowed to help with ironing, washing, even clearing the dishes away, as she says it gives her something to do. I think she should write: she always has such deep insights into situations and people and relationships. Everyone shares their worries or problems with her, and she always comes up with supportive advice backed by sound common sense. It is no wonder she is so good at Tarot reading. Her poetry is penetrating, arresting and deadly in its aim. If she ever does write a novel, I know it will be brilliant, and we would all queue to buy it, though hopefully I would get a signed complimentary copy! My only fear is, I know she would write about people she knows, and I suspect I would read myself into every bad character or deed, though I know she would deny it vehemently with the comment, "It's not all about you!" But it will be a book worth reading.

American Gothic and Wagner

Virus

 Vivid illness, you've got my number
 I know you're not far off
 Retreat is all I can muster, as
 Ubiquitous, you stalk me with calm intent
 Surrounded by beauty, I fight you with solitude

Betsy Marston

In common with millions of others we are sitting out CV-19 for the duration. When the first World War started, people were telling each other, "It'll be over by Christmas." Now, Trump has pronounced, "It'll be over by Easter." Easter is two weeks away, but London and New York are still on the accelerating slopes of the plague, so they are going to have to reach their peaks very rapidly to meet the president's schedule.

Meanwhile, we sit enjoying the sunlight, doing some gardening and enjoying the early spring sunshine. Mary-Anne came round yesterday to bring some shopping; she left it on the table on the patio, and talked to us through the open window. She took a picture of us, saying we reminded her of Grant Wood's American Gothic. We are so fortunate to have each other; so many people must be forced to sit this out alone.

Sitting out CV-19

The Hundon Gazette came yesterday. It had a large poster we have put in the window warning visitors to keep away, and has collated a list of local volunteers offering to help those in need. It is so good to be reminded that the world is not all evil, but there is also goodness fighting the darkness. Even so, the usual naysayers immediately swung into action decrying these actions, and saying the Gazette should not have been delivered because it risked bringing infection into people's home. Well just burn the thing, I say, if you're frightened to touch it!

In common with many others, we are reading or writing; or watching television, Netflix, and old videos while awaiting the figures of doom announced as the deaths mount round the world. Nine years ago, we started to watch The Ring, or Der Ring des Nibelungen to give it the full title, staring Bryn Terfel as Wotan, broadcast live at the Arts Theatre Cinema in Bury. We could only see the first two because of prior commitments on the second weekend, but later Ann treated me to the DVD set.
It is based on characters from the Norse sagas, and as potent a story as Tolkien's, depicting as it does the forging of the ring symbolising power made from the theft of the Rhinegold, then the repeated wars to possess the power. Last night we watched the first, Das Rheingold, and were transported into that other world. For a while we could leave our own worries or fears as we were swept away from this earth, such is the power of the music, the sets, the characters and the story.

The Last Sight of England

A Last View of England?

Just when I have time to spare, and am getting stronger and more able to take on some voluntary work, I am barred from doing so. However, once a medic always a medic. I remain a qualified doctor and still on the Medical Register, so even though I can no longer offer face-to-face support, I will be glad to do so by phone or email.

On a beautiful spring day, I worked in the garden. This afternoon I thought to take the dogs, not to Clare, but just through the empty sports field opposite to post some letters for Ann. But then the rumours started that even local, solitary dog walks are to be banned, so I chose instead to take a last longer walk round the outskirts of Hundon, through the fields past the church, then back via the postbox. The whole village is deserted; I only saw two cars and not a soul I needed to dodge.

At the top of the hill, I overlooked the village church and a few houses (Hundon is a very small village) and was reminded of Ford Madox Brown's title, The Last of England. If we are soon to be banned completely even from a local dog walk, then this may be the last view I have of our Suffolk hills and fields, if not for ever, certainly for some time.  I am in the older age group, and carry many risk factors should I become CV-positive, so I have a deep personal interest in staying isolated.

Whatever happens, it is certain that nothing will be the same once the pandemic has past. Many will die, many firms and businesses will be gone, and many people will lose their jobs. There will be unemployment, and shortages in unexpected areas from supply chain disruption. The huge input of finance from the Bank of England will ameliorate some of the worst, but will probably lead to inflation and shock increases in the bank rate. But at least, once it is past, we can get out to enjoy what is left of England.

Light a candle for Mothers' Day

Happy Mothers' Day. 

To all our hardworking wives and mothers, our hearts go out to you. You unstintingly work through the year to support us and sustain us, both physically and mentally. Today is the one day when we try to thank you and remind ourselves how important you all are in our lives, but it has cruelly been snatched away.

A Candle to Mothers Everywhere

Ann and I had booked a Mothers' Day meal at the Swan, but last night it was closed by government decree and all such meals are no more. After the letter of despair by Nick, the manager, he followed it up by offering all the food they had bought in for sale at the rear window: eggs, veggies, beer (bring your own jug) and wines. It must be heartbreaking for him and the staff. If they begin to offer takeaway meals, we have vowed to have some regularly to continue supporting a vital community service (i.e. the local pubs).

Tonight, in celebration of Ann and mothers everywhere, I intend to light a candle at the window at 7.00pm. It will burn as a light of hope in this time of darkness, and I urge you all everywhere, young or old, to do the same - let us remember their part in our lives, and let us strive to banish the blackness of the curtain that is falling upon us.

Picnic in the forest

Today being clear and sunlit, we started our semi-quarantine, driving to Epping Forest forest for a picnic in the car, a vast stretch of dense woodland nearly twenty kilometres long. It is the Spring Solstice, when all the world is equal, as much in daylight hours as it is now in fighting a common enemy. Epping Forest is dark, ancient and foreboding. It reflects the mood of the moment, seeming to be scarcely touched by man; there are scattered dark pools and swampy bogs hidden in unsuspected corners. It seems to manage with minimal help from the forestry commission: many of its largest and oldest trees were allowed to fall at Nature's hand in the last gale and lie where they snapped through, great jagged upthrusting half-trunks with the rest of the trunk crashing and splintering smaller neighbours with its crown and side arms making the paths difficult to find or walk through.

The forest is written with history from its oldest roots. Unlike many newly created woodlands, it is one of England's primeval forests, dating back to pre-Neolithic times. It is the scene of countless murders and unlawful burials, including more than thirty murders by the Kray brothers' gang alone, and more recently the "Babes in the Wood" murders. Even highway men such as Dick Turpin had their hideouts here, to ambush wealthy coaches on the road from London to Newmarket for the races. Surrounded by the creaking trees and rustling wind we ate our sandwiches and took a glass of wine. Then, getting out to walk the dogs, Ann found a wallet ground into the mud behind the car! It lacked any identification, but was distinctly creepy, knowing the history and reputation of the place.

Wallet found in Epping Forest

Our world ends tonight

Friday 20th March 2020 will be recorded in English history as the ending of the world. This morning, I had the last of my routine appointments at the dermo clinic to read the patch tests; the consultant confirmed mine was the last routine appointment for the foreseeable future, as everything was cancelled from next week to prepare for the great plague.

We came home via the Long Melford garden centre for Ann to buy a few pieces. I walked the dogs then waited at the car; she came out with just two take-away cups of coffee, the last before the cafe closes. This afternoon Ann went for her hair appointment - this also will be the last. Again, I stayed clear of people, walking the dog, and waiting in the carpark of the Swan. Ann went to the restaurant section as the bar was unusually full for an afternoon, with all the regulars taking a last drink. Nick the manager had a long face, fearing what was coming. In the Clare Facebook page, they write:

We would just like to say thank you to all our customers for your continued support, it really has meant so much to us. An even bigger thank you to our team who have been with us from day one. You have been the best team we could of ever asked for and it has been a real pleasure to work with you. We are not sure what the future holds now but we wish you all the very best and hope you all stay safe. Best wishes Nik and Victoria.

Ann bought two drinks and brought them out so we could take them in the car. Then home to indefinite isolation.

On this day, too, Northwick Park Hospital announced it was full beyond capacity due to CV. This is the hospital I visited before Christmas to examine and report on their Phase I unit before we signed them up to run a clinical trial. Now they may need to requisition the unit and send all the study patients home.

This has been handled so badly. It could have been anticipated that people would stock pile when told they may have to go into blanket isolation for weeks at a time. The government should have brought in powers of rationing at the outset.

Now to shut everything, every shop, bar, restaurant, gym... and every pub! So many people out of work, so many places will never reopen. It is crazy - the majority of younger people will only have mild infection; many may not even know they've had CV. Is this the best way? I don't know, but one has to assume the government is selecting the best of bad options based on best advice.

Because it's only the older ones who will suffer and block the NHS, perhaps it would have been more sensible to confine us to barracks and leave the rest of society to carry on. We who are most at risk would respond willingly and sensibly to keep isolated. We have no wish to die or take up intensive care beds. Perhaps the rest of society could have carried on and kept the country running. We will never know what the alternatives might have done, but maybe then no one would have even thought to stockpile.

Mending the rabbit

Andre's Easter Bunny

On Tuesday, Ann met Edwin in Cambridge for a quiet pre-Mother's Day meal. Afterwards, on the way back to his apartment, they stopped at HomeSense. Edwin said this was his partner's favourite store, so phoned to let him know they were there. Five minutes later, Andre was at the door to join them. Going round the store, he spotted a ceramic rabbit with huge glasses perched on its nose. "Oh, I love that rabbit!" he said. Edwin immediately promised to buy it for him as a gift. Andre gleefully picked it up, but he is a little clumsy and the rabbit slipped from his grip, falling with a loud crash onto the shelf below, scattering pottery and vases everywhere. Luckily the rabbit and the pottery survived intact, but to his distress the glasses had shattered.

Andre carefully picked up each shard and fragment he could find, carried them with the rabbit to the checkout, and asked if he could have a bag for the pieces. The girl said he could get a new one, but he was too honest and said no, he would like to pay for it as he damaged it. She said, in that case he could have it for a reduction as it was damaged!

Getting home, he proceeded to repair it, gluing the pieces carefully together like a complex jigsaw, and finally they were almost as good as new. Now it occupies a place of pride on the shelf; all his hours spent training as an engineer and putting together Lego Star Wars kits have finally paid off.

Virus

Well,
look what's coming for us now
a crazy insane virus
made to wipe us out
stopping us from shopping,
going to a bar -
now that is really going
far too bloody far.

Annie Elliott 

Another frightened rabbit this week seems to be our great PM. Boris Johnson has continued to run behind the curve each time he holds a press conference, falling back on "I have been advised to..." rather than "I intend to do...". Every new restriction seems to be in response to what is already happening; schools were already closing before he announced that they must, and theatres closed in response to his advice to the public, rather than a pronouncement that "they will be closed". The same with pubs and restaurants - The Cock in Clare has voluntarily closed for the duration, to protect staff and customers; but Boris has yet to state that "they must be closed"; no doubt this too will follow the event.

The pubs of England are closing

Another hospital appointment this morning for patch testing. Forty small patches of various allergens were stuck across wherever the skin of my back was intact. Everything still seems so normal; the clinics were running to time, and there was an air of calm in the midst of an impending storm. The dermatological nurse told me they would all be moved to the front line when the CV storm hits; dermatology is a quiet 9-5 speciality, so her regret was that she would have to go back to shift work.

Later, we went to Tesco for Ann to get some more shopping while I walked the dogs and waited outside. We are preparing for my isolation from society. In Tesco, the shelves were decimated and we heard of two women fighting over a toilet roll! The checkout girl told us she had only just come on duty and had to work until 11:00pm. She added that a checkout person in Sainsbury's had been grabbed by the throat over some disagreement. We felt for her, and hoped she would stay safe. Afterwards we called in the Red Lion in Horseheath for a relaxing drink; there were few customers and we sat in a quiet corner. But on our return, we heard the announcement from the PM that we were strongly advised not to go to pubs or restaurants, though they haven't yet been firm enough to ban visits. But it looks as though that will be my last trip out for some time. English pubs are being closed? It is the end of the world we know.

Beating Covid-19 without surrendering freedom

The government are threatening to put all we elderly under what will effectively be house arrest for up to four months, as CV spreads "to protect us". No, it's really to protect the NHS from being overwhelmed by oldies in need. There is nothing worse than cabin fever, and I can see no way I can be shut in for any length of time until I am actually dying. However, we are being more careful. We are avoiding crowded restaurants and pubs, and only going to quieter ones where we can sit in an inconspicuous corner. Today I picked up some eggs and the paper in the Coop early while it was still quiet. Later we drove to Thetford forest in a slight rain, for I can walk the dogs in those vast, empty acres without meeting anyone.

Tamnavulin - a glass of health

UEA has already closed so Edwin needs no longer go to Norwich, for the lecturers are encouraged to give seminars remotely. His partner, Andre, has been instructed to work from home for a while now and he can no longer meet his clients at AIM. I can only speculate how fortunate it was that my last two contracts (one in London, one in Leiden) came to an end last month: I would not like to have to go to either place at the moment. Now all we can do is hunker down until the first great disease of the 21st century burns out and we can live again normally. Normally? Nothing will return to normal after this. Many businesses, pubs, shops and restaurants will go bust and close for good. Even a number of big international carriers will collapse; BA are immanently supposed to be grounding all flights world-wide. There will be an inevitable spike in unemployment, and already the early signs of a major recession are looming. The pundits speculate about how long it will last; some say it will be short, but this may be the prediction of hope. My instinct is this will be deep and prolonged like few of us have known.

Ann has been invited out for a mother's day lunch with the boys on Tuesday, and with MA on Thursday. They have all insisted I must not go, so she will have to celebrate with the children without me. In the meantime, I am taking one of the best medicines: a glass of 10-year old Tamnavulin, my favourite whisky of the moment. It is soft as cotton wool, with the sweetest of tastes like a gentle dew kissing the palate, until it warms the depths with a glow that should nurture any bug. It certainly cheers me.  Slange var! (or Slàinte mhath, as it's written). Cheers!

The scythe-man shows his shadow

Covid-19

A disease to wipe out the old

the vulnerable

the weak

a disease to bring economic gloom

to the richest nations in the world

but when all is said and done,

who will mourn the loss of life

when the lost lives are not young.

Annie Elliott 

Yesterday I had a slight cough. Nothing much of concern in normal times, but now? Then in the evening a minimal headache; hardly noticeable, and easily quenched with paracetamol. Is it anything, or nothing? Ann measures our temperatures regularly now. Normally they hover at about 36.4C; last night mine crept up: 37.0, 37.3, 37.5! The critical temperature put out by the government health advisors is 37.8C or above. Is it time to worry?

I am in the age range for increased risk, with added factors of asthma, cancer, hypertension, and chronic kidney disease. I can't think anyone would insure me for anything, but to cover funeral costs - and even that would now require a 100% down payment. In lieu of alternative available treatment, my mother used to make egg nog when we were ill - a raw egg beaten into milk and sugar with a nip of sherry. It worked wonders at soothing feverish brows, but raw eggs are frowned on now. Ann made me hot milk and syrup. My temperature dropped again after that, and I went to bed unworried. But it is certainly a reminder of how close the scythe-man stalks our ground. My big consolation is that, even if the mortality for my age and condition should be as high as 20%, then I still have a 4 in 5 chance of surviving CV, and those are pretty good odds anyway.

Today, the number of deaths in the UK has doubled, and the US is to ban all travel from Europe including, belatedly, the UK. The children are all showing concern (well, most of them... there's always one!) Edwin especially has worried, and sent Ann a text: "Please mum, look after dad. I really think he should stay at home right now and avoid going out." If the UK goes like Italy, all movement will be banned, but until then it is hard to stay in and we want to get the fresh air and exercise, for ourselves as much as the dogs. So today we went to Shotley for lunch, then had a long walk in a bracing wind round the marina along the Orwell coastline. Hopefully such excursions will do more good than harm in strengthening our immune systems ready for the onslaught.

Finding peace amongst the frenzy

Sunrise on the Ides of March

Working at my window, I see the miracle of the sun moving from pole to pole as the year progresses. In winter it rises well to the right of the neighbouring house, hiding for a few weeks behind the house as the year progresses. Today, near the Spring Equinox, it comes suddenly rising half-way along its track in a sky pale blue clear, before progressing  to the left of the left most tree at mid-summer. The trees still carry their winter gauntness against the sky, but already are abud and soon will be heavy with leaf. In the field below I see boxing hares, and against the distant woods a herd of wild deer. Here, England lies at quiet peace amidst the turmoil of the world.

Trump has just announced he's cancelling all flights to USA from Europe mainland. People are fearful of Covid-19 and hiding in their homes. I have another hospital appointment this morning, ironically at the chest clinic to check on my breathlessness and the shadow on my lung. I shall take our little bottle of hand-sanitiser, and hope I don't come back worse than I go in.

At the hospital, it is remarkably quiet; there are plenty of places in a normally crowded carpark, and the corridors are quiet. It feels very much like the lull before the storm, and seeing the figures in Italy, it will be a tornado when it hits. A test centre for infection has been set up behind the carpark, but separate from public access, and still quiet. I had to go for another blood test; normally the room is crowded with a waiting time of up to one and a half hours; this morning, there were two other people waiting and I was seen within ten minutes. Yesterday too, I had an eye test in Haverhill, and there too the carpark was empty and the streets quiet. At the funeral on Monday the atmosphere was remarkably upbeat. Few there were in the vulnerable 'elderly' category, and even the younger ones were greeting with elbow bumps, foot bumps or waves and avoiding hugs or handshakes. We have enough food for two weeks if we're confined to the house; perhaps that should be when for the tsunami is surely coming.

Remembering three deaths

Trees of Dunwich join the lost city

We visited the lost city of Dunwich last week, now a small village but once the capital of East Anglia and in size rivalling London in the 14th century, until the sea claimed it. The shoreline continues to erode inwards, now exposing the roots of the cliff-top trees, until the dead lumbar slides down the cliff toward the lost city.

The shingle beach carries on for miles here, exposed and raw, and we walked the dogs on Sizewell beach under the twin shadows of the new, clean, white dome reactor of Sizewell B, and the old concrete corpse monstrosity of Sizewell A, looking derelict and unwanted as it awaits decommissioning. The villages round about are peppered with notices protesting the coming of a third reactor, Sizewell C. I am sure it will be safe enough, but it will bring massive new roads and car parks and general disruption.

Today was the funeral of John, the brother of my sister-in-law (see a week of mixed fortunes). We stayed with Chris and Richard overnight before an early start for the chapel service. The cortege then moved at slow pace to the large cemetery in Coventry where my own mother and father are buried. John was the youngest of our generation, only 65, yet went before us. I was surprised when Richard told me today that John was a keen reader of this blog; I did not know he knew about it, but it seems he loved to read of real events, and certainly nothing is more real than the events I relate, including now his own demise!

Corona is approaching

The Corona virus seems to be moving very slowly, with only four new UK cases today. Yet people are panicking about it as if it were the plague itself. At Ono Pharma in London when I went down last week, they were already refusing to shake hands although no one in London was suspected of having the virus. Edwin and Andre have booked a weekend in Venice, but Italy of course is bad. Andre has been warned by his bosses that anyone travelling to North Italy will be automatically quarantined on their return, so I guess he and Edwin will not be going.

Creating pottery at Centre Parcs

We had a lovely weekend at Centre Parcs with the two boys, MA, Sam and the girls. It was interesting to note that when we went into the on-site shop on Friday night, they still had a few bottles of hand sanitiser available. Next morning, it was an empty shelf. We all tried our hand at creating masterpieces of design in the pottery decorating group, then back at the apartment we played Secret Hitler, described as "a dramatic game of political intrigue and betrayal set in 1930s Germany." It involves a lot of bluffing and lying which seemed to suit everyone. It is surprising how much inner character can be revealed by these games, especially the relish displayed by some when they have to shoot someone!