Eat, Drink, Laugh and Wash your hands: a guide to dealing with a global pandemic at 70

Technically we do not have a ‘global pandemic’ now so, like the clapping, I am calling a halt to my blog. It has given me enormous fun to write and has kept me sane throughout this whole incarceration and I hope I've put a smile on bored faces. From tomorrow ‘even over 70s’ are being allowed more freedom so as far as I am concerned I will be ‘staying alert’ but have declared the thing over - well for me at least and if footballers can run around then so can I. Enough is enough - I have my mask, my gloves and will take a long stick to keep everyone at bay. Good to know that a Cambridge university professor of Zoology has kept busy over the last few weeks and has come up with some ideas of how we will now manage our lives. Some of his suggestions are that shoppers should pick up all items with tongs (bring your own) and insisting that people walk in a clockwise direction round parks. Now if you can show me anyone under 40 who actually knows what the expression clockwise means th

Things are changing and hopefully for the better and we are slowly being released back into the wild. This means more rules to grapple with. Weeks of research have concluded that parks and gardens are actually pretty similar. So friends’ gardens are no longer off limits, but their houses are. Say what you will but I see the logic: we’ve had 10 weeks without our cleaners and husbands with nothing to do but mow the lawn. Houses can be used as the route to the garden, or to pop to the loo (although not in Scotland where garden party toilet breaks are still verboten – it’s one way to keep visits short I suppose).   Up to 6 families can now gather, so long as each stays 2m apart. I must have missed the part where we all got given bigger gardens (or roof terraces if you please!). No mention either of how we get the wine from the fridge to the garden I noted. I blame a Tory government, they must assume people’s butlers will have everything in hand. As I have mentioned previously

The news during the middle of last week indicated that rather than try and go to work as they had been advised to do most of the people in Britain decided as true Brits do to take the day off when the sun is shining. The pictures in the papers indicated that half the country had flocked to the coast or the countryside.  So what will this bank holiday Monday bring I thought. Surely on a sunny day like today, with everyone off and lockdown rules relaxed in a vague, interpret-to-suit-yourself way, there won’t be hundreds of people heading to the parks like there always are? There are? So why not head off to one of Britain’s corona hotspots? There’s no better way to expose yourself to a virus than stripping near-nude and sitting in close proximity to other hot, sweating people exhaling lovely infectious clouds of droplets, but do remember to keep wiping your brow!  There’s absolutely loads of the Lake District or the New Forest and in theory enough room for many thousands to roam

Dutch-born Londoner Annemarie Plas   who   is credited with starting the nationwide applause , of the weekly “clap for carers” has said that next Thursday’s show of support should be the last and I for one totally agree with her.  It is of course to be welcomed that key workers, including those for the NHS and social care, are being increasingly valued and most appreciate the clapping, saying that they feel moved and grateful. I for one am pushing for proper recognition of their efforts. However, I have noticed that this weekly event has become a little lack-lustre of late so before it fizzles to nothing Ms Plas is quite right in saying it should ‘end on a high’. I don’t know about your neighbourhood but certainly in my road  several weeks ago when it all started, we were all out smiling at each other and clapping enthusiastically. The following week was even better with pots and pans and the husband even dragged out an old metal dustbin lid to hit. As time has moved on, a well-me

It's becoming increasingly difficult to write about people, their actions, reactions and distractions and I’m finding that each day is a matter of finding things to do that didn’t need doing. I have rearranged the kitchen cupboards, and taken all the clothes out of wardrobes to ‘check for moths’. There were no moths. There have never been any moths in 40 years of living here. The moths are a lie. The husband is continually oiling some garden shears he hasn’t used in 15 years and ‘checking’ the garden hose. He’s bled a radiator which was working fine, soaked a load of brand new mugs in bleach and done a detailed inspection of all the bath towels then put them all back again. However in my defence I do think that it was absolutely necessary to remove and check all the light bulbs. There’s nothing more dangerous than a loose light bulb. Anyway I started thinking about efforts made by people over the lockdown and obviously the first that came to mind was Captain Tom who has b

Everybody seems to be running the country at the moment and they all have their own solutions to the problems raised by the current pandemic. Conservatives, Labour, Scientists, Medical experts and Uncle Tom Cobley and all. Well quite honestly they need me – yes I can sort out one problem that has been highlighted this week and very simply too. We over 70s are a resilient bunch of people despite the fact that we are reportedly dropping dead all over the place. A local resident sent round an e mail asking people in his street if they could be of help in case some of the older neighbours may be too nervous to go to the shops. Within an hour he had 25 volunteers...all over 70. A case in point. Sadly however according to Age UK, stress and anxiety are fuelling cases of malnutrition in elderly people who have restricted access to shopping. Not through lack of money but those who are terrified to go out. They are confused by guidance (aren’t we all?) and their regular support networks ha

Today is the day of freedom for some and back to work for those who can. The highlight in our household though is the return of golf. Not for me of course but for the Husband. This means that all household chores, garden clearing, sorting and tidying that he has been doing for weeks has now come to an abrupt end. It only took him about 4 hours to book a tee-time for today so he is finally appreciating what I have been going through all day every day trying to get slots at supermarkets. Of course like supermarkets the golf courses are now chock-a-block as everyone is rushing out to play. His course is probably busier than London Underground today. My lovely neighbour (he of the prison background) has not been able to get a slot for golf today so is sulking at home I believe and probably downing copious glasses of his wine and Domestos cocktail, much to the despair of his long suffering wife! Although at least we’re not having to deal with the dilemma of the course that straddles the E

I can’t take credit for this one which was forwarded by a friend and which is doing the rounds on social media. But it seems to capture so perfectly the frankly bizarre new rules that are coming in I just had to share it. And saves you the 60 page read – not recommended.     I think I’ve worked it out...  ·        4 year olds can go to school but university students who have paid for their tuition and the accommodation that they aren’t living in, can’t go back to university.  ·        I can go to school with many 4 year olds that I’m not related to but can’t see one 4 year old that I am related to.  ·        I can sit in a park, not today or tomorrow, but by Wednesday that’ll be fine.  ·        I can meet one person from another household for a chat or to sunbathe but not two people so if I know two people  from another household I have to pick my favourite. Hopefully, I’m also their favourite person from my household or this could be awkward. But pos

I spent a beautiful sunny afternoon in my front garden chatting to my neighbours on VE day. Two of them were aged 9 when victory was declared in Europe and they told me that they had more cake that day than we did on Friday – even though they had rationing back in 1945 they were clearly better at coping with measurements than we are today as you can’t find flour, sugar or eggs anywhere. I am currently shopping for these lovely people. They are avid readers of this blog so I have to be a little careful how I phrase this but I am a little concerned about their latest supermarket order which comprised copious amounts of wine and bleach and a couple of packets of crisps. I suppose that’s what a balanced diet looks like in these days. The gentleman who shall remain nameless of course was in the past something to do with the prison service I believe (although whether as an inmate or staff I’m not quite sure). But he was most helpful and gave me much needed information about how to

One of the things to make me smile this week is the farce that has been the ordering of PPE equipment for the NHS. You really couldn’t make it up. I’m just waiting for Rishi Sunak to announce that our economic woes are over, having received an email from a Nigerian prince promising untold wealth, all we need to do is hand over our remaining gold reserves... My daughter used to work in central government. She once received a similar request from No10 about a ‘promising communication’ and struggled to provide the requested briefing without using the words ‘blatant scam’ and ‘is this a joke?’. Luckily she’s inherited her mother’s diplomatic skills and embarrassment was averted.  But I digress from the story that caught my attention. Following reports that we were running out of PPE equipment, a young man called Mehmet Duzen sent an email to our government asking if he could assist, as he had a fondness for the UK having lived here in the mid-2000s and wanted to help ou

Evidently, so I’ve heard, the healthy over 70s are set to be released back into the wild amidst rumours of ‘social unrest’ if we were made to endure a longer lockdown than the rest of the population.  Finally, someone is listening.  We “vulnerable” types are a generation born during rationing (some of us even caught some of one or both World Wars). We grew up alongside rock and roll in the 50s. We reached maturity during the 60s, with all that entailed. We mostly forget the 70s. We raised our children in the 80s. We packed them off to uni and retired in the 90s and now we’re whatsapping and zooming and googling and blogging with the best of the ‘woke’ generation in the – whatever the current decades are called.   Vulnerable, us?!   You show me one millennial who could have survived any of that let alone all of it. So many of us – myself included – would prefer to face actual incarceration over being forced to endure a longer lockdown. Now there’s a thought: if that happened

Day 50: Big Brother is watching I don’t know about you but I find that I can no longer watch the gloom of the BBC 6pm news and the Corona daily bulletin preceding it. For weeks it has been a catalogue of unremitting bad news. No wonder the country is in the grip of hysteria. The national news is followed by the local news with even more Corona gloom and despondence, albeit right on my doorstep. Very comforting!! However, after yesterday’s briefing by Matt Hancock I believe there appears to be a light at the end of the tunnel. Well a glimmer possibly. I must say I am intrigued by his continuous use of the ‘pink tie’ - is he trying to set a trend or am I missing some important symbolism here? I would also like to know why Matt’s hair and that of Michael Gove are so well quiffed? Are their wives hairdressers or have they got a clandestine arrangement with Nikki Clarke? Trump clearly hasn’t as his roots get worse each day and Boris’ hair looks a bit like someone who’s holdi

Day 48: Oh when the saints Silver Dream Machine sent me this intriguing snippet and as it’s Sunday I think it is quite appropriate.  There is a truth that a ‘bad time’ for someone is often a ‘good time’ for someone else. Take the almost unheard-of St Corona who has now shot to fame, being brought in from the cold of the least remembered saints of ancient times and now placed at the centre of the legions of the great and the good. In the popular press and social media her name is now invoked by some as the patron saint of pandemics, or rather more accurately, the patron saint of all who resist pandemics..  The story goes that a young sixteen ‑ year-old girl, Corona, comforted a Roman soldier, Victor, who was martyred for his faith around 160-70 BC in the Roman province of Syria. The two are often linked together romantically as man and wife. The story of St Corona’s death is particularly gruesome. She is said to have been tied to two bent palm trees and then torn apart as t

Day 47: Beer o’clock The Americans celebrate every day of the year with some bizarre thing or other and today believe it or not is Home Brewing Day. Fortuitously this year it falls on a Saturday. In those long-forgotten days BC this was a day for going out with friends or eating out. We should all therefore embrace home-brewing day to bring some fun to our weekends once again. If my father were still alive, he would no doubt already have a thriving moonshine business going. This is after all the man who ran his own whisky still in Saudi in the 70s and on retirement invented ‘beer o’clock’ and ‘zonkas’. Crucially, those daily milestones were sacrosanct. He may not have needed a watch, but slippage would not have been tolerated. Standards, after all, must be maintained. Quarantinis should therefore be restricted to “locktail hour”. Resist the temptation for this to creep earlier with each passing week. If you’re hitting the sauce in the presence of Phil and Holly or the BBC Br