The impenetrable fog of politics

Driving over the hills to Clare, the fog lay impenetrable as that surrounding the future of so many in this Covid time. We have been upped to tier 2 with its greater restrictions; other areas fare worse, being jacked up to tier 3, full lockdown in all but name. My own instinct is still that, for freedom's and the economy's sakes, the tiers should have been arranged by personal risk rather than blanket bans to everyone by area. The young and healthy (say all under 50 or 55 years) should be given total freedom for work, education, and visiting each other, with isolation only if they are ill with the dreaded CV. All others should isolate according to age and risk factors. I have been sent an official notice that I am extremely vulnerable, so it makes sense for me to lock myself away and see no one from outside; but healthy people in their 60's or 70's could take minor risks by going to shops, or meeting people at a distance. But sense does not rule this country. If Doom and Gloom (Whitty Vallance) were advising to reduce overall deaths in the population, they would no doubt make drinking and smoking verboten. 

To emphasise the gloom of the fog and the lockdowns, they were preparing a horse drawn hearse in Clare park ready for a funeral this afternoon. It looks as though the Clare Godfather has died. We were all told to keep clear of the area and keep dogs on a short lead. 

The safety and efficacy of the Oxford vaccine is being doubted because the effective dose appears to have been discovered accidentally. I would like to reassure my few readers that serendipity plays a major role in chemistry and drug discovery. Most people know that Viagra was a new Pfizer drug  expected to work in the treatment of angina but, instead of relieving anginal pain, it induced unwanted penile erections in some patients. I was with Pfizer when they held the biggest party I’ve been to with the launch of Viagra. Librium was placed on the shelf but was found again by accident literally during a, laboratory cleanup, and submitted for clinical trials before they threw it away. Aniline dyes, LSD, penicillin, Warfarin, digoxin, the anti-depressant Tofranil, the anti-psychotic Largactil were all serendipitous discoveries. Indeed, it is thought that 6% of useful drugs are found by luck, so my guess is that the Oxford vaccine will do very well..

We still hope to host our Christmas day family celebration. It looks as though three families will be allowed to gather, so that's us, MA and Sam and their children, and Eds and Andre plus Andre's sister. She comes over from Brazil at the weekend and will be staying for a couple of nights. Ann has ordered the traditional lucky dip presents in anticipation that all will go ahead normally.

Good news all round

AstraZeneca are about to release their vaccine, shown to be effective and safe. This is wonderful news towards restoring normality and freedom, and we can't wait to get in line to receive it. A few people we know are hesitant because it is so new and has been approved so quickly, but the speed is only a reflection of its rating as an urgent top priority, with research funding poured in, and thousands of volunteers readily available. I know this personally, because a couple of times the study I am engaged in has been put back because recruits were being snapped up for vaccine trials! However, its safety has been proven as rigorously as any new drug, and it still has to be approved by regulators, but they are fast tracking it as a priority. 

Not withstanding, a few people like our neighbours are posting total fiction in their Facebook pages, proclaiming such unbelievable rubbish as "It is a plot by Bill Gates⋯ to inject humanity with a vaccine for covid19 that will change your DNA. ⋯ I want to reduce mankind using vaccines. ⋯ I have already destroyed millions⋯ , How am I able to get away with this? Because you think this is a dumb conspiracy theory." Against such blind ignorance, there is no debate. One can only accept there are dangerous idiots at large in the world and try to mitigate against it.

Further good news: Andre has received a good bonus from his company in recognition of the excellent work he's doing; and to break up the monotony of home imprisonment, we went for a picnic in Thetford forest to enjoy the beautiful autumnal day with the dogs. We took them for a long walk, then had coffee and some of Ann's wonderful home baked cakes in the car. It is great to get out and feel alive again.

Walking in Thetford Forest

A Haverhill actor in The Crown

Edwin and Tom Byrne in Bugsy Malone

We have all been watching The Crown although, with it's emphasis on the marriage and arguments of the Prince and Princess of Wales, the most recent series has been less gripping than the previous ones. Interestingly, Ann realised that the actor who plays Prince Andrew, the Duke of York, is Tom Byrne. His original name was Tom Bailey, and he played Fat Sam alongside Edwin who was Knuckles, in Bugsy Malone in a Haverhill drama production 13 years ago. He has come a long way, and we all send him our congratulations. 

We still can't get any slots with Tesco for home deliveries, so have to visit for a shop. Coming back we took a circuitous route to get a breath of air and see different surroundings to the four walls of our lockdown prison. One of the village butchers is in an old thatched house, and Ann suddenly spotted an unusual piece of thatch work on the roof - a dog running off pulling a string of sausages hanging from its mouth. We were so impressed we stopped to take a photo.

The fields are so muddy, it's hard to walk the dogs there as they come back needing a bath. To help sleep, two days ago I took a dose of Night Nurse. The next morning, I was still dead to world when there was a tremendous, repeated banging on the door. It was 8 a.m., and Wayne the wheel repairer was there to see to the car which I'd kerbed. I had completely forgotten. This morning, I didn't get up till 8:30, long after my normal time, and I still feel dopey! It's powerful stuff - better than any sleeping pills! But it meant I was late getting to Clare to walk them. Clare is getting more and more crowded each week, and today was particularly bad with their Saturday market. There was nowhere to park in the centre, and people were queuing to get in the car park. I went on to Stoke by Clare, a tidy, typical Suffolk village, and was able to park by the village green and walk them there.

Official Secrets

 In this time of lockdown, we are watching more films than ever. We were particularly moved by one on Amazon Prime last night - Official Secrets, the story of Katharine Gun who exposed a communique from GCHQ describing how the US spied illegally on a number of diplomatic representatives to the UN to pressure them into supporting the invasion of Iraq. Her defence was that the Iraq war would have been illegal because the then Attorney General, Lord Goldsmith, had stated it would not be a lawful war. His advice was later changed following pressure from the US government. Even before Gun's disclosure, a majority of the population disbelieved that Iraq was capable of going to war against the west. This was supported later by Dr David Kelly, an authority on biological warfare who had leaked details of the 'dodgy dossier' which stated that some of Iraq's chemical and biological weapons were deployable within 45 minutes at the insistence of Alastair Campbell.

The most Saddam Hussein had been able to do was to invade Kuwait and set fire to the oil wells. I remember marching against the invasion and war in London on 15 February 2003. It was the largest protest event in human history with 6-10 million people marching in 60 countries, and the only occasion I have ever bothered to protest by my physical presence. The bus and tube into central London were packed with anti-war protesters and the ticket people refused to take fares. I emerged in bright sunlight at Westminster to join more than 1 million protesters. It was an amazing feeling of unity, which Blair and his government ignored. Worse, they produced false evidence, were complicit in breaking the law governing diplomatic privilege, and lead us into an illegal and unnecessary war. I remember reading in The Lancet that the wave of Awe and Terror alone killed an estimated 120,000 civilians. The invasion and subsequent war killed up to 1 million people in Iraq and cost the lives of more than 4,500 US and British troops. 

Hitherto, Blair had been one of the most popular leaders in recent history. His Northern Ireland peace agreement alone would have secured his legacy. If he had had the courage to stand up to Bush rather than appease him. Bush denied that Blair was his "poodle" but remarked that his style of leadership was "dogged". It is customary for we on the left to denigrate Margaret Thatcher, but her war against the Falklands was technically legal and justified; her worst crime was ordering the sinking of one ship just outside the official war zone. Her crimes against the unions (particularly the miners' union) are beginning to seem farsighted and necessary, bringing Britain screaming and kicking out of 19th century practices. Compared with Thatcher, Blair was an evil warmonger, a betrayer of true socialism whose actions pushed Labour into the wilderness for a generation.

Not another lockdown!

Bronte

Bronte has bounced back to health, despite the vet's prognostication of doom. I assume the sarcoma must still be there, hovering like the dark angel as it slowly grows prior to some fearful sudden collapse, but we are enjoying as much quality time as we can. Ann found a fortifying puppy food and this seems to have given strength and rejuvenation -  she wolfs the food down, and runs around like a lively young dog in the park. I thought I'd better do a portrait of her while in fine fettle, to add to that of Byron. She has a few dark spots above her nose that the breeder called "her naughty spots", so I've included those as well.

Last week before the great lockdown we entertained our friends Rae and Malcolm. Unfortunately we can't see Robin and Yvonne as they're trapped in Essex, which was under a Tier 2 restriction. Even though they're a hamlet of few houses just over the border from Suffolk, they count as "unclean" while we remain relatively pure.

Then at the w/e we entertained Ben and Kaz. They had been due to have a week's holiday at a caravan site in Yarmouth, but it was cancelled at the last moment because of the impending lockdown, so we had them for a couple of nights. On Tuesday we visited Matthew, Rosie and Arwen with them for the last time for a while, then on Wednesday they set off for home via the coast for one last trip, getting home like Cinderella, just before the stroke of midnight.

Ben

The only "entertainment" on TV at present is the wretched US election. They have the most bizarre system whereby as many as 20 electoral votes can hang on a tiny difference between two huge state-wide votes, so the whole thing is being contested by Trump who demands the counting stop, and multiple recounts until he gets a favourable result. 

I am fortunate that I can still work from home. We have regular t/c's and mail work to each other. Many throughout the country are now furloughed, or have lost their jobs. So many places are closing, never to reopen, it's sickening. I have received a "personal" email from our glorious Secretary of Health and local MP, Matt Hancock, advising me that I have been identified as "clinically extremely vulnerable and at highest risk." It goes on to advise me what I must no longer do: it allows me to breath, but basically there is nothing else I can do. However, the dogs need walking and we want to visit a garden centre (for some reason they must be considered essential, whereas pubs are not!) So today I drove to Clare to walk the dogs; that is my only exercise, but with everything else shut the park was crowded and it's hard to avoid people. It would have been so much better to leave us to take responsibility for our own health: this dictatorial attitude is destroying people and communities, as well as livelihoods and independence. 

Clare ghosts

 

The old station, Clare

A fine, sunny day to walk the dogs. Bronte has made a remarkable recovery from the sickness that took her to the vets, so today I took her to Clare Park. Walking along the old station platform, we saw an eirie group of people spaced out along the other platform like ghosts waiting for the train. They silently stood in line unmoving, with the dogs looking across unbelievingly. Standing on the platforms, it is too easy to hear ghost trains whistling on the approach, and imagine the puffs of smoke glimpsed through the trees in the distance. The buildings and platforms are unchanged; only the tracks are missing like a sad case of Alzheimer's, when the shell is present, but the light has been turned off. 

 Today as the clocks go back, Ann created the Christmas cakes. This is a yearly ritual; she used to make half a dozen for various friends and relatives, but this year it is down to four cakes. The kitchen becomes a wonderfully scented mass production line, and both ovens are turned on ready to receive them. Later, as the cakes were still cooking and blocking the oven, we went on to Long Melford to walk the dogs in the huge Rodbridge park in the lingering autumnal sun. We had al fresco coffee at Jenny Wren's cafe; she is an artist, selling her work as cards. Ann mentioned I had taken up art, so she invited us to a small art group she runs that meets to sketch in the area, weather permitting. Then, the ovens still being occupied, on for an early dinner at the Bull.

The BBC demand a fee

There has been much protest by the older faction of society by the reintroduction of charges for the BBC TV license for the over 75's. I never used to mind paying, for we got good programmes with no adverts which alone was worth the fee. But nowadays, the Corporation's avowed intent is to woo the young - with scrappy soaps, modern music and woke plays. Nothing gets performed unless its by a black person or a young woman - preferably both. The news is now more of a social media filled with vox-pop than a sober and balanced account of the world at large.

I eventually had a demand through the post to pay or face some unspecified consequences, so wrote a cheque and completed their form to post back. By the time I reached the post office, the envelope had gone AWOL, but getting home I found it shivering and soaked on the drive. I had dropped it and run over it in the rain, so it was dripping wet and muddied, its innards timeless twins stuck together and my poor pen marks streaked like modern art. I had to admit defeat and pay the bill on line.

Because my shoulder still hurts from the fall weeks ago (see a touch of sun), today I visited the physiotherapist. An efficient grey-haired woman with a commanding voice, she unleashed a barage of tests for the shoulder that covered every possible movement, and some I would have thought impossible. She pinpointed the trouble to some tendons over the joint, inflammed from the fall. She suggested some passive movements to help ease it, with an appointment to return in a week for another battering.