Lanzarote Lament

 Edwin is scheduled to fly home today from his week's 'holiday' in Lanzarote. The holiday was a good idea originally, a chance for the four friends to fly out for fun and sun by the beach on a cheap, off season break. The first hint of trouble was when BA completely cancelled flights to Lanzarote. Edwin, a whiz at all things travel-related, immediately arranged for a transfer of their direct London BA flights to go with Iberia Airlines. This unfortunately involved travelling out via Madrid, and returning via Barcelona, with lengthy waits at both stopovers, but was an acceptable alternative. However, the Iberia flights only went Sunday to Sunday rather than Saturday to Saturday, so he then had to contact the AirBNB owner to persuade them to let them change their days. Also, it was a much earlier flight, so they'd need to get up about 2am to get to the airport on time.

By the time of their flight, Spain and all its islands were blacklisted by the British government, so they faced the possibility of two weeks quarantine on their return. However, three of the four have Brazilian passports, and when they arrived at Heathrow they were told that Brazilians were not allowed to fly to Spain, so only Edwin would be allowed to board. They eventually persuaded the Heathrow officials that all three Brazilians held British residency permits, and were therefore exempt from the ban.

They were not many days in Lanzarote when Edwin developed fever and a sore throat. Andre had to drive him over the mountains to the medical centre where they did a Covid test and started him on antibiotics for tonsillitis. Then next day, Andre and Lucas went down with severe food poisoning, laying on the floor being sick. Edwin became worse, his fever even higher and his throat on fire, so next day Andre had to drive again to the medical centre despite his sickness. There, they said the good news was the Covid test was negative, but the tonsils were in danger of rupturing, and he might not be fit to fly home. They give him an enormous shot of penicilin in the buttocks, making sitting painful in the bouncing car, and leaving Edwin unable to sit or lie on his back. They were due to fly back today, but had to go once more via the medical centre for an 8am appointment to see if he would be certified "fit to fly".  We've just had the message through to say the doctor has given him the certificate, so they're finally heading to the airport for the return via Barcelona. We can only wait on events and see what happens next!

On loosing liberty

 Now I must add my weak voice to the cries of the imprisoned of England. Draconian lock-down rules are being reimposed on many towns throughout the land. From Monday, no more than six can congregate in a private house. Family gatherings are effectively banned. The Greek island we had planned to visit in October is on the quarantine list, even though they've had no cases there. This means we can go, but can't get health insurance. 

Yes, the numbers of people being diagnosed with CV are rising, but they are all young healthy people, the vast majority of whom suffer no ill-effects. Indeed, often they don't know they've been infected. But the critical hospital admission rate and deaths from CV are almost static, suggesting that more vulnerable people (such as me!) are being sensible; we're not going to group raves, or crowding into pubs. We're not even going on public transport or into major centres to work. The whole scheme is madness. Having large numbers of young people getting the infection is probably a good thing, meaning community immunity will be reached sooner, and - assuming there is some degree of immunity once one has been infected - the number of cases should start to fall again rapidly. Any restrictions should be based on rising hospitalisations and death rates; other than that, the young people should be encouraged to go to school or college or work, and to socialise with each other. The only precaution should be to avoid elderly and infirm people, and not to visit care homes. Even this should be guidance, not dictat - it ought to be up to us how much risk we want to take in our lives. These excessive, draconian and thoughtless restrictions are turning us all into prisoners in our own homes - something no foreign power or government has ever done in the history of England. 

The death rate from CV is currently less than the death rate from ordinary flu, and much less than the death rate from other illnesses, such as the cancers and heart disease that are not being treated by the NHS. We were among those who did not applaud and clap the NHS workers each week, and I'm glad we didn't. The hospital wards are empty; the consultants and GPs are refusing to see patients, and my consultations are strictly telephone affairs now. I am better off consulting Google than my GP, for the GPs do nothing now. The government might as well close all GP surgeries, and move the doctors to doing rota work in hospital outpatient clinics, where patients can just turn up, for all the good they're doing patients at the moment.  It would save the NHS a fortune.

Back in the real world, Edwin has phoned from Lanzarote with the good news that his CV test is negative, so he should be able to fly back on Sunday if his temperature stays down. Unfortunately, two of his party (Andre and their friend Lucas) have gone down with severe vomiting. This apparantly was from eating re-heated prawns, always a very dangerous thing to do. I'm glad I'm vegetarian.

 

Cut toes and the problems of foreign holidays

 Age brings a number of disabilities, some major others usually minor, but even trivial ones can blow up to cause problems. One of these is an inability to bend sufficiently to cut my own toe nails, so after a few futile aims with the scissors, I asked Ann to cut them. She responded with great enthusiasm, unfortunately unmatched by technical ability. She seized the clippers and began snipping, but unfortunately snipped a few of my toes as well. Blood spattered the bathroom floor, and she reluctantly surrendered the clippers and went for a plaster. I thought it was time to turn to the experts, so a contrite Ann found and phoned a local chiropodist in Haverhill, and today I limped into her surgery. 

We'd had our friends round the night before, Robin and Yvonne and Rae and Malcolm who knew the chiropodist and warned me she could be garrulous. I bared my feet and lay on the couch, but before she began to either cut or speak, we were interrupted by fierce shouting from the street outside, and she rushed out to see what was happening. It was too early in the morning for drunks, but there is a big problem with drugs in the area so it may have been drug-related. The chiropodist thought there was also a problem with mental health patients, many of whom are treated in the community and refuse to take their medication. Whatever the cause, there was a big police presence for one man, and they were still there when I left the chiropodist half an hour later. I had dropped Ann off at Rae and Malcolm's on the way in, and returned to pick her up and share coffee and a cake. 

Meanwhile, Edwin is on holiday in Lanzarote with Andre and two of their friends. He phoned last night to say he has a high temperature and swollen throat. Today he saw a doctor and had a nasal swab test for corona virus and is awaiting the result. If he is positive, they will all be confined to the house they've rented, and won't be able to fly home, so it's a big deal.

Bird strike

Bird strike on the patio window

We had another bird strike on the patio window last week. I saw the dead pigeon lying on the patio when I got up. It was warm, but quite lifeless. Then I noticed where it had hit the window. Feathers were sticking to the glass where its head must have hit, with wings outstretched. The imprint was still clear upon the window this morning, despite the storms and heavy rain, until I finally washed it off. With the low sun shining off the window in the early morning, birds mistake the glass reflection for open sky beyond. Not sure what I can do though, short of putting up netting. Even that would probably not help, for sometimes they hit the upstairs windows, or the front windows in the evening when the sun's gone round.

Today was a day for tradespeople. This morning, a roofer called Josh came round to see Sam's side shed, where the roofing felt has pulled back exposing the wood. This afternoon a plumber called back with a quote for the water pump which has become noisy (a new guy - not the disaster who fitted our dish washer); and this evening our fencing guy, James, came to trim back the trees where they brush against the power lines. When we first moved to Hundon, the electric company used to trim them back (they own the overhead lines up to the house), but now they refuse to, and would probably charge us for the damage if the trees bring them down!

I have been careful to use the neutral term, tradespeople, but even well into the 21st century, everyone has been male: both plumbers, the electrician, fencing person, gardener, roofing man, builders, window fitters and carpenters. Women are so keen to get into "top" professions, doctors, politicians and board members, yet they are still notably absent from traditional trades. It is hard to see where this comes from, if not innate, for all children's books now are "balanced", with an emphasis on women filling all the traditional men's roles. Yet I do not think it can be "inbuilt", for we see pictures from Russia and China where women seem to fill as many jobs as men, so perhaps in England we are still instilling some bias at a  young age? Perhaps it comes from within the family, with father's encouraging their sons to take up their family business? 

Our nutty neighbour

 I have mentioned before some of the strange beliefs held by our neighbour (5g-nutters-are-loose-in-hundon). Now she is adding to her the list of nuttiness, having attended the anti-mask wearing march and rally in Trafalgar Square this weekend. Thousands of people were crowded together, free of masks, and excited to hear the arch-nutter Piers Corbyn spout his nonsense. If her outlandishness were confined to 5G, it would be harmless except to the damaged masts. If it were just a refusal to wear masks, it could be considered anti-social and dangerous to vulnerable people she coughed on, but not to the wider community. The biggest problem though is the idea held by so many of her group that the whole thing is a conspiracy by the pharmaceutical companies, to make vast profits from a dangerous vaccine that will only cause ill-health. This group firmly believes that all vaccines cause autism in infants. The fact that the Covid vaccine will only be given to adults does not register with them; perhaps she imagines that all adults will become autistic after the injection.

Polio "survivors" in Nigeria

The thing that really disturbs though is the ignorance and denial of the good that vaccination has done throughout the world. Polio, particularly damaging to children under 5 years of age, leads to irreversible paralysis for 1 in 200 infected children, of whom up to 10% die when their breathing muscles become immobilized. Today, only Pakistan and Afghanistan still have endemic polio thanks to a world-wide vaccination programme. As long as a single child remains infected, children in all countries are at risk of contracting polio. 

Smallpox has now been eliminated from every country. Cases of diptheria and measles have declined hugely, and now cause few deaths in childhood. The fact that their incidence is rising again following the anti-inoculation propaganda of people like the Hundon fruitcake is an indictment of everyone who argues against vaccination programmes. On their heads alone are the needless deaths of many infants, and I can only hope that they may see their folly before they learn the hard way through the death of their own children.

A murder mystery in Sudbury

Following her checkup, Ann had a second visit to the dentist's on Friday. This is something Ann never minds doing, and this was only to the hygienist so she actually enjoyed her visit, the first since lockdown. Coming back, we stopped at the Mill Hotel in Sudbury for a drink overlooking Sudbury Water Meadows, a huge flood plain flanking the Stour, popular with dog walkers and used for cattle grazing. The Mill is a beautiful old building, converted as its name suggests from an old water mill. The water wheel has been retained following the conversion and now sits slowly turning in the centre of the restaurant, covered in by glass panels.

Ordering at the bar, I overheard the bar staff talking about a local murder inquiry we'd just read about. Sure enough, when we walked through the field later, our way was blocked by police tape, and a lonely policeman stood eyeing us from a small gazebo-like tent set up to keep him from the rain. It seems that two bags of human bones had been found dumped in the river, along with a shopping trolley. This is not the normal news for quiet Suffolk, but to date no more details have been released: not even the age or sex of the victim, so it remains a complete mystery.

On Saturday, Ann fell headlong from the step outside the back door. Her foot is very swollen and bruised, and she's taking painkillers with the foot bandaged and kept off the floor. Then yesterday, walking in Clare park, I caught my foot in a fallen branch, brought down by the storms, and went flying full length. Unlike Ann, I was not hurt, only annoyed, for I fell flat into the muddy path so the landing was soft. Unfortunately, Bronte was just before me and I also fell onto her, so she acted like falling onto an airbag. The poor dog yelped in surprise, but happily she too was unhurt.

Then yesterday, on Bank Holiday Monday, we were invited out for a cream tea in Cambridge. We were greeted at the door by Edwin, the Maître d', and offered Champaigne as we were escorted to our seats, for the boys had prepared a full English cream tea. We started with a selection of thin-cut sandwiches laid out on a smart cake stand, followed by scones with jam and cream cooked fresh by Edwin, and then a wide selection of small cake deserts prepared by Andre, all accompanied by a selection of special flowering herb teas prepared in a glass teapot to watch the petals open as the teas brewed. The whole experience was amazing, and fully up to the standard of tea at the Dorchester. Later, Andre showed us his new hunting game, Horizon, for the PS4, and Edwin demonstrated his skill at designing cars, and with a Pokemon game. We got home late.

Flight to Edinburgh

 We flew from Edinburgh on Thursday for some away time. We were the first flight to leave City Airport for 4 hours, and the airport was deserted. We moved through security in record time, and a few people slowly gathered for our flight, but even that was barely a quarter full as so few were on the plane. Edinburgh airport too was like a ghost town with so few people. We wore masks the whole time (even in the taxi down to London and again in the taxi to the apartment), so it was good to finally get here and breath freely once more.

The woman greeting us was a cheerful hippy type in a long colourful dress and relaxed manner, reflected in the fresh apartment - one of Edinburgh's old stone buildings just behind the Royal Mile, with ultra high ceilings and vast rooms, expensively furnished in an eclectic style. She warned us to be careful with the dishwasher as she'd just had the engineer in because the door wouldn't shut properly. Soon after she left, the door wouldn't shut at all and the front fell off completely. What is it about dishwasher engineers that seems to turn them into useless tools? (See "how-to-fit-dishwasher")

On Thursday night we had a Deliveroo Thai meal to save shopping or cooking. It was supposed to be mild, but burnt our mouths out! But Friday made up for it with tea on the Royal Yacht Britannia, and a meal at one of our favourite veggie restaurants.

Our son Ben loves the Rebus books, so asked us to look up the "Ox" pub mentioned in the books as his local watering hole. It was favoured by Rankin because it is an old backstreet pub that was favoured by the Edinburgh police and has a unique atmosphere. We tracked it down after a long walk, but alas it was closed due to the Covid outbreak, with no sign of when it might reopen, so all we could do was take photos of the outside. It's official name is The Oxford Bar, so named because the Oxford University publishing house had business premises nearby. Interestingly, on the same street is another pub which was also closed for the duration, looks almost identical, and is called The Cambridge Bar.