Wet Weekender 1

Wet weekender indeed. I think what sums up this lockdown for me is the real sense that we are locked down: there's nowhere I can go and noone I can really talk to. This is oppressive. The weather doesn't help; a heavy damp grey blanket. One of the, few, blessings of early night time is that it draws a hasty curtain onto a grey day. Most people round here associate though having kids and sharing that at the school gates, or, it seems, walking the dog. I have and want neither.

Government inflicted rules are always problematic. This is not helped by the slave and corruption on display, but that's why it's problematic: because those elements are unavoidable. The pandemic is not in our hand. The working class isn't even allowed ownership of that which is, for now, slowly killing us. Make no mistake it's affects the poorest the hardest, if only indirectly. Within that cohort there are intersections of even greater disadvantage; we know that people of colour are particularly affected. Vulnerable people in care homes. Those dependent on not being evicted as well. I could go on (and will for a couple more paragraphs, then I'll spellcheck and press 'Publish').

Of course, if we were rich we could ride it out playing golf on pristine pastures where the working class are only fit for green keeping and forelock tugging. Or complaining about how the elections was stolen from us (They stole it precioussss!). Meanwhile Mr Bezos is now the first human (and that's up for debate, he looks like a robot wearing human synthetic skin) worth two hundred billion. I had to write that out instead of numbers because it's that mind boggling. Just think of the good that worth could do for the species. Instead it's squandered in such a limited way. How many helicopters does one personoid need for god's sake?

My day involves clicking on the daily case notification, seeing how many are newly infected and how many have died, and where. It's became I thing I do. I can't remember not doing it. I don't even really feel it, though if the number's are excessively high I will. I can barely even remember the halcyon days of single digit infections. That seems a lifetime ago; a better time. Even then I was worried about travelling. It was only when everything started going way south that I ventured out. Doesn't really make much sense does it. 

Somewhere on the page there will be a picture of Trump sat looking sour, no doubt enraged at some minor slight. That has never not been there either. It's the wallpaper of the day.

Fortunately, although it's still early days, it does seem that the second wave is peaking or, hopefully, passed the peak. The death rate is lower this time around. The question is: will there be a third wave, or, perhaps more importantly, a third lockdown? Will this one continue, albeit with a brief sentimental yet ill-advised Christmas break? That is my feeling. I cannot see much re opening if we're to manage the virus without a nationwide vaccine programme, and that isn't going to happen before Christmas. 

I imagine the Queen's speech will just be footage of her and that vile zombie husband of hers getting the Royal Jab. A compliant nation approves, bowing and scraping, waving its plastic flags and doing with out. "We're 'appy to go without, it's what we did in the war!". Gawd bless 'em!