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.