Day 76: Over and out

Day 44: It takes all sorts

The weather has finally caught up with the mood of the nation and turned grey, damp and cold. For the home schoolers among you, google “pathetic fallacy”. Being a contrary lot, while we Brits would ordinarily delight in huddling inside and letting the elements rage outside, we now rage against the elements that are clearly joining forces with the government, police, and curtain-twitching neighbours to keep us closeted indoors. 

I read in the paper the other day that we all fall into one of three categories during this incarceration: Sufferers, Accepters and Resisters. As far as I can gather, the Sufferers are those who aren’t coping very well and are those most likely to be taking homeopathic medicines and listening to Trump’s advice about injecting yourself with disinfectant. Or they’re drinking moonshine or industrial alcohol as more than 700 Iranians have done, believing it would kill off the corona. Which it arguably did but also killed them all off as well. Another 90-odd have blinded themselves or damaged their vision after drinking drinks laced with toxic methanol. Why they couldn’t settle for a large gin and tonic I really don’t know. I am obviously an Accepter as I am a ‘glass half full’ sort of person (and the drinks cabinet shows no signs of running dry yet) and believe that as long as I do as I’m told all will be well. But I am seriously flirting with becoming a Resister. Particularly if I am told that because I’m over 70 I have to remain imprisoned for the rest of the year or longer. The fact that Ken Dodd was on TV for over an hour the other night was in itself enough to make me want to make a break for freedom. 

I finally got a call from the RVS Responder team today.  Not, alas, a call to respond and telephone a Sufferer, but to tell me they have nobody to call as they hadn’t thought to ask anyone if they actually needed help. They told me they have now “adapted their process so that people can self-refer when they need help”. This initiative is clearly back to front – they got the workers before they got the patients which is a bit like building new hospitals all over the country then finding you have nobody to put in them. Not that that would happen of course.

I gather that as the Romanians aren’t allowed to come and pick our fruit and veg this year due to the Corona (although surely there is a cautionary Brexit tale everyone is conveniently ignoring), the Environment Secretary has suggested that those members of society who have been furloughed could come and help out.  So far they have secured 112 helpers. This is presumably because the Government is paying everyone to stay at home doing nothing, and has spent five weeks insisting that they do. But also, apparently, many of the applications received have been dismissed as being ‘over qualified’. I’m sorry farmers, but if you want to have your fruit picked then you’re just going to have to put up with university dons and nuclear scientists. 

Or could I suggest that as the Government has already amassed 800,000 volunteers (who they’re conversely not paying to do nothing), why can’t we be utilised? I can’t imagine it’s too difficult - a bit like ‘pick your own’ but on a larger scale - bit of fresh air, gets you out of the house and this way the 70 year olds can get out and earn some money. If we’re too slow at picking then we could always make jam out of over-ripe fruit – well obviously I couldn’t but I’m sure somebody could! We could even multi-task by taking our phones with us just in case we’re (eventually) needed by the RVS. I've also heard that out of work actors have been picking up all the jobs in supermarkets. I look forward to holding my next supermarket conversation in iambic pentameter (and quite possibly discussing pathetic fallacy in literature vs the Corona).

I heard from a friend of mine today who takes her afternoon stroll around her neighbourhood. She is a teacher so clearly is not fond of children and their toys in the slightest and is incredibly fed up with the current trend for teddy bears and cuddly animals in windows. She has therefore come up with an excellent adult version of the idea which I am going to start in my village. Everyone puts a bottle of alcohol in their window and then people roam the neighbourhood with a randomly generated bingo card. It can't just have 'red' or 'white' (or 'dark' and 'light' as they say in Scotland) on the card; it's got to be brands e.g. Tanqueray not Gin, Laphroaig not Whisky, Grey Goose not Vodka. She thought of suggesting a 'soft drink version’ for all non-drinkers but thinks – and I agree with her - they're an ever-dwindling group.

Finally, I was delighted to hear that after a kerfuffle at the Department for Transport – who appear to have been simultaneously working to ban AND orchestrate a flyover for the nation’s favourite centenarian – that it will now be going ahead tomorrow after all. Wishing a Very Happy Birthday to Captain Tom.