The First Day of Spring

 

Tomorrow is the first day of spring, and already the skies are blue, the sun warm, and wild flowers in the local copse are greeting the world, eager to escape their winter imprisonment. In the garden, crocuses are well out and the tulips are bursting through winter's old crust. With lockdown's end in sight,  the countdown has begun.

Suddenly Boris is in everyone's good books, just because he will allow us to give our children a hug and see our grandchildren once more. I will actually be allowed to sit on a park bench without prosecution, should I tire on my short walks with the dogs. It is hard to believe how quickly and for how long these basic human rights were removed, rendering the whole country under virtual house arrest. How easily is freedom stripped away. How powerful are the police now, with drones and CCTV to monitor the whole population. The gestapo would have had a field day with such technology, and any underground resistance would have been snipped off at the bud. Saving the torture, one feels that living under a dictatorship could not be much harsher than the last year has been. Yet even a dictatorship would probably have provoked more rebellion and protest marches than our enfeebled state has mustered; it has been  incredible and frightening how quickly compliant the whole nation has been to arbitrary government diktat. 

Yesterday was our wedding anniversary. Edwin and Andre called by (suitably distanced) to bring a card and gift - a n Apple Mini iPod. It came smartly wrapped in a cubic box, which I held carefully to open, gently and slowly sliding the lid upward till it came clear of the box underneath. Unfortunately, the box beneath was very shallow, and the iPod was a perfect sphere balanced carefully on a plinth to show it to good effect. Inevitably, the sphere rolled off its plinth, bounced along the tiled floor, and rolled under the table, leaving me holding a shallow box, the lid, and a deep red face. I said, "we'll have to say it didn't work when we opened it," but the boys said, "the guarantee doesn't include bouncing it on the floor!" However they must build them very strong, for happily nothing rattled inside and it still worked. Unlike my pride, it wasn't even dented.

Covid-19 News

 
The onslaught of Covid disease at last seems to be waning. Cases and death rates are slowly falling, and the vaccination program is racing ahead, adding to the celebration of Brexit successes. I had my vaccination a few weeks ago, with no ill effects - not even a sore arm or red spot. Ann has her jab booked for Saturday, and is looking forward to picking up the threads of normal existence; she has already booked appointments with the glaucoma clinic and for an eye test now we have a date for safely walking the streets again, and she may be able to revisit the shops for the first time in months. Even more important, when will the pubs and restaurants reopen? Meanwhile, I continue painting. Ann bought me a parcel of black canvases to use, and I have now done a number of more modern pictures. The Thinker is an attempt at an expressionistic style.

The Thinker

On our telecon meeting this morning, they announced that there will be a big internal meeting in March, with some of our Japanese colleagues expected to attend. As many as can are being urged to make the journey to attend in person at the Holborn office in London. Despite the jab, I'm not sure if I can risk a visit to London yet, but things are certainly beginning to open up again, bring hope for brighter times ahead. I have continued to paint a little, though interrupted by work, which has been intense recently as we move towards starting a new drug trial. Aso, as part of the research effort on Covid-19, I am getting a number of safety reports to analyse from an inoculation study run by Oxford and Manchester universities for the ONS (Office of National Statistics). These are follow-up reports for the routine jabs, but it is interesting that I am now being involved, even if remotely.

Less good news has come from Ben and Kaz. Ben has largely been able to work from home, but Kaz works with vulnerable young people and therefore has to meet them face-to-face on a daily basis. Those she works with have no concept of social distancing, and will not wear face masks, so her risk has always been high. Now she too has developed Covid, before being offered protection, and passed it on to Ben. They are fortunately recovering now, but have had to isolate for the required period.

Ann's sister, Jane, also was due to get the jab but has also developed symptoms of Covid, so is unable even to go for her daily walk and has had to postpone her vaccination. Her son John works as a delivery driver, so was always at risk of exposure from the many people he meets each day, though it is uncertain if he showed symptoms or not.

A lockdown walk in the snow

 

Dog walking in the snow

We continue with patience through lockdown number 3, unable to see anyone from another household, unable to travel further than the village, and avoided in the street even by other dog walkers who take pains to walk on the other side of the road. I am supposed to be on a priority list for deliveries, but we have yet to find a slot with Sainsbury or Tesco. We rely on Ocado deliveries which Ann has managed to book each week. 

We do occasionally travel further afield though. We head ostensibly towards Waitrose in Sudbury waving a carrier bag with the purpose of essential shopping, then stop at Rodbridge park on the way for a good stretch and to let the dogs run free. Byron has become increasingly reluctant to travel in the car and has taken to hiding in a corner when I take them out. Today he wouldn't even come to Ann's call, so he ended up alone at home as we drove out into the blizzard with Bronte.

Today we were hit by the new blizzard from the east; there was a thin sprinkling of snow, but we left in a quiet gap. However it came on again as I walked forcing us to return home and abandon even the pretence of Waitrose. It is heavy now and quite thick outside. 

Unable to go to the theatre or cinema or even a pub for a drink, we were in search of something new to watch when I read a recommendation for a BBC series, Industry. The premise is a group of young graduates competing for a position with a prestigious Investment bank. They are each interesting characters, and the story promised to be an insightful view of a world we never see, yet so often read about. In the event, it is practically unwatchable.  It turned into a prime porno series before we ever found out about the characters or learnt about the inner workings of the city. Many years ago, in the days of video rentals, Ann and I got a copy of a film called Tie Me Up Tie Me Down. The was rated as an X porno film, but was like a tame walk in the park compared to Industry. I have never seen so much naked flesh since I worked on the gynae ward. It added nothing to any of the characters, and served to hold up rather than develop whatever story lurked beneath the lurid surface. This seems to be the way modern TV is moving. Even Jeremy Clarkson in his column in the Sunday Times berated the extreme content of so much contemporary television. It is small wonder that 750,000 older people are refusing to pay the BBC Television licence fee. They are desperately chasing the younger viewers and making themselves irrelevant to the rest of their audience.

The Absinthe Drinker, after Picasso

I continue with painting, now trying new approaches. To encourage my art, Ann treated me to a set of black canvases and my most recent work is a version of Picasso's The Absinthe Drinker. I will not comment on its quality, but it is a pointer of the new directions that open if one is willing to try something new.