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!

Looking for new work

Anniversary Snow

Yesterday we celebrated our wedding anniversary, driving through the first snow of winter. Our wedding too was held in snow, making it a natural white wedding, so the weather is entirely appropriate.

I left Ann at the Stratford Shopping Centre to meet her friend, Sylvia, while I went into London for my last day with Ono to sign off papers and say goodbye and drop off the computer.

By one of those happy chances, the car phone rang as we were driving down. It was a new agency contact, offering an interview with another company and inviting me to call in their office for a chat. Harry was a young man, with a young man's enthusiasm, and we had a lively talk about the job, the industry in general, and recruitment issues in particular. He is going to send details of the position and the interviewers to prepare me, and has arranged for a preliminary telephone interview this afternoon. If my voice fits, things could move quickly.

Rosie's spread in a selfie  

We visited Rosie and Matthew in King's Lynn at the weekend for a meal. When I talk of a meal, I refer to the food prepared by a chef who's worked in a top London hotel - it was a wholly delicious soup, followed by a wondrous preparation of vegetables (for us) and pork (for our two hosts). Rosie could take a job in any kitchen, and they would produce a great menu and draw the crowds in. But she would love to have her own market-garden shop, selling the produce they have grown, and supplemented by a small cafe with home-cooked food. We all wish them well, and we will certainly be among the first to shop and eat there!