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!